By Anna Merlan
By Albert Samaha
By Tessa Stuart
By Anna Merlan
By Roy Edroso
By Carolyn Hughes
By Chuck Strouse
By Albert Samaha
The leader of an activist black law-enforcement group regarded by admirers as an avenging Shaka Zulu with a 9 millimeter is urging African American troopers to jam media switchboards with accounts of "sanctioned racial profiling" by the mostly white New Jersey State Police hierarchy.
The appeal from De Lacy D. Davis, an East Orange Police Department sergeant, who heads Black Cops Against Police Brutality, comes in the wake of last week's ruling by a judge who threw out a state police edict that threatened discipline for troopers who did unauthorized interviews with reporters.
"I encourage the troopers to speak out as loudly, and as often as possible," says Davis, "because although the dam is going to be lowered on the 'Blue Wall of Silence,' some of its defenders will be rushing to make repairs to it as soon as they spot a leak."
In a landmark decision, state Superior Court Judge Anthony Parrillo found that while police agencies may control the release of confidential information, the New Jersey State Police had imposed an overly broad rule, which crushed free-speech rights, as a way to avoid embarrassment. The ruling was sought by trooper Samuel Davis and 12 black colleagues who filed a discrimination lawsuit in federal court claiming they were denied permission to give interviews about the controversy over racial profiling and mistreatment of minority motorists.
"The ruling gives us an opportunity to hear once bottled-up truth aired again, and we will give the black troopers our full support to get their message out," Davis vows.
The 37-year-old activist also is speaking out about beatings in police custody, an aspect of the blue wall he's been chipping away at with no results until now.
Three years ago, Davis claims, he witnessed a detective forcibly attempt to remove a prisoner fom the lobby of the East Orange Municipal Courthouse. While one officer intervened to stop the confrontation, no one except Davis reported it.
Because he had broken the code of silence, Davis alleges, the detective, Victor Tucker, harassed and threatened him, eventually telling him, "I'm gonna take your gun and stick it up your ass!" (Sergeant John LeGates of the East Orange Police Department's Professional Standards Unit would neither confirm nor deny whether Tucker, a 13-year veteran, has had previous brutality complaints filed against him. "You'll have to get a court order for that," LeGates told the Voice.) In a 1997 report to internal affairs, Davis charged that his complaint of misconduct against Tucker "was discovered on the floor in police headquarters" three months after he'd filed it.
Davis had run up against the wall.
In April of this year, after FBI agents seized records and other items from the Orange Police Department as part of federal and state investigations into the case of a man who died in custody during the search for the killer of a black female cop Davis felt that his national crusade against police custodial beatings and mistreatment of minority prisoners finally would be acknowledged.
Nearly three months later, Davis cautiously declares that years of persistent protests may be paying off. According to the activist who was featured in a Nightline documentary on police racial practices guilty consciences and tied tongues, particu- larly in New Jersey law-enforcement circles, finally are succumbing to an outcry for justice. On July 1, nine Newark police officers were suspended, allegedly for beating a prisoner and provoking other detainees to assault him by telling them that the man, who was awaiting trial, had sexually assaulted a juvenile.
Appearing at a news conference, grim-faced police director Joseph J. Santiago declared that the department would not condone "blue walls of silence," adding that an internal investigation, when completed, will be forwarded to the Essex County prosecutor to determine whether criminal charges against the officers should be pursued.
"We will not tolerate brutality; we will not tolerate silence about brutal-ity," Santiago said.
Despite speculation that the officers "ratted" on each other, Davis does not share Santiago's exuberance about demolishing the blue wall. "The blue wall is hardening," he contends. "There are those who believe that it is crumbling; I argue that the wall is not crumbling. It's just that some truth is able to seep through the bricks in mortar that has not dried yet."
Disclosure about the assault on the alleged pedophile, who is Latino, comes amid heightened concern in New Jersey about police treatment of minorities. Federal civil rights prosecutors have been negotiating a possible settlement with the state regarding racial profiling by state troopers. Activists like Davis also have been prodding the Justice Department to investigate the circumstances of a chase and fatal shooting last month of a black motorist by state and local police in Parsippany. In addition, a grand jury has been investigating two troopers who shot at four unarmed minority men during a traffic stop on the New Jersey Turnpike in April 1998.
Across the Hudson, Davis is closely monitoring the case of Yvette Walton, a 12-year NYPD veteran who was fired a half hour after she testified before the City Council on April 19 that her old outfit, the mostly white Street Crime Unit, discriminated against black and Hispanic officers and routinely violated citizens' rights by searching them without justification. Last month, Walton filed a federal lawsuit against the city, charging that she was dismissed in retaliation for criticizing the department.