‘This is a good kid. He’s not the guy.’

As a journalist – and a one-time police reporter – I’ve worked closely with officers and have been exposed to the real threats and issues they face.

As a man, my experience with police has been somewhat different.

Covering cops in Connecticut gave me a ground-level perspective that most people – black or white – never see.

I’ve observed officers whose analysis of the human condition rivals that of any sociologist. They listen to and comfort victims. They counsel troubled teens instead of slapping on the cuffs and pouring them into the broken criminal justice system. They approach people with body language and words designed to de-escalate, not intimidate.

They protect and serve.

Other officers seem to have lost their way while wearing a badge. I encountered a few – it was only a few, but a few is too many – with numerous citizen complaints in their files, with charges ranging from verbal harassment to corruption to severe physical abuse.

A couple of the officers in that Connecticut town were involved in questionable fatal shootings. Their colleagues would tell me in confidence that they had to keep an eye on those guys. But they remained on the force, on the street and in our communities, especially in poor and minority communities.

They did not protect and serve.

Now here is where it gets complicated.

‘I’m talking about DWB’

My father was a housing inspector in New York City before he retired. He carried a gun and a badge. I have relatives, friends, fraternity brothers in all levels and aspects of law enforcement.

Yet, those close connections have not insulated me from developing more than a healthy skepticism of law enforcement.

I have been pulled over by police at least once each year since I earned my license at age 17. I’m now 52.

Now, I’m not talking about the time I earned a speeding ticket on the way to Florida or the time I forgot to renew my car tag. I should have been pulled over for those lapses in judgment.

I’m talking about DWB (driving while black) – those bogus stops when officers have told me that “I fit the description,” or “there was suspicious activity in the area.” Or bluntly ask, “Do you live around here?” “Where are you going?”

No tickets or citations, just an opportunity for them to look inside my car. The episode usually ends when they spy my newspaper ID badge.

No explanations. No apologies.

One of my earliest encounters with police was also the most frightening. At 17, I was driving to my home in Queens from my job in an adjacent town on Long Island. I was about a mile from home when I was startled by police siren blasts and a sea of flashing blue lights.

Several officers surrounded my car as one screamed for me to “get the F out of the vehicle.” I nodded and immediately opened the door. I was pulled from the driver’s seat and then slammed onto the hood of the car.

One officer, maybe two, rifled my pockets, throwing my wallet on the hood. An officer had his elbow on my back and pressed my head to the car with his other hand.

A supervisor approached, looked at me and then told the officers, “This is a good kid. He’s not the guy.”

As quickly as they appeared, they evaporated.

No explanations. No apologies.

I was left on the side of the road in the dark. My entire body shook for several minutes. I stood there and cried until I regained enough internal strength to drive home. I never told my parents.

Was I protected? Was I served?

No more. We have to fix this

In college, one of my fraternity brothers and I were on our way to our annual participation in the March of Dimes Walkathon.

When we entered the subway station, I noticed a figure lurking near the token booth. (Growing up in New York City, you learn to catch lurking figures with your peripheral vision).

The figure turned out to be a white police officer in his late 50s, early 60s. We looked over to him as he emerged from the shadows and he said, “What the hell are you looking at, nigger? Move on.”

Were we protected? Were we served?

So, here is the problem for communities and for the country: this issue has to get fixed right away.

I have tremendous appreciation for what police officers have to deal with each day. Yet, my personal interactions with them have led to cynicism and anger.

We cannot have any more black men left shaking in the darkness.