For Officers of Color, George Floyd’s Killing Brought Layers of Complications

PORTLAND, Oregon -- They’ve been taunted as “sellouts'' for wearing a police uniform. They look around at roll calls and see few other officers or supervisors of color.

They’re Black officers who say they have had to work hard to find their bearings in a traditionally white profession.

But today, as a rising movement against police brutality and systemic racism rocks their cities, they face a new level of scrutiny, introspection and doubt.

In interviews with The Oregonian/OregonLive, seven Black officers from different agencies and stages in their careers talked about how the death of George Floyd has affected their lives, both on and off the job, over the past month and a half.

One wondered if it was time to turn in his badge. Another said the current climate has only bolstered his desire to serve as an officer. A third said Floyd’s case prompted her to remind officers under her command that they must speak up if they witness wrongdoing by another officer.

Most are disturbed that people are quick to generalize, stereotyping all officers as racist.

All said they carry the burden of their dual roles long after they remove their uniforms and are at home with family or friends. They face harassment both on and off the job and are struggling with mixed emotions of anger, frustration and sadness.

WILLIE HALLIBURTON, PORTLAND STATE UNIVERSITY POLICE CHIEF

Willie Halliburton said he was sickened when he watched the videotape of George Floyd calling out that he couldn’t breathe.

Floyd died May 25 after a white Minneapolis police officer knelt on his neck as the minutes ticked by and three other officers watched. They all face charges, the most serious – second-degree murder – against Derek Chauvin, the one who pinned a handcuffed Floyd to the ground with his knee.

Halliburton, 54, said he descended into a daze of depression and asked himself if he should quit. He retired from Portland police in 2016 after working just over 25 years and has been with Portland State’s campus police for four years.

“I cried like a baby. I broke down and wept,” Halliburton said. “First of all, for his family and having to go through that torture. Second, for 32 years I’ve given this profession everything I have, my heart, my soul.

“All the trust. All the commitment. All the promises I’ve made to the communities that I will make a difference in this world. All of that stuff was gone in a matter of 8 minutes and 46 seconds. I cried and I was questioning my future in this profession.”

About a week later, Halliburton awoke after working the graveyard shift to a call from the interim chief of the university police force: His promotion had been approved.

Halliburton thought he was shedding his sergeant’s stripes for those of lieutenant. Instead, he learned he was being named chief.

He was stunned but ecstatic. “I knew I’d have a chance,” he said, “to really make a difference now.”

He said he recognizes the profession must undergo an overhaul “to make sure this doesn’t happen again” and wants to be at the forefront of the reforms.

He steps into the top role as students have renewed calls to take guns away from university officers, a controversy that rose to the forefront after campus police two years ago shot and killed 45-year-old Jason Washington while trying to break up a chaotic fight outside a nearby bar. Washington had earlier confiscated a friend’s gun and was holding it when officers ordered him to drop it, then fired.

Late last year, the university agreed to pay $1 million to Washington’s family, with an agreement for additional training for campus police. A Multnomah County grand jury found no criminal wrongdoing by the officers involved in Washington’s death. Both have since left PSU’s force.

Halliburton said he supports keeping the university’s police force armed but will be open to hearing students’ concerns.

“We need to have armed police at PSU to keep the campus safe,” he said.

He advocates a policing culture centered on the relationships that officers form with the people they pledge to serve, he said. He wants the nine sworn officers and eight unarmed campus public safety officers under his command to work to earn the trust of PSU students.

When he started at the Portland Police Bureau, the agency drummed into officers “you have to protect yourself. You’ve got to go home at the end of the night,” he said.

But police shouldn’t be trained to look at everyone as a threat, particularly people of color, he said.

He remembered getting a call about 15 years ago from his then-19-year-old son after the teen was ordered to the ground by Portland police at gunpoint while he was running to catch a bus to get to a MAX train from his job at Nike. Police later told him that his son “matched the description” of a robbery suspect.

Officers need to be well-trained and more importantly, Halliburton said, they need to bring “good attitudes about who they serve and respect for who they serve.”

As a veteran officer, Halliburton said he’s developed a thick skin to the public backlash now directed at police but it’s more difficult for younger officers.

He draws from his days as a young officer in Portland in the early ’90s during the Rodney King race riots when people would sometimes hurl insults at him on the street for being a cop, he said.

“Knowing my intentions were different than what they were saying, I was not distracted by the noise,‘' he recalled. “I was still focused on my goal.”

He tells other officers not to take the insults they hear personally.

On a recent night, several students walked past the campus police office on Southwest Broadway returning from downtown protests and Halliburton said he thanked them for their activism. They seemed surprised, he said.

“A Black officer thanking us for standing up against police brutality? It’s all about admitting it, acknowledging it,” Halliburton said. “If it wasn’t for people protesting against injustice, I wouldn’t be where I am now.‘'

OREGON STATE POLICE SGT. YVETTE SHEPHARD

Struck by the silence of the three Minneapolis officers who didn’t intervene to stop George Floyd’s death, Yvette Shephard gathered the officers under her watch.

Over dinner at the state police Portland area command office, Shephard reminded them, particularly the newer ones, that they must speak up if they see another officer, even a higher-ranking supervisor, doing something wrong.

“I wanted to make sure they know they do have a voice to tell a senior officer you need to step back,‘' she said. “That it’s your responsibility if you see something done incorrectly because you’re accountable for failing to respond.”

She said she told them if they saw her using excessive force: “I’d expect them to say, ‘Hey Sarge, step back, let me take care of this.’”

“Because,” Shephard said, “we have a responsibility to the citizens to use the least amount of force necessary to gain voluntary compliance … You have to always stand on the right side of right, even if people disagree with you.”

Shephard, 54, said Floyd’s death at the hands of police “triggered a lot of anger'' that she’s still trying to process. She knew she needed to talk to other officers about what happened.

What disturbs her most, she said, is lack of accountability for officers who use excessive force against people of color.

From the 2014 chokehold killing of Eric Garner by a New York City police officer to Floyd, “it’s a reoccurring nightmare,” she said.

“Seeing Black and brown people murdered and law enforcement is not being held accountable, that’s the part that triggers me the most,‘' she said. “I get that we have to make split-second decisions. But it bothers me that we keep seeing these awful cases and we’re having Black and brown people who are the victims."

She said she believes some officers have a tendency to double down and let their anger overtake judgment when a witness or suspect challenges their direction or command. Officers need to know that’s not tolerated, she said.

Born and raised in Portland, Shephard still lives in the city. She ended up in police work because a state police detective would come every couple of weeks into the Northwest Natural Gas Community Credit Union where she worked and urge her to apply to be a trooper.

She did and fell in love with the job once she was trained and working on the street, calling it a “perfect fit.”

Serving as a minister on the side, she said she draws on the same life and church skills in her work. “This job is just an extension of what I do,” she said.

But her 26-year career hasn’t always been easy.

She spent three years stationed in St. Helens, where a city official told her that he was a “redneck'' and St. Helens was a “redneck town,” insinuating “what the heck was a woman of color doing out there?” Shephard said.

“I didn’t know if I should be on guard,” she said.

She’s been called a traitor to her race, she said. Others have told her that “good white guys are out of a job'' because she was hired as a trooper.

“If I take off my uniform, I’m still a person of color,” Shephard said. “Because of the color of my skin, I’m still hated. I don’t get that relief.”

On a recent day, she heard someone outside her home yell “FU Police!” as she lay in bed and figured they’d noticed the marked patrol car parked in her driveway.

She wondered: “What if I got out of bed and stepped outside? Would they say, ‘Oh my God, sorry!‘’ or would it not make a difference and I’d get an “all cops are (expletive).”

Five days after Floyd’s death, Shephard posted on her Facebook page:

“When you say “F@&$ the police” “Kill the police” are you talking only about white police or black police too? Imagine what they are going through right now. To live as Black person in America, To live as a Cop in America, and then To Live as a Black Cop in America. The trifecta of hate, pain, bias and discrimination. Has anyone checked in on them yet? Their pain matters as well.”

PORTLAND POLICE SGT. ISRAEL HILL

Israel Hill grew up in Seattle and said he became a police officer because he wanted to change people’s lives for the better.

“It was a way for me to hear people and find ways to solve a problem,” the 35-year-old said.

He joined the Police Bureau six years ago after working as a gang outreach worker in the city. He’s volunteered as a Jefferson High School football coach for about seven years, served as a youth pastor for a local church and offers free barber service on the side.

Hill said he can’t believe that any police officer condones what happened to George Floyd.

“My heart hurts for people who have been hurt by police,‘' Hill said. “There are families here in Portland who felt like their lives or a loved one’s lives were negatively affected by police. I want to hear from those people.”

He said he’s frustrated that much of the bureau’s resources in the last month have been dedicated to protest coverage. He doesn’t agree with calls for defunding police and said he doesn’t like to come to work “with all this tension.”

“We should be spending time, energy and money figuring out what the community believes needs to be changed,” he said.

He remains a strong believer, he said, in the need for police to intervene to protect victims of violent crimes. But he thinks the bureau must strive for real community-based policing where an officer gets to know the people in a neighborhood, and business owners and residents know their district cop.

“When violence occurs, they need someone to step in. People should not be able to do wrong to other people,‘' he said. “I want to do this job the right way. I want to listen to people. I love people genuinely.”

He wants officers to listen to what many people are saying now, whether it’s concerns about racial profiling or police use of excessive force. “Not to tell them they’re wrong but ask them, ‘Why do you feel that way?”

As a sergeant, that’s his instruction to his officers: “Take time to talk to people and legitimize the community’s concerns. … It’s now more important than ever.”

“I don’t think anybody has denied that people in Black communities have been profiled,” he said.

He’s among them, he said. As a high schooler in Seattle, he experienced the shopping-while-Black surveillance of clerks who singled him out because of his race.

For now, Hill encourages officers at roll call before they head out on patrol to try to be positive and approachable.

“When you have safe opportunities to do so, talk when you can, and show people you really care,‘' he said. “When you are genuine, people know.”

PORTLAND POLICE CMDR. MIKE LEASURE

Just sworn in as a commander, Mike Leasure is assigned to run Central Precinct, becoming the first person of color to lead the downtown office in at least three decades.

He takes over as the Justice Center, where the precinct is housed on the first floor, has become a flashpoint in the last month for local protesters demonstrating against police violence and racism in widespread national outrage over George Floyd’s death.

Leasure, 44, wants people to know there’s more to officers than the badge they wear.

“Of course, I support Black Lives Matter. I’m African American,” he said. “Of course, I support law enforcement. I’m a police officer. What gets lost in this is those things aren’t mutually exclusive. You’re not one or the other. People need to understand it’s complicated.”

He has a middle school-age daughter who hugs him when he’s about to leave for work, he said, telling him she worries if he’s “able to just walk into the police building safely.”

“I’ve sworn service to this city for over 20 years,” Leasure said. “We’re people, you know. I have a wife. I have a mother. I have a sister. I have friends and family who all are experiencing this with me. That’s what gets lost in all of this.”

His father is Black; his mother Korean. He was born in Korea but lived in Europe and moved to the United States by age 5, as his dad was in the military. He attended high school in Tacoma and became the first in his family to attend college.

He majored in criminal justice and sociology and played basketball at Gonzaga University.

In the summer, he worked at his mom’s convenience store in Gresham. It was there that a Portland police officer dropped off an application, suggesting Leasure apply. Leasure was considering applying to the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, but his mother urged him to fill out the police application.

His maternal grandmother, distrustful of police, didn’t support Leasure’s career choice, he said.

Now, Leasure said, he tries to provide a sounding board for other officers of color because there are so few in the bureau’s command staff. After new Police Chief Chuck Lovell, Leasure is the second highest-ranking person of color.

He recently counseled a rookie Black cop who was standing guard outside the Justice Center while demonstrators on the other side of the chain-link fence barrier yelled vulgar chants.

One white protester shouted that the officers were racist, he said.

“Here you are an African American officer from Portland wanting to serve your community and having someone across from you, a white person, accusing you of being racist,” Leasure said.

“It’s tough stuff to process. … We just talk about how a lot of this stuff is directed at the uniform.”

Leasure said he wished people wouldn’t lump all law enforcement officers together and that goes for reforms, as well: Changes sought here should be appropriate for Portland and not because they may be a good idea in some other state.

He looks to the community, he said, to engage in conversation to help reshape policing.

MULTNOMAH COUNTY SHERIFF’S CAPT. DERRICK PETERSON

Two weeks ago, Derrick Peterson, as president of the local chapter of the National Organization of Black Law Enforcement Executives, invited officers and civilian employees of color working in public safety to meet for dinner at Vancouver Avenue First Baptist Church in Portland.

“Standing Together,” the event flier read.

Sitting around tables, they shared how the videotaped death of George Floyd has affected them.

“You walk into a room of law enforcement that are all people of color and you’re going, ‘Where have all you guys been?’” Peterson said. “It can be extremely lonely when there’s only one or two of you who you can relate to within your own agency. And, all of a sudden you got 60 people of color all together in the same room.”

He said he hopes to break down the silos and give officers of color a safe space to share their concerns.

People were in tears, he said. They talked about their own experiences being racially profiled and getting stopped by other officers because they’re Black. They grappled with whether they’ve made a difference in their communities, questioning their roles as police officers, he said.

“I can pull this uniform off and it doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “As soon as I leave out of here without a uniform, when those lights go on and I’m getting stopped, I’m just as scared as if I wasn’t in law enforcement. What do I do? How do I act? Keep your hands on the steering wheel. I’ve been stopped as a captain, and that same stuff goes through your head. It gets very scary and sometimes you wonder, so what’s my effectiveness as a captain?... Have I made a difference?”

Peterson is one of two ranking officers of color in the Sheriff’s Office. Lt. Vera Pool is expected to retire soon, and Peterson himself has enough years on the job to retire if he wants.

“At that point, you will have no one in top command structure that’s a person of color. And you need that balance in your organization,” he said.

Police and sheriff’s offices must make it a priority to attract more officers of color as part of any reforms, he said. Without “a voice that sees things in a different perspective with a different mindset,” an agency will suffer a crippling void going forward, he said.

They also must hold their officers accountable when they violate policies or use excessive force, Peterson said.

“How far is the agency committed to actually drilling that into the DNA of their staff? We’re all evolving as people,” he said, “and if you think you’ve stopped learning, that’s a problem."

Peterson, 57, was born in Portland and lives here still. He has spent a little over 33 years with the Sheriff’s Office. He served as chief over the corrections division for about a year and is now captain of auxiliary services, responsible for the agency’s procurement.

He said he hasn’t experienced a climate like today.

He tells other officers, “Let’s just do our job the best we can and communicate the best we can. That’s how policing should be anyway – whether in a critical situation or during this Black Lives Matter movement.”

PORTLAND POLICE OFFICER DANIEL TRUMMER

When the George Floyd video surfaced on social media, Daniel Trummer couldn’t believe what he was watching.

“You see him clearly asking for help and at the end, you literally see someone die in front of you,” Trummer said.

He brimmed with anger, disappointment, disgust.

“It’s tough. You put on this uniform every day with the best intentions of making a positive impact on your community,” he said. “It’s thousands of miles away and it doesn’t matter. It clearly impacts the profession as a whole.”

Trummer, 34, has nearly five years on the job. His father is Ethiopian, his mother German. He was born and raised in Germany until he was 16, then did an exchange program at a high school in Seattle. He went to college in Chicago and met his wife, who is from Portland. They have two children. His in-laws are both retired Portland cops.

He recently got word from Mayor Ted Wheeler that his role as a school resource officer at Jefferson and Benson high schools would end. During the course of the protests, he was reassigned to patrol at downtown’s Central Precinct, the target of vandalism and graffiti by some demonstrators.

He’s spent 30 consecutive days stationed outside the Justice Center, doing precinct security, typically right at the fence surrounding the building when it was up. One shift lasted 19 hours, from 6 a.m. to 1 a.m.

He recognizes policing must change, but officers right now are tired and “emotionally drained,” putting in long hours and facing abuse from demonstrators, night after night. The Police Bureau faces more than half a dozen lawsuits from protesters and others alleging excessive force stemming from the police tactics used to disperse crowds.

“It’s wearing on people,” Trummer said. “There’s many hard-working people I work with, and they’re kind of defeated.”

He believes city leaders “just rushed a lot of decisions” and that students, particularly those of color, will suffer in the end because their connections with school officers disappeared so suddenly. When police are called to a school on a fight, for example, “it’s going to be somebody they don’t know” responding, he said.

“I feel all the noise going on right now is blocking out the more quiet, thoughtful opinions,” Trummer said. “Kids are probably going to be arrested more now because patrol doesn’t have the time or resources or training to spend time to consider an alternative and get kids to meet to work out a problem and will take a student to (juvenile detention) on an assault 4 instead.”

He called it “insane'' that the city also cut the Gun Violence Reduction Team, saying many of its officers had built relationships with at-risk kids with ties to gangs. Some of the program’s leading critics have long complained that the team unfairly targeted youths of color for enforcement.

“These decisions have a ripple effect on the communities that we’re protesting for,” Trummer said. “All I’m asking for is a conversation. There’s none being had right now. … You can’t just go off this national narrative and make local decisions without considering the communities most affected."

And he said he worries about how the Police Bureau will attract and hire more officers of color, especially with the recent budget cuts. The bureau has halted hiring, and about 35% to 40% of the 350 candidates who had applied recently and were going through the testing and backgrounding phase were people of color, according to police.

Trummer sounds frustrated and tired. But he said the current challenges have only “solidified my purpose in this career.”

“More than ever, we need more people of color to do this job. When you look at a cop, you want to be able to see yourself. You want to be able to relate to police,” he said. “I can’t just cut out and say this is too much. I’m trying to encourage other people to put in for this job.

“I want to have a positive impact on this world. I think it’s a great platform to do that. When people are at their worst and being able to bring some quiet to the storm, to me it’s an honor.”

RETIRED PORTLAND POLICE SGT. GEORGE WEATHEROY JR.

George Weatheroy Jr. said he remembers feeling that some white officers seemed comfortable taking orders from a Black man when he was a supervisor in Portland’s homicide division.

“I don’t want to paint a picture that all police officers are bad because I know a majority of them are decent people,” Weatheroy said. But there are still some police officers with extreme prejudice against Black people, he said.

He hopes for real change in the wake of George Floyd’s death, with white people suddenly having the “courage and willingness” to discuss the “uncomfortable truths” of systemic racism.

One of those truths, he said, is that while the focus now is rightly on people of color dying at police hands, across the nation “police … are assaulting and abusing these citizens a thousand times more often than killing them.”

To survive and change, the profession needs more officers of color with college degrees and more officers of color serving as field training officers, he said.

“The days of hiring the power hungry, arrogant, racially biased police need to be over,” he said.

Weatheroy, 63, retired from the Police Bureau after 25 years and then worked six years as security director for Portland Public Schools. He is now fully retired and living in Arizona.

New and veteran officers should have to spend time with community members from various cultures to hear their historical perspectives, stories and concerns to help them develop empathy, he said.

This may help “reduce the fear that many white officers possess as it relates to engaging with citizens of color,‘' he said.

Residents should be involved in interviewing and hiring police recruits, Weatheroy said.

“One can teach police tactical skills,” he said, “but one either possesses compassion and sincere empathy, or they don’t. … Community trust is earned, not just expected because of a uniform and a badge.”

-- Maxine Bernstein

Email at [email protected]; 503-221-8212

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