A normal day. Until two siblings are accused of crimes they didn’t commit. Come Home Safe explores the pain, the truths, and the hopes that come with growing up as a person of color in America, as well as why “the talk” and discussions about social justice are so important in the community.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and and an excerpt from Brian G. Buckmire’s Come Home Safe, which is out February 7th.
When Reed and Olivia left home, they never imagined they’d find themselves questioned, searched, and thrown to the ground by police looking for suspects in recent crimes. As their worst fears become reality, they must find a way to “prove” their innocence and make it home safe once again.
From ABC News legal analyst and NYC Legal Aid Society public defender Brian Buckmire, this compelling story draws from real-life advice, lessons, and conversations with attorneys, law enforcement, and the wrongfully accused to help turn the whispers and family discussions about racial inequality and mistreatment into wider conversations, healing, and one day … change.
“THE POLICE ARE ON THEIR WAY,” Olive says to Reed. “In the meantime, why don’t you start recording? Let’s not wait till we know what kind of police interaction this is going to be. If things go well, then we can delete the video. But if it’s negative, then we have a full video of what happened. We don’t want people to say, ‘Well we don’t know what happened before,’ if something goes wrong and it becomes our word against the officers’.”
Reed nods and holds up his phone, pressing Record.
“Hello, miss, can we have a word with you, please?”
Olive looks up to see an officer walking onto the curb toward them. The woman is still screaming, waving her hands in the air as she speaks to another officer, who is struggling to keep up.
“What’s your name?” the officer asks softly.
Does she just stay quiet? Ask for a lawyer? Hope her mom gets Reed’s message in time and rushes over? Olive runs through all of her options. “Ask for a lawyer and don’t talk to cops without us,” Olive remembers her parents telling her? What do I do? What do I do? Wait for Mom, ask for a /lawyer and say nothing else, or do something different altogether? She kept coming back to the same three choices.
She glances over at Reed. He’s filming her conversation with the cop, fear and worry etched in his face. She doesn’t want him to speak up. They’ll treat a teenage boy in a track suit harsher than they would treat a little girl, Olive thinks. If I stay quiet, who here will speak up if they believe the woman and nothing else? Who here will stand up for Reed? Am I not my brother’s keeper?
“Olive. My name is Olive, sir,” she responds. “And this is my brother, Reed,” Olive adds, pointing at Reed and his camera. The officer looks at Reed; the cut on his cheek still looks raw.
“Well, Olive it’s nice to meet you. My name is Officer Rob Smalls. I’m sure you saw, but this woman waved us down and told us you stole her cell phone from this table over here. Do you know anything about that?” The officer stands tall in front of Olive, looking her up and down as if he’s searching for something. Olive pauses a moment. He didn’t even ask about Reed, she thinks. This cop rolled up and saw one person screaming, uninjured, and another with a visible wound. And he doesn’t even ask about how the person got hurt?
“I know nothing about her phone. My brother and I came in to order drinks. I sat down to have a drink while my brother used the bathroom next door. Then she came screaming at me, demanding that she have my cell phone because she said I—”
“When did you get to the café?” the officer says, interrupting.
“Excuse me?” Olive says.
“When did you get to the café?” the officer repeats.
“I don’t know the exact time, maybe ten minutes ago now?” Olive responds.
“Did you see a phone when you got here?”
Wait. Olive plays the officer’s question back in her head. Is he trying to interrogate me? Like I took the phone? Does he think I’m a thief? As her mind races through what is going on, her eyes catch sight of a little black box fixed to the officer’s chest. She realizes something.
“Your light isn’t on,” Olive says.
“What do you mean, my light isn’t on?” the officer asks.
Olive remembers her dad’s office door. It’s always closed when he’s watching camera footage or listening to 911 calls. She always wants to see what’s happening in those videos, but Dad says “it’s confidential” or “you’re too young.” He’s told her about body-worn cameras and how important video of any kind is to his job. Dad explained that in New York City, and many cities around the country, officers wear body cameras. These cameras are meant to show what happens between officers and everyday people. Because for far too long, when someone was arrested, it was their word against the cops’ . . . cops are people, and like people, they don’t always tell the truth. “Technology, smart phones, and the affordable portable cameras in the hands of people who are overpoliced is bringing their experiences in front of millions, regardless of where or who they are,” Dad had said. “These aren’t just stories of officers abusing their power, planting drugs, and committing murder that have been told in communities for decades anymore. Now, there are videos the world can see. The deaths of people like Eric Garner, George Floyd, and Ahmaud Arbery became cases that changed a lot because of video.”
“I’m sorry, Officer, but my dad always says that if I’m talking to a police officer and I don’t see their camera on, I should politely ask them to turn it on. You have a body camera on your vest, and the light is not on. That means it isn’t recording, right?” Olive says, pointing at the camera on his chest.
“Is this something you feel needs to be recorded? I’m just trying to help out here.” The officer chuckles, not seeming to take her request seriously.
When Olive doesn’t respond, the officer presses a button on the camera, and a light turns on. “Miss, you are now being recorded,” he says, sighing theatrically.
