10 Feb Dadda

The kindest, most genuine man I’ve ever known carried a gun. My Daada (paternal grandfather) was born in India, sometime around December 1918. Record keeping was of no importance when the family elders documented everything in an oral history, sharing stories at multi-generational family gatherings, and offering up morsels to the younger generation to carry away and savor.

Daada always had to work harder, prove himself worthy, be the best in sportsmanship, scholastics, and citizenship because the color of his skin- brown. Even though the Indian population was much larger and more diverse than the Whites ruling them, it was a given fact that “they”, the “other”, had to prove themselves worthy to exist. The Indian Muslim community was a smaller subgroup within the larger Indian population.

“Daada always had to work harder, prove himself worthy, be the best in sportsmanship, scholastics, and citizenship because the color of his skin- brown.”

One day while in college, playing soccer for the Moradabad, Indian team against the British Force, India’s British Inspector General called for my Daada during a break. He inquired about his interests and future referring to him as “son”. Daada shared that he would complete his studies and join the railway like his father before him becoming a Railway Inspector.

At a time, where opportunities were far and few between for Indians let alone Muslim Indians, my Daada knew precisely that he had it good- he was attending college, had future job prospects, and came from a supportive family. India’s British Inspector General had other ideas for my Daada. He wanted him on the Indian Police Force.

Having worn lenses since childhood, Daada had no chances of being in any law enforcement position because perfect vision was a requirement. There would be no chances at the police force, army, or military of any kind or so he thought.

There is no such thing as luck. There is hard work that meets at the crossroads of opportunity. You could have the opportunity but not put in the work or put in the hard work but never have the opportunity. This was my Daada’s crossroads. The Inspector General wrote a letter “exempting” Daada’s vision as a requirement to the Academy.

He finished college and headed over to the Police Academy where he would be the only Muslim Indian there. He completed the academy, earning the highest marks out of all the cadets. He was only 20 years old.

His rise in the Indian Police Force was steady because he earned the reputation of being fair to all who crossed his path. From the petty thief to the nightman who guarded the jail, from the Inspector Generals to the new recruits, Sifaat Syed was respected because he respected others. There was no ego. There was no power. There was dignity. There was humanity.

There are police officers that carry themselves in the same manner as my Daada. They walk the halls of their police station, past pictures of their fallen comrades who are never to return to their loved ones. They see the worst in the human psyche and keep going, sometimes leaning on each other for support. They form a bond to protect and serve their community. They risk their lives for me, for you, for us.

“There was no ego. There was no power. There was dignity. There was humanity.”

And then there are the few who take their oath to protect and serve and discard it with their humanity. Their ego takes over. They no longer believe in justice but only in themselves. Due to the actions of some police officers, all are being targeted.

It is the same on the other side of the human experience. Black men fear their lives when they come in contact with law enforcement. They walk the streets of their own neighborhood, past homes of fallen comrades who are never to return to their loved ones. They see the worst in the human psyche and keep going, sometimes leaning on each other for support. They form a bond to protect and serve their community.

There isn’t much difference in the two experiences. Do not only walk in the other person’s shoes, but put on their skin, breathe their history, feel their perspective, look with their eyes, capture their beating heart, and then maybe, guided by love, you will see that there is no them and us. There is no ego. There is no power. There is only humanity.

-Samita Syed-Needelman