Anthony W. Haddad
The Millennial View

For almost two years, I’ve written on the crime beat in Fresno — missing persons, homicides, arsons, DUIs. The stories that trend. The headlines that flash across Facebook timelines and rattle people just enough to comment, but not enough to change.

But a recent ride-along with Fresno PD’s Southeast District made one thing clear: The headlines only scratch the surface. The truth is messier, more human, and a lot harder to condense into a push alert.

I won’t name the officer I shadowed but I will say this: From the moment she handed me a spare set of keys to the patrol car, walked me through the onboard tech (which felt more like mission control than a cruiser), and casually showed me how to unlock the non-lethal shotgun, I knew I was in for a night very different from what I had imagined.

Right after she finished checking the patrol car, we got our first call. Lights on. Sirens wailing. My stomach in knots. She, meanwhile, was calm. Almost serene. She talked me through the situation — an apparent overdose. A man had taken too many mushrooms, jumped down some stairs, and was now naked and curled up on the floor of a southeast Fresno apartment.

I stepped in, took one look, and stepped right back out. I told myself, and the officers, the room was too cramped with emergency personnel inside for me to stay. But the truth? I panicked. My adrenaline spiked. That man on the floor wasn’t a headline. He was real. Vulnerable. And I wasn’t fully ready for it.

The officers were. They handled it without judgment. He was stabilized and taken by ambulance.

Call After Call After Call After Call

I thought that would buy us a break. I was wrong. We were off to the next call immediately.

This made me think that every time I see a cop behind me, my first thought is, “I’m about to get pulled over” while a chill of anxiety runs down my neck. But no, they’re not always watching me. Most times, they’re just trying to get to their next call, and I’m just in the way.

Next came a probation search where nearly 20 people were detained outside a home. Officers moved through the group, talking, joking, checking IDs. They found mice, gambling, and reports of possible weapons. A man with a felony warrant was arrested. But the tone wasn’t what you’d expect from a “bust.” It was professional. Human. Even warm, at times.

The way the officers spoke to those detained — joking with them, listening carefully — was a striking experience. I always thought police presence would terrify people in trouble with the law, but these officers managed to make it feel surprisingly welcoming. Their calm, warm approach even encouraged one nervous detainee, who had been swaying anxiously, to step forward and admit uncertainty about having a warrant.

And that humanity kept surfacing throughout the night.

Quiet Resolution for One of Our Loudest Crises

One call involved a son asking for help with his mother, who appeared to be suffering from schizophrenia. The responding officer didn’t escalate. He listened. He tried to relate. She ranted — about the police, the system, not having food, then suddenly about her large dinner — but the officers never raised their voices. Eventually, a mental health worker was called.

She kept telling the officers she wouldn’t go, that they’d have to force her out. I had my bodycam ready — she was showing signs she might put up a fight, and I was there, after all, for content. But instead of confrontation, the police calmed her so thoroughly and explained the situation so clearly that they didn’t need to place a finger on her. She agreed to go voluntarily and was taken to the hospital on a stretcher.

It was one of the quietest resolutions I’ve seen to one of the loudest crises we faced.

Patrolling the Streets Where Officers Know the Faces

Between calls, we patrolled Belmont Avenue, where officers are focused on addressing prostitution.

My officer pointed out familiar faces and houses, not with detachment, but with genuine care. She spoke about how the families who live there just want a safe place to raise their kids.

At one point, she pointed out a red car she sees all the time. I’ve heard the myth that red cars attract more attention from cops, and in that moment, I started to believe it (no more red cars for me).

What struck me most was how heartbreaking it is to see people resort to public sex acts out of desperation. The officer’s tone wasn’t cynical. It was protective. Hopeful. She wasn’t patrolling a problem, she was defending a community.

Who Do We Trust When the Whole Situation Is Murky?

Later, we responded to an assault near a laundromat where a man allegedly had tried to steal someone’s phone and struck a victim in the face. There were three men at the scene, all with limited English, all visibly shaken. The officers slowed everything down. They took their time. Calmed the scene. Built trust.

One of the men had at least three phones stuffed into one pocket. He wore dirty clothes and no shoes. The situation felt murky, and I found myself wondering, “Who do we trust here?” The suspect had already fled. I was caught in uncertainty and I was grateful not to be the one making the call. The officers were. And they handled it.

That’s the part we don’t see when we rely only on breaking news blurbs or Facebook comments for our crime coverage. We miss the quiet patience. The restraint. The nuance. We forget that not every call ends in sirens or arrests. That sometimes, policing is just listening. Sometimes, it’s being present while someone unravels.

The Humanity We Miss in Law Enforcement

During each call — and in the quietish moments between — I had the chance to connect with several officers, to see them not just as uniforms, but as people. The officer I rode with is a beautiful soul: a strong mother, a selfless presence. Hearing her life story only deepened my respect for her. The others I met had their own paths — one started with the Fresno County Sheriff’s Office, another is training for SWAT, one had just completed their first solo shift, one said they would have been a reporter if they weren’t a cop, and there are so many others I was able to talk to.

They weren’t angry or power-hungry. They were professionals doing a job — one rooted in public safety, not ego.

I’m not here to glorify law enforcement. Fresno PD, like any department, has real work to do when it comes to trust and accountability. But after that night, I can’t pretend the full picture fits neatly into a press release.

And maybe that’s what our generation needs to wrestle with most.

My generation, millennials, were raised on a steady diet of “tough on crime” policies, only to grow up and demand criminal justice reform. We know institutions fail people, but we call 911 when danger knocks. We’re skeptical of authority, but we want to feel safe.

This ride-along reminded me that real public safety isn’t black and white. It’s gray. Complicated. It lives in the space between trauma and recovery, between enforcement and empathy.

And sometimes, the people behind the badge are trying to hold that gray space together.

—

Connect with Anthony W. Haddad on social media. Got a tip? Send an email.