The Thin Blue Line: From Honor to Division

Justice, Community, and the Meanings We Carry

My father was a police officer. For years, a small black emblem with a single blue line rested quietly on his car. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t political, it was personal. A silent tribute to those who gave everything, some in the line of duty, some in moments of unbearable quiet. It was a symbol of sacrifice, of service, of deep and unshakable bonds between those who choose to protect.

Back then, it felt like something sacred, carried by officers, their families, and those who knew the cost of the badge. It meant showing up with courage, meeting strangers in their hour of need, and standing between danger and someone else’s life.

But today, when I see the Thin Blue Line, I don’t feel that same reverence. I see it beside political slogans, beneath Trump banners, alongside symbols of division and hate. I see it waved not in remembrance but in defiance, especially when Black and Brown communities cry out for justice, for dignity, for breath.

What once was a sacred symbol of support and honor has, for many, become a symbol of racism and hate. I know why it hurts. I’ve listened; I’ve stood beside people whose lived experience with law enforcement is fear, not safety, who see that emblem and feel their grief dismissed, their pain politicized. And they’re not wrong to feel that way.

The emblem that once meant solidarity now carries a weight I can no longer bear. It was taken, repurposed, and wrapped in a message it was never meant to send. While I still know and love many in law enforcement, I believe deeply in their capacity for good; this symbol no longer serves them. It doesn’t build trust, it doesn’t bring healing, it doesn’t unite.

Once, when I saw that symbol, I felt a sense of safety. I believed it marked a place of calm, a person who would help. But now, if I see it hanging outside a house, I hesitate. My trust falters. That loss is devastating.

If we genuinely want to support those who protect and serve with courage and compassion, we need to return the symbol to its rightful place. Let the flag be held once more by the people it was meant to honor. Let the rest of us raise the American flag, one that belongs to all of us, and recommit ourselves to justice, to accountability, to community.

I don’t carry hate in my heart for people, and certainly not for officers. I was raised by one. But I do hate what this symbol has become. I hate that something once rooted in honor and sacrifice now stirs fear, division, and pain. I hate that it’s been used to shut down conversations we desperately need to have. And I mourn what’s been lost. We can honor good officers without disregarding injustice. We can believe in safety and still demand accountability. We can love our communities enough to expect better for everyone. We can give that symbol back to the people it was meant for and, in doing so, maybe start to repair what’s been broken, not with silence, not with slogans, but with truth, courage, and with each other.