The department also expanded random body-camera review.
Supervisors were required to examine contacts that ended without citations or arrests.
Warren explained the reasoning during a public meeting.
“If we only review the encounters producing enforcement, we miss how officers behave when suspicion turns out to be wrong.”
Isaiah thought that was one of the smartest sentences spoken during the entire process.
Many harmful encounters ended without arrest.
That did not mean nothing happened.
The department created youth-contact guidance too.
Officers could investigate crime.
Teenagers did not receive immunity because of age.
But supervisors emphasized explaining the reason for a stop early whenever circumstances allowed.
Ambiguity created fear on both sides.
A Black teenager carrying a skateboard should not have to guess whether a question was casual, investigative, or the first step toward detention.
A police officer should not have to rely on vague commands when a clear explanation could resolve the situation faster.
Not every problem was solved by communication.
Many were made worse by its absence.
Harrison Skatepark changed more slowly.
For several months, uniformed officers avoided entering unless dispatched.
Some residents complained police had become afraid to enforce rules.
Skaters complained they had finally been left alone.
Chief Warren disliked both extremes.
He assigned Sergeant Maya Franklin, a Black officer with twelve years on the job, to meet with skaters, parents, recreation staff, and neighboring businesses.
Her first meeting was awkward.
Teenagers expected a lecture.
Business owners expected complaints to be dismissed.
Franklin did neither.
She asked what problems actually existed.
Graffiti outside permitted areas.
Litter.
Occasional fights.
Cars speeding through the lot.
People smoking near younger children.
Stolen bikes had occurred twice.
The problems were real.
So was distrust.
Franklin developed a simpler patrol plan.
Officers entering the skatepark for routine checks would walk rather than slowly circle the lot in cruisers.
They would greet staff.
If investigating specific property, they would begin with the report details rather than broad ownership assumptions.
The rules sounded almost laughably basic.
Sometimes basic was exactly what had been missing.
Jalen met Sergeant Franklin during a youth forum.
He did not want to attend.
Renee made him.
Isaiah refused to help.
“That is between you and Mom.”
“Coward.”
“Federal jurisdiction ends at Renee Brooks.”
At the meeting, Franklin asked Jalen what he wanted police to understand.
He gave a teenager’s answer first.
“Leave us alone.”
Several people laughed.
Franklin did too.
Then she asked again.
“What do you actually want?”
Jalen thought.
“If you think I stole something, tell me what you’re looking for.”
Franklin nodded.
“Don’t just look at me and decide the thing I have is probably not mine.”
That became the sentence she wrote on the whiteboard.
Another skater added that officers should not assume somebody recording them was interfering.
A business owner asked skaters not to treat every officer question as harassment.
The conversation became uncomfortable enough to be useful.
Nobody hugged afterward.
Nobody needed to.
Isaiah returned to Baltimore full-time.