Mathew Bianchi took routine traffic stops seriously and handed out tickets regardless of people’s connections within the Police Department. He says he was punished for it.

The police unions distribute the wallet-sized courtesy cards — sometimes referred to as “get out of jail free” cards — to members, who in turn pass them out to friends and family. Bianchi had been instructed to let card carriers off without a ticket.

By the time he pulled over the Mazda in November 2018, drivers were handing Bianchi these cards six or seven times a day. But this woman’s card was a little older, a little tattered-looking. It was difficult to make out the contact information of the officer who had given it to her, which is usually written on the card’s back. So Bianchi did the wrong thing, which is to say, the right thing: He wrote the woman a ticket.

Though Bianchi didn’t know it then, he had just begun what would become a yearslong struggle to do the job the way he thought it should be done. He had inherited his moral obligations — and a strong dose of stubbornness — from his grandmother, who raised him on Staten Island. But he had no family in the Police Department, and no one who could tell him what to do when its leadership began to turn against him.

The month after he stopped the Mazda, a high-ranking police union official, Albert Acierno, got in touch. He told Bianchi that the cards were inviolable. He then delivered what Bianchi came to think of as the “brother speech,” saying that cops are brothers and must help each other out. That the cards were symbols of the bonds between the police and their extended family and friends.

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  • AbidanYre@lemmy.world
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    10 months ago

    This says she had an old beat up card, but the article says she didn’t have one at all.

    • MicroWave@lemmy.worldOP
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      10 months ago

      Different stops.

      By the time he pulled over the Mazda in November 2018, drivers were handing Bianchi these cards six or seven times a day. But this woman’s card was a little older, a little tattered-looking.

      The stop that ended Bianchi’s career in the traffic division was unremarkable.

      It was Aug. 31, 2022. He was parked above Hylan Boulevard, and a woman wearing scrubs passed him in her car. She appeared to be using her phone. Bianchi pulled her over on a side street.

      The woman didn’t put up much of a fuss, Bianchi said. She didn’t have a courtesy card and she didn’t drop any names. Bianchi wrote her a ticket and sent her on her way.