Some of us got a small taste of it during the middle to late '60s and early 70s when some of us guys let our hair grow long. Then relations between us and the police changed -- not that they had been totally wonderful before we became "longhairs"; DWT (driving while teenage) had always aroused police suspicion and drew police attention.
But "going hippie" by growing long hair upgraded our treatment to full on being "hassled." Long hair to them was probable cause for a traffic stop, car search, pocket search, and being spoken to in the voice tone and attitude of "cop contempt." If we happened to let a bit of critical attitude show during our being hassled, we could get roughed up. I got cuffed, put in police cars (getting the "watch your head" trick while being guided into the back seat having my head banged into the top of the door.) From there we could find ourselves taken to police headquarters for "questioning."
Any of us who were caught "holding," being in possession of even microscopic quantities of weed -- like a "roach," the tiny end piece of a pot "joint" in your car ashtray -- it was weirdly amazing to see uniformed police officers fishing through the ashes in the car ashtray to find a tiny bit of evidence of being a "drug user" and thereby criminally liable, facing a trial where you could be defended by a bored going-through-the-motions public defender who might -- if your "karma" was really good -- get a deal to minimize the amount of incarceration time you'd have to do.
It was a teachable wake up call moment for a lot of the suburban raised white kid hippies. When black and Hispanic hippie freaks heard our stories, they would laugh and say that now we see what city life had been like for them all along. They told us to count ourselves lucky because we could cut our hair and stop wearing patched bell bottom jeans, but they could not remove their ethnicity.
Many like me followed the lead of David Crosby in the song "Almost Cut My Hair" and chose not to get barbered and "letting my freak flag fly."