Black People Are At Risk Every Moment Of Every Day
Black people are at risk every moment of every day. It does not matter who you are, where you are, or what you are doing. You could be sitting in your own home (Breonna Taylor), taking a jog (Ahmaud Arbery), or bird watching (Christian Cooper). Or, like George Floyd, you can be strangled to death by the police — for almost ten minutes, when you are in handcuffs, in broad daylight, on video, and with mortified citizens passionately bearing witness to the murder and imploring the police to stop.
Like most Black people, I learned that I was constantly at risk when I was a kid. I was walking to the corner store to get bread and juice for my parents. Undercover officers put a gun to my head, called me a drug dealer, and with wide grins and unfunny sarcasm conducted a dig-in-the pockets unlawful search. My parents responded by doubling down on “the talk” Black parents have with their children to keep them safe: keep your hands in sight; no quick movements; yes, I want you to know and invoke your constitutional rights, but first and foremost, I want you to come home alive.
But others told me that this was an isolated incident — a couple of bad cops. Some even persisted with this fiction after I was stopped twice again at gunpoint and countless other times. This fiction, this lie, ignores the history of this country. Racism is the connective tissue that runs through all of these ugly incidents. There is a straight line from 1857, when the Supreme Court in the Dred Scott case said that Black people have no rights which the white man is bound to respect. To the lynching of Emmett Till in 1955. To the killing of George Floyd last week.
I have spent much of my life fighting for police accountability. After the first stop on the way to the corner store, I filed a civilian complaint. A few years later, I helped lead student protests when Rodney King was assaulted. My first court case was a lawsuit on behalf of members of the Onondaga Nation against the New York State Police. State Troopers broke up a political protest with unlawful excessive force. During my time in public service, I prosecuted an FBI agent for lying and a sitting district attorney for official misconduct in connection with his so-called investigation of an officer who shot eight times at and killed an unarmed Black man. And, in my most painful professional moment, I watched a jury deliver a not guilty verdict in a case I oversaw where an NYPD officer killed an unarmed Black man. I was angry then, but never have I been as angry as the past seven days.
How could you not be angry? Not only is George Floyd dead, his criminal case is undercharged. The prosecution’s theory rests on the notion that Derek Chauvin acted unintentionally. Common sense defies that. The connection between George Floyd and Christian Cooper is undeniable. Amy Cooper, the white woman who made the fake weepy call to 911 claim, knows the reaction that the words “threatening Black man” bring out for the Derek Chauvins. But — even in the wake of George Floyd’s death — the NYPD mocked the possibility of arresting Amy Cooper. And, the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office stood idly by. Throughout it all, we have seen protestors treated with the type of unlawful force that my Onondaga Nation clients suffered, and we have seen emotion spill over into destructive acts that undermine the protest message and leave even more to rebuild in communities already sorely in need of more infrastructure.
I have been talking to my children about all of this. On Sunday, I attended virtual church and Sunday School and listened as my students processed the grim realities I learned long ago on my trip to the corner store. It was infuriating. But, it also was inspiring. Their wisdom, their clarity, their readiness to be drum majors for justice. My spirit was renewed. Painful and maddening and as futile as it may seem at times, we must continue to fight the good fight. We must do everything in our power so that our children are not having the same talk with their kids that our parents had with us. That means “an all of the above” approach: protest, vote, sue, prosecute, complete the census, and support our Black-owned businesses and institutions. We cannot grow weary in this fight. We owe it not only to ourselves, but to our children. As Frederick Douglass taught us, power concedes nothing without struggle.
“But those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not become weary, they will walk and not faint.”
- Isaiah 40:31
