“No Justice, No Peace”

On Thursday evening in my hometown of Dallas, Texas, we saw what “no justice, no peace” looks like.

We’ve chanted it in rallies, we’ve spouted it as a casual formula, we’ve seen people we admire use the phrase — some of you might have it on a t-shirt. But as a nation, we have not seen what “no justice, no peace” really looks like since the L.A. riots. And, as white commentators delight in saying, that was black people and minorities “destroying their own neighborhood.” In Dallas, it wasn’t a black neighborhood being destroyed.

It was cops — almost certainly white cops — who were destroyed. And because cops are the emblem, the representative, the executioner, the word of the law, for those who believe in cops as the embodiment of American law, it was symbolically an assault on law, on order, on justice, on the “keepers of the peace.” (However, who they kept the peace for and who they kept the peace from — c.f., “broken windows” policing — is an important question.) For a moment, Dallas held its breath. My mother frantically tried to contact my aunt, a Dallas County Constable, to find out if her and her stepson — a DPD officer — were alive and alright. Thousands of other families did the same, trying to contact their own, police and protestors alike. It was chaos. No one knew what was happening or why. No one knew who was shooting, or how to make them stop. Every fifteen minutes you’d check the news and it seemed like the death count had increased. It was the deadliest night for police since September 11th, 2001. There was no justice, and there was no peace.

And then, coming quickly though it felt agonizingly slow, justice and peace were restored. As the narrative goes, justice and peace were restored by DPD’s weaponized drone, a bomb robot that was sent in to kill an armed gunman now believed to be the lone shooter in Dallas on Thursday night. We have not heard since then about the three other suspects held in police custody that night. But most Americans don’t need to, or want to, for that matter. Their justice and their peace were horribly, violently disturbed. It terrified them. Their justice and their peace were righteously, violently restored. It pacified them.

That’s how the process goes, for most Americans — particularly white Americans. Because life is violent, it is filled with sudden eruptions of violence, sharp knives puncturing the bubble of justice and peace that allows us to live our lives without rage or fear. We grieve for our losses, but the legal system channels our rage by bringing us justice, and the police assuage our fear by reestablishing peace. By taking the bad guy out and away. Then we can cry, give a long exhale, and, to the best of our ability, go on with our day.

But there are millions of Americans — myself included — who cannot believe in that process any longer. We see justice violated, again and again and again. Far from assuaging us, the presence of police unsettles our peace, again and again and again. We try to keep up with all the names but we lose track. We try to remember whose case was more justified and who had video and who only had an eyewitness and who had a rap sheet and who the police set up and who was mentally ill and who had a toy gun and who was carrying skittles but in the end it all blends together. It all boils down to the same thing: we don’t get justice, and we don’t have peace.

There’s an old Greek play about this, about how once upon a time, families sought justice for themselves, sought revenge. There was a time when “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth” wasn’t an incitement to violence — it was a call to at least be measured. At least slaughter one person who kills one of yours — don’t take out their whole house and burn down their fields too. In that day, there was no law but whatever revenge you could extract in response to your pain. And then, like a miracle, a god came down and put in place justice. In place of tribes warring with tribes, miraculously, we had courts, and laws, and rules, and regulations. It wasn’t just about our tribal rage, our desperate need to see people hurt the way they hurt us. The court channeled that rage, and in return, that rage upheld and motivated the court, motivated the pursuit of organized, formal, contained, rational justice. God put justice in league with peace, and it was good.

But what that old Greek playwright knew, and what we seem to have forgotten, is when the court no longer upholds justice, when the law no longer channels rage, all those old forces of hate and tribalism and pain and bloodlust come right back out again. If the court will not give us justice, we will make our own. And suddenly again, there is no justice — so there is no peace. Five police officers in Dallas lost their lives — if I knew their names I would tell you — because a segment of the population has become convinced that for us, there is no justice. And it’s gradual, it takes some time, but if a group of people believes there is no justice for long enough, sooner or later, there will be no peace. Just ask Syria, or Iraq, or Egypt, or Libya. An entire nation may be so starved for justice and for peace that it turns the entire ship of state into a machine dedicated to manufacturing what it believes to be justice: the Taliban, ISIS, Nazi Germany.

When peace leaves America, it won’t leave the way it did in those nations. No, we know that the United States, its military, and its militarized police are far too strong for that. Disruptions to America’s peace will come in ambushes, in sneak attacks, in guerrilla warfare. Or in armed riots, or in revolts, or in improvised explosive devices like the ones the Dallas shooter purportedly threatened police with. However it comes, police officers will always be on the front lines. Because that is their job — to be on the front lines. And it is a noble job, and a job that we rightly honor.

But when the justice they execute on the front lines is only for a segment of the population, they will be on the front lines for the backlash. They will be on the front lines for the attack. When we lose justice, police officers will be the first to lose their peace. And Dallas will happen again and again and again.

So what do we do? I don’t want to lose America’s peace. I love that peace. I love my relatives who are cops, I don’t want to see them suffer, either losing their own lives, or watching their colleagues, their friends die. My relatives who are Dallas police officers know every single cop who was killed in Thursday’s attack. If I were still living in Dallas, I might know them. I might have been at that protest. Police officers might have been working to save me when shots rang out.

But we have to start with being realistic. If there is no justice, there can be no peace. This war — like all the wars America faces in the 21st century — cannot be won with guns. (Or for that matter, with drones.) This is a war that can only be won by changing hearts and minds. America will have to convince its citizens — convince its black citizens — convince me that there is real, concrete, sincere commitment to restoring justice for black victims of unlawful and unjustifiable police murder of black civilians. Only that will guarantee the return of peace. Otherwise you can send drone bombs to kill as many U.S. citizens as you want — more people will always emerge who are so angry, so desperate, so deprived of justice, that they will be willing to make their own, even at the cost of their life.

What do we do? First — to my black people, for anyone who looked at the shooting in Dallas and couldn’t help but feel a tiny ember of satisfaction, however repressed or shameful, that for once, we were the ones doing the shooting rather than getting shot, here’s what we do: we don’t let up. No, I’m not advocating for murdering cops in the street. But I am advocating for “no justice, no peace.” Too many of us have lived with no justice and no peace since Michael Brown was gunned down, and we became conscious of the state murder of black people. But the violence is not new, the cameras are. Even more of us have lived with no justice and no peace every day of their lives. Many of us have always known that America does not offer justice or peace to her black citizens, and that the police are certainly not the agents of either. The police bring us injustice and war — literally war, they call it war — and I will not condemn you for wanting to bring it back to them.

All I can say is that I hope that there is a better way to disrupt their peace until we get justice. Maybe marching isn’t as effective as it once was, although we must march. Maybe writing letters to our Democratic political representatives isn’t as effective as it once was, white America having manufactured a Republican presidential candidate so odious and dangerous to us that we have no choice but to back anyone who will defend us from the Orange Mussolini. We must write letters. But we must go beyond that too. We have to boycott. We have to keep recording the police. I wish we could make the police feel as though they are under the same scrutiny and surveillance we’re under every time we walk past them looking too black (which is generally any black at all.) We have to take economic action because if there’s anything America understands, it’s money, and thanks to our great black heroes, black people do have more economic power in America than we’ve ever had before, even if the wealth gap remains.

More than that, we need to pressure, even antagonize our white friends. Sure, post all over social media about it but also talk to them about it. Force them into conversations. Force them to define where they stand, and if they fail to stand with you, ask them why. Ask them why they showed up at work on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday with no intention of talking about Alton Sterling or Philando Castile, but on Friday morning, they showed up ready to talk about the “national tragedy” that unfolded in Dallas. Once you’ve emailed your representative — ask them to do the same. If you join a boycott — ask them to do the same. Look for ways to tie their peace to our justice — without committing murder or advocating for it. Do that not for the sake of their comfort but for the sake of our humanity. But when attacks inevitably happen, don’t waste time apologizing for them, indirectly disclaiming them like we’re desperate to prove to white folks that we’re among the Good Negroes who don’t want to hurt police they way they hurt us. When these attacks happen, use the opportunity to urge empathy, to remind white folks that their moment of no justice, no peace is just a taste of what we deal with all the time.

Also, to black leaders in particular — look at how poor the solutions I had to offer were. Granted much of that is due to my personal ignorance, but we ought to be in a situation where every black person in America who is even moderately politically engaged knows what tactics are being used — and what tactics are working. If we really believe that the solution for this problem will not come with violence — we need to offer better solutions. Not just the usual marches and speeches. We need tactics. Dr. King led marches that dramatized the evil of racism for northern whites, and thereby generated enormous political pressure that was then put to bear on white politicians like LBJ. He gave speeches on national television that took everything that white America believed and showed them, point by point, how they didn’t live up to any of those beliefs when it comes to black people. Those were the tactics for that time. We need new tactics for our time. And I mean that all black leaders need to be coming up with real tactics. Our pastors need to be preaching tactics. Our politicians need to be voting for tactics. I would love nothing more than for Barack Obama, the day he leaves office, to throw over his “I’m the president of everybody” garbage and jump headfirst into coming up with real, effective tactics to force white America to change the way policing works in this nation. Whoever it is, whatever corner its coming from — we need it. We need real tactics. All this rage has to go somewhere. If it’s not channeled towards tactics, it will be channeled towards violence.

Now, to white folks — do not let your desire for peace supersede your love of justice. Let me be real: there are a lot of black folks who have given up on y’all. I can’t blame them, and neither can you — after all, for all your anti-prejudice, you still cross the street when you see a group of the wrong kind of black kids in the wrong kind of neighborhood, don’t you? I have not. I believe that there are many white people who genuinely want justice in our nation, who believe with Dr. King not in the “negative peace that is the absence of tension” but in the “positive peace which is the presence of justice.” I know you. I trust you. Or at least, I trust your intentions. But it is very easy for white folks to experience these brief ruptures in peace, see the cops restore peace for you, and then go about your lives as though nothing has changed. I know it’s scary. What if there are more shootings like in Dallas? What if angry black people do start attacking white folks? What if there is more violence? I won’t tell you not to call for harmony and peace. But I also won’t assuage your fears. If you are working harder for peace than you are working for justice — if you are calling more loudly for peace than you are for justice — not only do you not love people of all colors as much as you say you do, you’re part of the problem. No justice, no peace.

Finally, to my Dallas friends, and specifically to my cop friends — this was terrifying. I was so scared. I was so confused. I know you were too. I was worried about loved ones. I know you were too. I didn’t know what to think. I was in such a fog that I basically walked around in a stupor for 24 hours, threw myself into any distraction I could find for another 24 hours — I spent an entire day making salsa — and finally, now I’m beginning to try to make sense of it for myself. I am so, so sorry to those who lost love ones. You too are victims of the disease of injustice that is plaguing our nation, that has come to our city. I too am proud of police chief David Brown, proud of Dallas businesses who gave Dallas cops free meals, free drinks, or just a warm hug. I too am disgusted by Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick. I too am proud of our police, and our city.

But after we pick ourselves up from this chaos and this carnage — we have to work. You’re impressed by David Brown’s handling of this crisis? Support his attempts to strengthen Dallas’ community policing, improve training, and make the department’s use of force more transparent. He’s been in constant battles with his own officers — dig into those debates. See if some of the officer’s resentment doesn’t come from him trying to get DPD to simply do their job better. Change is always hard, and painful. Stand with him. And get politically active. Dallas has an enormous minority population, as does Texas as a whole. As much as Dallas has an old, entrenched, white good old boys club, we also have tremendous potential to enact political change.

Above all, remember that feeling. Remember that feeling when your peace was stolen from you. Then realize that there are millions of black people all over America who constantly feel as though our peace is being wrenched away from us — by the people who are supposed to defend peace. Realize that again and again, we see no justice when police murder people who look just like us, for doing things that we do all the time, things like eating skittles and playing with toys and walking down stairs. Realize that people you know and love are scared of the police, and that’s not just because we don’t know enough about cops; it’s because they’re killing us, even when we cooperate.

I don’t know what to do to restore justice in America. Beyond just police brutality, it took America four hundred years to get here: 250 years of slavery, 100 years of Jim Crow, and another 50 years of the New Jim Crow system of racism by any other name. I don’t know how to fix that. But I think if we remember that feeling of panic, it will be easier for us to take the harder path and to do right by our neighbors. Because for some of us, no justice, no peace is our entire American experience.