I have been reflecting on the recent trial and conviction of former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin for the murder of George Floyd on May 25, 2020. The jury returned after just 10 hours of deliberation – evidently a fairly brief deliberation for a trial that lasted three weeks and included testimony from 45 witnesses and experts. For many, the conviction means justice for both Floyd’s family and people who have been targets of police brutality for generations. For others, it is a sign of progress, but merely a drop in a mostly empty bucket. There is much work yet to be done.
The systems that paint People of Color with a broad brush of criminality are still widespread and continue to be destructive. One of the problems is that many do not see how systems of injustice and racial profiling do harm to both the targets of injustice as well as our communities. Such systems degrade any remaining trust we may have of one another, for where one suffers the weight of unjust oppression, we all suffer. When one group is marginalized or pushed to the shadows and silenced, we all lose out.
I am thankful for those who spoke at the news conference following the verdict. Though the guilty verdict was what many hoped for, several of those who spoke reminded us it is not a cause for celebration – a man is still dead, and another is going to jail. This is a time for grieving, prayer, and society-wide reflection on the state of affairs in the United States. It is a time to build on the momentum achieved. For too long police acting dangerously and prejudicially have not been held accountable because of the so-called “blue line,” thereby making our communities unsafe and tarnishing the reputations of those police officers honestly trying to do what is right and just. This has made it difficult and nearly impossible to address the systems active in our police departments that have led to so many people living in fear. But such behavior is a reflection of much deeper prejudices ingrained into the fabric of our society.
When the “Defund the Police” movement started gaining momentum, I was not sure what to make of it. As a White person I have not experienced the kind of fear of the police that my Black and Brown friends experience. I have struggled to wrap my mind around what would happen if we defunded the police. I tried to listen and ask questions, focusing more on the listening. The more I listened, the more my questions changed.
The history of policing in the U.S. is tied directly to the capture and policing of run-away slaves. After emancipation and the Civil War, policing continued to focus on keeping Black people subjugated and “in their place” – that is, as “less-than.”
The 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution did not end slavery. It merely shifted its legality. It states, “Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist in the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction” (emphasis added). The underlined portion is key. Slavery shifted from Black people being personal property to the state convicting and exploiting them – merely a new shape to the same old system of slavery. Black people were arrested, convicted and imprisoned for crimes that were merely alleged, not proven beyond a reasonable doubt, and that would not carry a prison sentence for a White person.
Further, after the Civil War Black people were being legally segregated from White people through what became known as “Jim Crow” laws. The Civil Rights Movement sought to end segregation and the continued unjust treatment of Black people at the hands of legislatures, police officers, and society. The movement succeeded in part, though at great cost. Segregation legally ended, but racial prejudice continued through such practices as “red lining” Black neighborhoods that were considered high risk investments, thus making it difficult if not impossible for people to qualify for home loans, and keeping Black people out of White neighborhoods. The Nixon administration’s “War on Crime,” we would learn when his Oval Office recordings became public, was really a Republican war on Black people (mind you, Black people were already well aware of the intentions). Black voters were predominantly registered with the Democratic Party. The “War on Crime” was a battle to keep Black Democrats from voting. Still to this day when a person is convicted of a crime, they are disenfranchised from voting at least for the duration of their sentence, if not for life. This became what civil rights attorney and author Michelle Alexander and others call “The New Jim Crow.”
Despite the success of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, and its expansion of it to include fair housing with the 1968 Civil Rights Act, Black people continue to be marginalized through the power of aggressive and oppressive policing and social prejudice. The last reported lynching in the U.S. was as late as 1981. Michael Donald (it’s important we continue to name the victims of these cruel acts), a 19-year-old Black man, was beaten and murdered by two Ku Klux Klan members who then hung his body from a tree. Michael Donald was chosen at random in retaliation for the acquittal of a Black man accused of murdering a White police officer. Though formal lynchings have not since been reported, Black people continue to be harassed, threatened, and killed. It wasn’t until 2005 that the U.S. Senate formally apologized for not enacting anti-lynching laws in the early 20th century. The noose continues to be used as a symbol of hate and prejudice. In 2018, a bill was unanimously passed in the Senate to make lynching a federal hate crime. It failed in the House.
The conviction of Derek Chauvin is important in many ways. But it is not a cause for celebration. A man is dead. Another man is in jail. In just the past few days several more police killings of unarmed Black people have been reported. Until we understand that the wellbeing of all people is vital to the wellbeing of our communities and nation, we have a lot of work yet to do. Until we defund the police and shift our financial resources to work toward reparations – financial and otherwise – for the generations of oppression imposed on Black, Indigenous, and People of Color – which effectively withholds their right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness – we cannot call ourselves a free society. Until we choose to lift up those who have been pushed down, none of us free. We are all slaves to a system that privileges me and other light-skinned people and continues to disenfranchise dark-skinned people (most recently evidenced by over 300 bills introduced in 47 state legislatures that will make it increasingly difficult for those in predominantly Black districts to vote, under the guise of trying to fix problems that do not exist).
I have come to understand that re-prioritizing the billions of dollars used to militarize our police and investing in the betterment of our communities (schools might be a really good place to start!) are only the beginning of dismantling the systems of racism rampant in our society and governments. It will likely take generations to eradicate the private prejudice held consciously and unconsciously by so many, supposing it can be eradicated completely. Assuming we take these steps, it will take generations to come close to healing the wounds that are over 600 years old, dating back to the early European explorers and conquerors that stole this land from the Indigenous people already occupying this space, let alone the colonial slave trades that legitimized the dehumanizing of Black people.
How do we do all this? We listen. We listen some more. We stop giving excuses or excusing our behavior. We seek to understand rather than argue. And we act: we vote, we write, we show up, and we speak out.
May God have mercy on us and give us the humility to recognize and act to change these systems which help some of us prosper at the expense of the suffering of others. Even if we didn’t invent or implement these systems, we can end them. May we have the strength to forge ahead on this path and withstand the headwinds of resistance. May we hold on to the power of love through which God may soften hearts, open ears, change minds, and transform lives so that we may more fully reflect the radical inclusivity of Jesus, our Christ.