Accountability in Minneapolis

Oliver and I clutched each other’s hands this afternoon as we waited for the verdict in the George Floyd-Derek Chauvin trial to be read by the judge. Jack texted from crew practice to check in. The original estimation was that we’d hear between 3:30 and 4, but as the minutes ticked past 4, 4:15, we got antsy. A friend told me that Minneapolis had released kids early from school and was trying to make sure all were home, should the verdict not go the way of justice.

That’s heartbreaking, really. On so many levels.

Suddenly, the CNN talking heads segued to the courtroom. Oliver and I squeezed our bound hands so tightly that they began to sweat.

Count 1: 3rd degree murder.

Guilty.

Count 2: 2nd degree murder.

Guilty.

Count 3: 2nd degree manslaughter.

Guilty.

All the while, Chauvin’s eyes darted from jury to judge and back again. That murderous bastard in his baby blue tie.

Guilty on all three counts. Ol and I hugged. I texted Jack who was enormously relieved.

And THEN the judge revoked bail and remanded Chauvin to jail. As he was led out of the courtroom in handcuffs, texts from friends began pouring in-“Thank god.” “Finally.” “Thank the lord.”- and I started to cry. Soft tears of gratitude for this bit of accountability. For the bit of peace or closure it might provide Floyd’s family, his friends, his community, Minneapolis, a city that is still reeling from Floyd’s murder in May of 2020 and from Daunte Wright’s murder just last week, also at the hands of police.

Earlier today, I was in the car and got to listen to most of this excellent 1A episode about the Chauvin trial. It’s worth your time. The stats on police violence are staggering, and the point made that even though we all watched, too many times, as Chauvin killed Floyd over those interminable 9 minutes and 27 seconds, the outcome of the trial remained unclear up to the end is a terrible indictment on the racism in America and the way it persists and poisons everything, including our system of “justice” and those who are tasked with protecting and serving us.

This case should have been a slam dunk. Black Americans should not have to hold out hope for brave teenagers to record murders on their phones in order to get justice. Chauvin has been held accountable, and rightly so. But too many aren’t, and so real justice remains elusive. We must keep fighting.

And, if you didn’t hear Minnesota AG Keith Ellison’s statement after the verdict was read and Chauvin taken away, please do. It’s superb.

8 June 2020: Daily + a silent, yet energizing protest

Last Friday, the boys’ school announced a silent protest in support of the equity, justice, and peace needed to end the systemic racism plaguing our country. Of course I jumped at this and immediately offered to be a block captain (my mother made me promise NOT to go downtown last weekend which really brought me down, even though I understood, so tonight’s event, school sanctioned!, was just what I needed to sate my activist hunger).

Ultimately, 1,000 of us joined tonight at socially distant intervals spanning a more than 1.5-mile distance from school south: students, siblings, parents, teachers, alums, the head of school, and board members brought masks, signs, water, love, and determination to our 90-minute event. It was profoundly energizing and inspiring, and although it was hot as heck, the kids kept their masks on, delighted in all the honks and cheers we received from drivers, raised their fists, and were even flipped off a couple times. They took that beautifully in stride. Jack said, “I don’t care that someone flipped me off, but if you’re flipping off this message, that Black Lives Matter, then you are really pathetic.” Indeed, honey.

#SidwellFriendsStand #SFSforjustice

in front of school after the protest; signs will be turned into an installation.

Dare we feel hope, friends?

1 June 2020: A vigil

Just before lunch today, some neighbors and I met in a traffic circle median in our neighborhood. Masked and distant, we sat in disbelief, worry, anger, and heartbreak, and then we planned.

Tonight, just before 8, T, J, O, and I, plus my dearest K, joined so very many others streaming into our neighborhood park. Candles and flashlights in hand, masks donned, hearts heavy, we gathered. The news today has been so terribly chilling. After a brief introduction, we knelt in silence for nine minutes in memory of George Floyd and in solidarity with Black Lives Matter. I felt some hope in this communion of neighbors, friends, and strangers.

We are deeply thankful to all who came. And I thank you, my dear Jack, for helping distribute flyers today.