We still can’t breathe
By Harry Colbert, Jr. Editor-in-Chief
North Minneapolis is geographic in its location, but some issues transcend geographic boundaries.
Such is the case with the May 25 killing of a handcuffed human being who was detained by a Minneapolis police officer in south city. Because this incident has impacted and shaken so many in our city — several in North Minneapolis still reeling from the 2015 killing of Jamar Clark — North News has made the decision to offer coverage and commentary on this story of great magnitude.
My head hurts.
I vacillate between screaming in rage and crying in agony. Pain radiates throughout my body and yet I am numb. But I’m alive.
This image is disturbing but needs to be shown. It is the image of Minneapolis Police officer Derek Chauvin with his knee on the neck of George Floyd. Floyd died as a result of this encounter.
George Floyd cannot say the same. Mr. Floyd, just 46 years old, was killed — suffocated to death with a knee at his throat; his chest firmly pressed against the concrete, thus further restricting his airflow. He can no longer speak so I will attempt — inadequately I’m sure — to speak on his behalf. I will attempt to offer words other than the ones we know were among his last … “I can’t breathe.”
To the best of my knowledge I never met Mr. Floyd but like many — dare I say most — black men in America we share the commonality of being the most likely suspect and at the same time the most likely victim. It’s an exhausting burden to carry. That burden finally did in Mr. Floyd. The burden’s accomplice this time, the Minneapolis Police Department. In particular now former officers J Alexander Kueng, Thomas Lang, Tou Thao and primary culprit, Derek Chauvin.
And while advocates of the hyper-policing of black, brown and Native bodies in America will point out police were called to the scene because Mr. Floyd was accused of forgery, let’s be honest with one another and agree that Mr. Floyd’s ultimate “crime” was being black.
Just hours prior to Mr. Floyd’s demise another black man, Christian Cooper, a bird watcher in New York’s Central Park escaped the same fate. I wonder if he realizes how close he was to becoming a hashtag. Cooper’s “crime” (other than being black) was he had the temerity to ask a white woman — Amy Cooper (no relation) — to put her dog on a leash. Her response? She made a frantic call to police claiming “an African-American man was threatening her life.”
Thankfully, Christian Cooper wasn’t there when police arrived. New York officers have a track record of choking black men to death (see Eric Garner) much like Mr. Floyd was choked to death.
Sadly Mr. Floyd remained on the scene when police were called on him — a call that resulted from an accusation of a nonviolent crime.
At this moment, details are sketchy as to what transpired before vigilant citizens rose to the occasion and began rolling video, while at the same time pleading with officers to halt the process of killing a man in front of their eyes — and their camera lenses. What we do know is once the videos began streaming, Mr. Floyd was handcuffed, defenseless, fully under the control of Minneapolis officers — one with a knee to his neck. Mr. Floyd lay prone on the ground begging for air … begging for his life … begging for his mother.
“I can’t breathe,” were the words Mr. Floyd repeated as he begged for his life to be spared. The words were eerily familiar, as they were the last words of Eric Garner before life was extinguished from his body. Like Mr. Garner, Mr. Floyd’s words were also dismissed. But there was something uniquely different in the killing of Mr. Floyd.
If you can (and I could only watch it once), watch the video of the officer killing Mr. Floyd. Notice his face. Notice the pure lack of emotion as he extinguished the life of a fellow human being. It wasn’t the face of fear (i.e. the excuse of officers Mark Ringgenberg and Dustin Schwarze in the 2015 North Minneapolis killing of Jamar Clark or the 2016 killing of Philando Castile by then St. Anthony police officer Jeronimo Yanez). It wasn’t the look of surprise (the excuse being offered for the killings far too many to name, but let’s use the case of Botham Jean — killed in his own apartment when he “surprised” his killer, then Dallas officer, Amber Guyger. Neither fear nor surprise were the looks on the Minneapolis Police Officer who killed Mr. Floyd.
The look on his face was smug indifference.
And that’s maybe what disturbs me the most. To that officer, it seemed that taking the life of Mr. Floyd was no more significant than him capturing a fly in a jar and watching it slowly suffocate.
When will this culture of ethnic hatred, bias and hyper-policing end? When will the nation’s police unions cease to be more powerful than those who employ them and the citizens whose taxes provide for their livelihood — livelihoods that afford for officers to live in middle-class suburbs rather than the inner-cities in which they police?
When will black lives truly matter?
And again, my head hurts and I am exhausted. And again, I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m still alive.