“Waiting on Justice"

by Amber Rogers

The trial of Officer Derek Chauvin, began on March 29th, 2021, and it played out before twelve jurors, two anonymous alternate jurors, and it lasted for 3 weeks and 14 hours. As the world settled into their passenger seats for yet another ride through the chambers of justice, in search of accessible lanes of easements, and the legal "right-of-way," we all tightened our seat belts securely for the bumpy road ahead. And like passengers in a run-away taxi ride through the ghettoed streets of American Systemic Racism, we could not help but feel like captives straight out of the psychological thriller called "Chained." As hijacked hostages, our every emotions were engaged as the machine unleashed the ridiculousness of its defense. A defense which left us wondering if we had in fact all watched the same video. Because according to the defense, "George Floyd died from a lack of sleep, Fentanyl abuse, crowd distraction, gas exhaust in his lungs, a bad heart, and Covid-19"... but not the presence and pressure of Derek Chauvin's knee being applied to his neck for the recorded 9 minutes and 29 seconds!" We endured the twists and the turns of Floyd's troubled life of crime, the shame of his addiction, his temperament and even his alleged domestic violence, but we were not moved! We had braced ourselves for the punches, the refutes and the rebuttals. But there was something soo stinging about this "slap's" attempt to erase the haunting image taking up precious real estate within our subconscious. We've all been taught the adage that 'Justice is blind'... but could she also be dumb, blind, crippled and crazy? Hasn't she also been deferred, elusive, and a thief? These were the open ended questions that have been resisted by optimists, and banked upon by the pessimists among us, as Chauvin's Defense Team played ping-pong with the truth, in its efforts to mainstream the roots of a country's collective PTSD.

The Spring of 2020 resonates through the world's memory as a time of pure wonderment. The United States had begun its lock-down process with the remembrances of European towns across the pond, who earlier that year serenaded their neighbors upon their modest balconies. Those quaint, Italian, images spread like wildfire across Social Media as the world listened in and experienced first hand a country's strength, perseverance, and fortitude. The sweet sounds from their candlelit balconies encouraging each other to hold fast and hold on, pulled at our heartstrings as we sent love and "likes" to them. But never in a million years would the world believe what was about to explode across the west because of 'time and chance.' And as we laughed at the stupidity of their toilet paper runs in Australia, and their standing in line at their grocery stores, the US was hit and paralyzed by her own shutdowns that spread through the states like a hot knife through a stick of butter.

We held on to each other at first, as News outlet, after News outlet, assaulted us with the images of New York hospitals filled to capacity with Covid patients turned victims. And there... right in the middle of our own disease stricken toilet paper shortage, and the death defying grip of Covid-19, a Minneapolis police officer, Derek Chauvin exposed himself as lone judge, juror, and executioner! The video footage of his egregious act of hatred was viewed Worldwide, and was condemned as a murderous act of racism- and the world cried along with us. And they took to the streets in solidarity with us over George Floyd's murder...until they didn't.

Was it the breaking of the storefront windows? The rawness of the protests? The lawlessness of the looting? Or maybe it was the "in your face" expressions of anger throughout our cities that divided the world into Black and White. But something happened to our nation when rage met oppression! Suddenly the righteous became the indignant, and their voices were substituted and lip-synced for Antifa and BLM... and as it goes, when you add fuel to the flames, acceleration is inevitable! People who once stood hand-in-hand singing kumbaya with the Black community, had to make a decision on which side of the race line they wanted to stand on. For many of us, the trial of Derek Chauvin should have played out as a no-brainer- a virtual exhibition on "what not to do to get away with murder!" It seemed like easy fodder for the prosecution from the outside looking in, but within the heart of the African-American community, the stains of injustice are ever present. Our "justice" has always been expensive, stubborn, and non-compliant. The African-American community has always had to finagle, plead and acquiesce to a watered down version of it. We received what they gave us, and foraged through the dumpsters of the court systems to supplement our sub-par diets. We hungered for its sustenance, yet picked up its scraps... leaving us emaciated as a people, and rickety from the ware and tear.

Our hindsights are our truths! And these truths have been engorged with images of "what we saw" with our own eyes (i.e. Rodney King) as opposed to the justice that we received. Our minds won't let go of the empty plates of accountability which passed us by. Nor will they let go of "innocence" which was murdered by police as she lay asleep in her own home, within her own bed. So, when you form your lips to enunciate, prognosticate, and communicate the word "justice" to an African-American, don't be surprised at the recoil! And had it not been for the truth of the matter; uploaded to Facebook by 17-year-old Darnella Frazier, the Epitaph of George Floyd would mimic this fictional police report submitted by officers at the scene to the Minneapolis Police Department:

"On Monday evening, shortly after 8:00 p.m., officers from the Minneapolis Police Department responded to the 3700 block of Chicago Avenue South, on a report of a forgery in progress. Two officers arrived and located the suspect, a male believed to be in his 40s, in his car. He was ordered to step from his car. After he got out, he physically resisted officers. The officers were able to get the suspect into handcuffs and noted that he appeared to be suffering medical distress. The officers called for an ambulance. He was transported to Hennepin County medical center by ambulance where he died a short time later."

"That is not what happened.. I videotaped the whole thing!" And those words, simple as they may be, turned the wheels of Justice. Her now oversaturated video, shed a blinding light upon a police department's covert efforts to reveal the truth, and exposed a system which defended the guilty and discarded a life. And ultimately became an integral piece of evidence used by the Prosecution in its case against Derek Chauvin. The haunting of now 18 year old Darnella Frazier, over the past year, was evident in both her voice and her demeanor as she broke down in court when asked to identify ex-cop Derek Chauvin — she described her agonizing, sleepless nights and apologized repeatedly for “not saving his life.” That testimony coupled with the unforgettable, fragile voice of her 9 year old cousin, telling the jurors in her "nine year old voice," how Chauvin put his knee on the neck of Floyd and kept it there, as she repeatedly screamed at the officer to "Just get up off of him!"...

The deafening silence of the 10-hour deliberation was staggering as we waited...We didn't know if she would appear that day, or if she had even accepted our invitation.. but we waited for her. And After what seemed to be a lifetime, and with the fanfare of a "Royal Wedding, she graced us with her appearance. We didn't recognize her at first, (it had been so long since we had seen her) but we instinctively knew that it was her! There was something about the way she moved that day...each step deliberate, each count read off ever so eloquently. And there was something in the sweetness of her tone as she delivered to us those three little words of.. "guilty, guilty, guilty!" It was poetry in motion. And as a testimony vicariously given on behalf of any man who has ever waited on the love of his life to emerge from her dressing room for a night out on the town, I can honestly say that the waiting falls to the wayside with just a glance her way. Yes, we will forgive "Lady J." for her tardiness, her seeming indifference, and even her abandonment, but we will never forget. And, as in all relationships which have fallen upon rocky ground, a mending must take place. Our community needs its infrastructures to be reliable and our constitutional promises upheld. The summer of 2020 has proven to the nation that the current status quo of third class citizenship and castigation upon people of color has to end. The inconsistent, anticipatory, conjugal visits from Lady Justice will not hold back the temperament of a jilted lover, especially when the lover understands their worth. Nevertheless...