Terence Crutcher, Alton Sterling, Philando Castille, Sandra Bland…I could go on and list the countless names of African Americans who have been the victims of police brutality.
I shouldn’t have to do that. I shouldn’t have to lose track of the names because there are so many of them. I shouldn’t have to hear the news about someone shot down by police officers what seems like every week. And I shouldn’t have to worry about my own black brother, cousins, uncles, and father as they try to navigate this country where racism is still alive and breathing.
As I look into the faces of these people in uniform who have failed at their job of making us feel safe, there are several questions I want to ask them about how they can so effortlessly take a human life.
What is going through your mind in these situations?
You claim to be genuinely afraid for your life as you pull the trigger. But how afraid can you really be when a man is standing there with his hands in the air? Tell me, is this murder premeditated? Is the hatred in your heart and mind really that strong?
Do you realize these are human beings standing in front of you?
These are people just like me and you. They have lives, aspirations and goals. They breathe the same air, bleed the same blood. The color of their skin makes them no different from you and should make the suspicion of a crime no less than someone of your own skin color.
Why don’t you stop to think before you act?
Do you not think of the repercussions of your actions? You put your job in jeopardy and your credibility. Your case will be the one where the justice system decided enough is enough and throws you behind bars. Not to mention the outcry of the people who have just had enough. At some point they’ll break and you would have started it. All because you acted on an impulse towards someone who looks different than you.
Do you think of the families of these people?
When you pull that trigger you are taking away someone’s husband, wife, father, brother. There is a child who grows up without a parent or a wife who goes on without a husband. I can’t imagine being the one to get the call that a family member was killed, seeing the story on the 10 o’ clock news or having their name become another hashtag.
What if it had been you?
Stop and think about that for a moment. You haven’t done anything wrong, certainly nothing that requires an execution. Yet there you are, standing with your hands up, staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, face to face with an officer who doesn’t care if you live or die. Do you have a change of heart when you think of yourself in their shoes, or is the hatred just too strong?
