Encountering George

After about 8 months, George's memorial was destroyed. I'm almost surprised it lasted that long. I'm remaking it to include some links to this website, and links to first-tier news sources such as The NY Times. 

This photo captures the moment I had to pause. I am choosing a new photo, one I have never seen.  It is not the "best" photo of George, but it shows him with his child, and I had never seen it before today. I think many people have not seen this photo.

I am pondering many things. There was a police shooting in Mosby Court (Richmond, VA) this weekend, and the mother of the victim says her son was on his knees and that there is video corroborating this. Police claim the young man was armed. 

When I was fully immersed in "The Sunken Place," I would have believed the police version or at least given credence to it. Now that I have read hundreds of accounts of police lying under oath, lying to other investigators, planting evidence, and protecting their own, now that I have seen them beating protestors, attacking children, and inflicting potentially lethal harm on unarmed Richmond residents,  I fully disbelieve the police version.

But the truth of this photo...I am still in shock that in the United States, a police officer choked a man to death in broad daylight, and....the world still spins on its axis. I found this so abhorrent, so vile. I don't have words, and I wish I did.  I feel sickened, and I am reminded of the cliched stereotype of a generic South American country that I grew up imbibing, watching movie after movie about atrocities committed by police in "other countries."

The "other country" is us. We are that nation. A nation where this is permissible. 

And has not abated.

What I really want to write is this: the original creators of these memorials mentioned feeling burnt out or exhausted. I don't want to put words in their mouths, but that was the gist. They were...soul-weary. I was happy to pick up the torch and keep running, but I don't know how much longer I can.

I thought I understood, but now I really do. Because to read these descriptions of atrocities is really quite horrifying, quite soul-sickening.

But I feel I have to do it.  To save our boys.

I have four Black nephews, and I want them to live.  I don't want one of my brothers, or cousins, or uncles, or students, or classmates, or friends to be shot in the back opening the door to their home.