Justine Damond, and our experience living just down the way...
I recognized her face but couldn't place her. It wasn't until many days after the vigil I would remember having met her at my chiropractic office. Justine was a naturalist, yogi and activist in Minneapolis who spoke out about natural healing. I had crossed her path a few times at the Woman's Expo and also at a birthing rally. Nothing memorable other than 'nice'.
I hadn't remembered that sentiment when standing over the chalk in her driveway. I was fighting back tears as I read over the messages and just couldn't believe that either her grieving fiance or young son-in-law, Zach, would have to hose these off. Most of the chalk messages were positive, RIP, support for Justine and her family but littered in were sentences of racial hate speech. I knew anger still lived inside me because had I been there to see someone writing these messages, just feet from where Justine's body had been lying days before, I would have kicked their face into the concrete.
I felt a bit inappropriate showing up to the vigil, especially with my three year old in tow, but something called to me. I didn't know if there would be protesting and riots, because just a week before our community was coming down from the shock of the officer acquittal in the Castile shooting. Grieving mothers, family members and citizens of Minneapolis were starting to stir and we all remember the highway protests and BLACK LIVES MATTER just last year. Egg shells and uncertainty was thick in the air but I parked the car and walked towards 51st anyway. I had to go...
There was no riot, sit in or violent affair but instead a small group of people huddled around the driveway covered in chalk. Some people cried, others held signs asking for JUSTICE and most just stood there. I moved myself and Declan through the crowd and to the end of the chalk writings. I snapped a few photos and then walked over to the small circle of candles that were lit just by the corner of the yard. I felt a bit out of place but mostly, I felt sadness. I started to cry.
Declan's little voice called out, "Is this because that woman got shot? By the police? Why did they do that?" Everyone, including myself, felt the sting of his innocent question. Just then, a woman walked out of the Damond home; our eyes met. She asked if my son was named, Nick? I explained we were not family and to her shock, she came over to sit by me. She asked if I wasn't family, like she had suspected, then why was I crying? I began to explain that despite all of this madness, I had completed the MN law enforcement program to help change this mess. I wanted to be a part of the positive change, evolution, progression... but that my body had failed me. I had gotten hurt and hadn't found a job in the force, my dreams were dissolving and I felt helpless. I wanted to be there for all the police officers, and their families, who feel this pain. Who walk into a gas station, or down the street, with people knowing their the POLICE and who now thing they are LESS THAN. Police are not separate from the public, we are the public, and I felt SORRY for her loss.
She invited me in to meet Zach, the son, and I declined. I couldn't, I was a babbling mess, and already trying to keep it together for my son. I simply wanted to stop by and show my support and to let someone know, I was thinking of her and her family.
It was a tough ride home and even more difficult trying to explain to my husband why I felt such a deep connection. Many synchronicities in the days following would validate this connection but even still, a month later, I'm unresolved. I'm still trying to make sense of it and find the headlines and focus even more disgusting. Discussions of body cameras, the resignation of our first gay/woman police chief, the distraction of separation and now blaming of Justine having touched the patrol car.
Don't even get me started. The media and community have a responsibility to stop the hate and fear mongering. If we really want to see positive change, it starts with us. :( Sadly, I don't think anyone gets that and therefore I feel even more hopeless.
I hadn't remembered that sentiment when standing over the chalk in her driveway. I was fighting back tears as I read over the messages and just couldn't believe that either her grieving fiance or young son-in-law, Zach, would have to hose these off. Most of the chalk messages were positive, RIP, support for Justine and her family but littered in were sentences of racial hate speech. I knew anger still lived inside me because had I been there to see someone writing these messages, just feet from where Justine's body had been lying days before, I would have kicked their face into the concrete.
I felt a bit inappropriate showing up to the vigil, especially with my three year old in tow, but something called to me. I didn't know if there would be protesting and riots, because just a week before our community was coming down from the shock of the officer acquittal in the Castile shooting. Grieving mothers, family members and citizens of Minneapolis were starting to stir and we all remember the highway protests and BLACK LIVES MATTER just last year. Egg shells and uncertainty was thick in the air but I parked the car and walked towards 51st anyway. I had to go...
There was no riot, sit in or violent affair but instead a small group of people huddled around the driveway covered in chalk. Some people cried, others held signs asking for JUSTICE and most just stood there. I moved myself and Declan through the crowd and to the end of the chalk writings. I snapped a few photos and then walked over to the small circle of candles that were lit just by the corner of the yard. I felt a bit out of place but mostly, I felt sadness. I started to cry.
Declan's little voice called out, "Is this because that woman got shot? By the police? Why did they do that?" Everyone, including myself, felt the sting of his innocent question. Just then, a woman walked out of the Damond home; our eyes met. She asked if my son was named, Nick? I explained we were not family and to her shock, she came over to sit by me. She asked if I wasn't family, like she had suspected, then why was I crying? I began to explain that despite all of this madness, I had completed the MN law enforcement program to help change this mess. I wanted to be a part of the positive change, evolution, progression... but that my body had failed me. I had gotten hurt and hadn't found a job in the force, my dreams were dissolving and I felt helpless. I wanted to be there for all the police officers, and their families, who feel this pain. Who walk into a gas station, or down the street, with people knowing their the POLICE and who now thing they are LESS THAN. Police are not separate from the public, we are the public, and I felt SORRY for her loss.
She invited me in to meet Zach, the son, and I declined. I couldn't, I was a babbling mess, and already trying to keep it together for my son. I simply wanted to stop by and show my support and to let someone know, I was thinking of her and her family.
It was a tough ride home and even more difficult trying to explain to my husband why I felt such a deep connection. Many synchronicities in the days following would validate this connection but even still, a month later, I'm unresolved. I'm still trying to make sense of it and find the headlines and focus even more disgusting. Discussions of body cameras, the resignation of our first gay/woman police chief, the distraction of separation and now blaming of Justine having touched the patrol car.
Don't even get me started. The media and community have a responsibility to stop the hate and fear mongering. If we really want to see positive change, it starts with us. :( Sadly, I don't think anyone gets that and therefore I feel even more hopeless.
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