There are few words to describe the emotions I felt when I heard the recent news out of Baton Rouge, then Falcon Heights, then Dallas, then Baton Rouge again. Words do little to make sense of this uniquely American cycle of bloodshed, and answers for why it continues to play out with such a rhythmic predictability are neither readily available, nor easily understood. I know this confusion. I’ve felt this pain. This time last year, I was mourning the death of my sister, Sandra Bland.
The circumstances surrounding my sister’s death are suspicious, at best. Arrested and incarcerated following a traffic stop outside of Houston, Sandy was found dead in her jail cell three days later, in Waller County, Texas. Police dashcam footage of that initial encounter was retroactively edited; the arresting officer was fired after his federal indictment on a charge of perjury; and the sheriff overseeing the investigation was also fired in 2008 for misconduct, amid accusations of racism and brutality when he served as police chief then. He promptly ran for county sheriff and won, and today is charged with seeking unbiased justice for my sister.
There is no need to speculate the “at worst” scenario here.
So here we are, just over one year later, with questions left unanswered. Questions of life and death. What do I look like in the eyes of the law? How do I trust a system that doesn’t trust me? These questions, as we well know, are not exclusive to the case of my sister. These same questions haunt the families of Kendrick Johnson, and Rekia Boyd, and Nicholas Thomas, and Eric Garner, and Alton Sterling, and Philando Castile, and…
These are questions that make me fear for the safety of my children, and my children’s children. These are questions that underscore how our criminal justice system is disproportionately failing young people, and young people of color especially, to a deadly degree. These questions highlight why comprehensive criminal justice reform is necessary, now more than ever. And the longer these questions go unanswered or ― worse ― ignored, the wider the divisions between community and law enforcement will grow.
There is no single cause of this distrust. It is the direct result of years of regressive policies, of indifference in the face of discrimination, and of a system reinforcing it all when justice is paid in lip-service rather than accountability.
But there are folks working hard to correct that. It is young people who are impacted most acutely by the system, and it is young people who lead the long march toward justice.
This past spring, I attended the #Fight4AFuture summit for criminal justice reform and gun violence prevention, hosted by Generation Progress, in Chicago. In convening a racially, socioeconomically, geographically, and culturally diverse group of people (including police officers, movement leaders, and elected officials), there existed a platform for tackling criminal justice and gun violence prevention through a truly holistic lens. These are exactly the types of forums that will bring about change. But change needs to be recognized at the top, too.
Police departments must first acknowledge there is a deeply-rooted cultural problem – a simple admission that would go so far. In holding up that mirror, states, cities, and municipalities must also provide resources—after-school activities, mentorship programs, safe spaces, increased funding for education—to disenfranchised and underprivileged communities.
Empowering the next generation with the necessary tools to take the movement a step further, while ensuring we all move forward together, is critical in creating a more equitable America. And it starts with engaging and listening to young people.
There must also be consistent standards of accountability that do not favor the word of law enforcement over the citizens they are sworn to protect. This includes much more than mere administrative leave. This means that the Justice Department and state attorneys general assume a larger role in clarifying police codes of conduct so that officers, if convicted, face the same punishment any ordinary citizen would. No more culture of impunity.
But still I have hope. I’m hopeful we won’t have to say Black Lives Matter, because it will be implied and earnestly understood. I’m hopeful our government won’t turn a blind eye to systemic failures of justice, and hopeful that police won’t have to fear for their safety when doing their job. I’m hopeful because I’ve seen the invaluable work of the next generation leading the movement.
I just hope others start to listen, too.
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In the year since Sandra Bland’s death, more than 800 people have died in American jails. Read HuffPost Highline’s story here, and click here to see or contribute to our database of jail fatalities.
