black lives matter. Chauvin guilty verdict
Black Mother and Son. Photo by Andrew Calhoun on Unsplash

The Chauvin guilty verdict. I watched intently as judge Peter A. Cahill pronounced former officer Derek Chauvin’s guilty verdict, second-degree unintentional murder, third-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter; guilty, guilty, guilty.

“Good!” I muttered to myself.

Accountability. George Floyd’s family deserved at least that, after the torture he endured and died from. A man who was murdered in broad daylight, whose gruesome murder had been filmed for the world to see, and yet defense team had done everything to discredit him, and blame his death on any and everything but the knee on his neck. They even said George Floyd had died because “his heart was too big.” Well here sat Derek Chauvin, guilty of murder because his heart is too small maybe? How about that?

“Good!” I muttered again. 

A Guilty Verdict

And then I waited for the feeling. A feeling that will never come. I didn’t exactly know what I was expecting to feel in that moment, all I knew was that whatever emotions I felt after the Chauvin guilty verdict was quite underwhelming. I was very surprised at myself when I felt a profound sadness when Chauvin was cuffed and led away. Hands cuffed behind him, just as George Floyd had been, and no longer the knee-on-neck all powerful officer, I could see he had scribbled something in his palm in black ink. Was it a prayer? Maybe an apology? I now know it was his attorney’s telephone number. Alive and given his day in court, he certainly intended to keep fighting, while Floyd’s life had been cut short without mercy.

What was I hoping to feel? I couldn’t pinpoint then, but now, after a day of pondering I think I know what I wanted to feel. I wanted to feel the exact opposite of everything I felt when I first saw that infamous video. The exact opposite of the fear that gripped me on my young family’s behalf, the opposite of the blinding anger and anxiety I had felt. I was hoping I would un-flinch, because I flinched the day I saw Floyd call his Mama under the officer’s knee, and I have been flinching since. That video for me and many others who look like me was a poignant, deliberate reminder, “you are a Black person in America, don’t forget it and know your place,” and that day Floyd’s place had been under a knee. Flinch.

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MissKorang

I am a mom, wife, believer in God and a lover of stories. I love storytelling because I believe it is a potent means to inspire and educate.

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