When video footage of George Floyd’s death at the hands of four Minneapolis police officers began to circulate online, Eric Nettles felt a wave of pain wash over him. He saw Floyd spread prone on the street, his arms held behind his back, buckling under the weight of three policemen spread across his neck, torso and legs.
For 8 minutes and 46 seconds, he watched Derek Chauvin’s knee press into the restrained man’s neck as he moaned for relief.
Floyd is heard telling officers he can’t breathe 16 times in less than five minutes. In a moment of pure desperation, the 46-year-old calls out to his mother, a woman who died two years earlier. Nettles watched as the life drained from his eyes, the corners of his mouth wet with saliva from his frantic, unanswered pleas. Then he called his three black sons — aged 9,12 and 19 — into the room, sat them down and made them watch.
Nettles said he felt compelled to. His boys had to understand that theirs was a unique American experience, a fact that their lives depended on.
Do whatever an officer says, he had told them before; don’t run, move slowly. But Floyd’s case illustrated the futility of these tactics and the sickening reality that for many black Americans who encounter police, it’s too often impossible to strategize your way out of an early grave.
“’Pop, why?’ ” his nine-year-old son asked him.
Nettles didn’t have a good answer.
“Even if you do everything right, it can still turn wrong,” he said.
On Memorial Day, Floyd became one of at least four widely publicized victims of police killings and extrajudicial violence carried out against black Americans in recent months.
In February, Georgia jogger Ahmaud Arbery was chased down and shot to death on a Sunday afternoon by two white men who accused him of robbery as another filmed his murder. His killers went free until early May, after a leaked video of Arbery’s death was released in April prompting widespread outrage.
Then in March, Kentucky EMT Breonna Taylor was shot to death in her home by police shortly after midnight when plainclothes officers burst through her door to execute a “no-knock” warrant on a drug case. No drugs were found in Taylor’s home.
In May, Dreasjon “Sean” Reed was shot while running away from an Indianapolis police officer. Reed had been live streaming himself on Facebook as the incident took place. Others have received less attention, Tony McDade, Mychael Johnson and Wilbon Woodard, all shot dead by Tallahassee police.
Since Floyd's death, spontaneous protests have erupted over 10 days in more than 350 cities across the U.S. and 12 countries around the world; protests have hit all 50 states and the National Guard has been deployed in about half of them. Black Americans say they are traumatized, sick with anger and frustration over yet another life lost at the hands of police, a perceived indifference among some of their fellow citizens and the inaction of public officials to make meaningful reforms.
Many say they are tired of police officers acting with impunity and disgusted by prosecutors who are slow or unwilling to bring charges against them without immense public pressure; citing the fact that Chauvin, the Minneapolis police officer who knelt on Floyd’s neck, was not charged with a crime for five days after his death, despite using an improper restraint tactic.
The four officers who participated in Floyd’s arrest have all been fired, but only Chauvin was initially charged with third-degree murder and manslaughter, which only irked protesters further. On June 3, 10 days after Floyd's death and nine days into the protests, ex-officers Tou Thao, Thomas Lane and J. Alexander Kueng were charged with aiding and abetting murder, while Chauvin's charge was upgraded to second-degree murder.
“I’ve been angry since Trayvon Martin died,” said 18-year-old Grace Jackson, “that was the start.”
For many of the middle-schoolers and teens who came of age in the wake of the Trayvon Martin verdict, and watched George Zimmerman walk free for what the court deemed a lawful killing as the deceased 17-year-old's parents wept, America’s promise is not one of opportunity, but oppression.
Some of those young people have taken to the streets in the wake of Floyd’s death to organize and lift their voices in protest, others to exercise the rage they feel burning inside them, lest they be consumed by it.
Jackson, who graduated from Montgomery Academy last month, coordinated a protest march from EJI’s Legacy Memorial to the state Capitol steps on June 3. The teen said she was outraged by what felt like weekly reports of black people killed by police. While an increasing number of white and non-black people of color have joined the national protests, Jackson said the issue still doesn’t hit home for some.
“It’s been a point when I’m talking to my friends. Y’all don’t have a black dad, y’all don’t have a black brother who this could have easily been their name,” Jackson said.
The protests come amid an unprecedented public health crisis that has ravaged black communities. African Americans are now dying of coronavirus at 2.4 times the rate of white Americans, the root causes of which lead back to the same issues protesters believe is at the heart of police violence against black and brown people: racism and white supremacy.
Poverty, lack of health care and underlying medical conditions each exacerbate the impact of the virus, issues over-represented in African American communities due to disparities that trace as far back as slavery. Some of the protesters have lost loved ones, parents, aunts and uncles to COVID-19. Many feel that not only must they contend with this invisible enemy, they must simultaneously battle racism in policing and criminal justice systems that often leave them without resource or accountability.
And given the way that the virus is transmitted, by the inhalation of airborne droplets within close proximity, it's likely that cities where protests have occurred will see spikes.
“The saddest part about this is that now racism is pretty much outweighing the pandemic,” said Nick Rankins who runs local youth mentor program Young Men on a Mission.
“It’s just multiplying the dangers of what we go through as people every day.”
More: Alabama data shows majority of coronavirus deaths are African Americans
Some have noted that once demographic data started rolling in from states across the country that showed coronavirus had a disproportionate impact on African Americans, the public narrative quickly shifted from social to personal responsibility. There were more fervent calls from right-leaning politicians and public figures suggesting the country had to sacrifice some, particularly the elderly, for the good of a sputtering economy.
In response to one Twitter user who suggested that she would gladly accept the moniker of "grandma killer" if it meant a return to some semblance of normalcy, another questioned just whose grandmother she was referring to, since the data showed a clear disparity.
Many feel the chasm between the haves and have nots has become even further entrenched throughout this pandemic. Even under the best economic conditions, the U.S. jobless rate has historically been about twice as high for black people as for white people. The New York Times reported on June 1 that less than half of black adults now have jobs. In February, black unemployment was at 5.8%. Current data shows it has risen to almost 17%. Many black workers are either unemployed or have essential jobs that leave them more vulnerable to coronavirus exposure; one study found African Americans make up 11.9% of all employees but 17 percent of front-line workers.
In April, as protests began to pop up in many red states demanding governors re-open the economy, black Americans observed openly hostile, mostly white protesters, who in some cases arrived at state houses armed with weapons, and cynically mulled over whose job status they were truly concerned about and whose lives they were willing to risk.
Many black protesters feel the country has been apathetic toward their pain and has disregarded the welfare of black citizens by what they see as the current administration’s mishandling of the public health crisis and outright hostility toward demonstrators, with reports that the president ordered members of the police, National Guard and Secret Service to disperse protesters with rubber bullets and tear gas at the White House on Monday in order to clear his way for a photo op.
With more than 40 million Americans unemployed, more than 100,000 dead from coronavirus and food pantry lines that stretch miles in some cities, the country feels like a tinderbox, prime for a spark.
More: Alabama unemployment rate near 13%, highest in 37 years; Lowndes County at 26%
While many demonstrations have been peaceful, some have devolved into violence with police and protesters clashing, buildings set aflame and businesses destroyed. As of June 2, at least 11 people had been killed, hundreds injured and thousands arrested.
"Those young people out there are a reflection of the society that you give them,” said Michelle Summers, a local teacher and community advocate.
Summers describes the riots as collective trauma rising to the surface that should be a wake-up call to the nation.
“What the rioting and the looting does is it shakes people. And sometimes people do not move unless you shake them.”
Reports have circulated about outside agitators traveling to cities to stir up trouble and others taking advantage of the chaos for personal gain by robbing stores or defacing property. Videos have even emerged purporting to show uniformed police officers smashing shop windows and battering their own cruisers, protesters say in an effort to smear Black Lives Matter — a decentralized movement to end violence and systemic racism against black people.
Protests and demonstrations in Montgomery have been peaceful, and community organizers told the Advertiser they believe it will stay that way. In Birmingham, there were reports that some stores had been damaged or burglarized and a local reporter was attacked while filming protesters amid the disorder. Many denounced the violence and destruction, with one local comedian calling on residents to help him clean up black businesses.
In Alabama, many protesters have turned their attention toward the removal of Confederate monuments and memorials, which the state has blocked for many years through legislation and fines. People amassed in Birmingham’s Linn Park on Sunday attempting to topple a 52-foot Confederate monument and were held back solely by the pleas of Mayor Randall Woodfin who promised to have the obelisk removed and did so Monday. Attorney General Steve Marshall filed a lawsuit against the city the next day.
In Montgomery, as police braced for protesters downtown and set up barricades bolstered by police cruisers at EastChase mall on Monday evening, four local activists made their way to Robert E. Lee High School to confront its namesake, knocking the statue of Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee off of its pedestal. Officers charged the four with criminal mischief felonies, but after review of the affidavits District Attorney Daryl Bailey said that legal errors found in the documents meant the charges were "not prosecutable" and filed a motion Tuesday evening to dismiss them.
Black residents have long complained about the lack of empathy and disrespect these monuments represent, as well as the cruel irony that a predominantly black high school would bear the name of a man who fought to preserve slavery.
“They lost the war. So, why do we have a school named for Robert E. Lee?” asked Summers.
“As a matter fact, since they sold slaves down there at the city fountain, let’s put up a monument to Nat Turner, who led one of the largest successful slave insurrections, and see how they react to it.”
Montgomery’s fraught civil rights history is well known, but black residents say there are recent events that speak to underlying racial fractures, and tense relations with local police. In January, former Montgomery police officer Aaron Cody Smith was sentenced to 14 years in prison for the 2016 shooting of Greg Gunn, who Smith chased down, beat and fatally shot seven times.
“Being feet away from where he took his last breath, we don’t have to go far to find injustice or police brutality," said District 6 Councilman Oronde Mitchell.
Smith appealed the decision and was released on a $300,000 bond in March. Many who say his sentence was too lenient saw it as another slap in the face; a reminder that those who can afford to may legally pay their way out of a jail cell, unlike most who live in the westside neighborhood where Gunn was killed.
“When [he] passed away, I was in his front yard holding his mother’s hand and saying that we will make a change," the councilman said.
Mitchell, who was elected to Montgomery City Council in October, said that once the dust settled, governments needed to examine policies at the local, state and federal level that not only had a disproportionate effect on African Americans, but citizens as a whole, noting sentencing as a key area ripe for reform.
On June 14, Mitchell, Rankins, the youth program leader, and Nettles, the father of three, along with local organizers and community advocates like Summers will host a protest downtown. Mitchell said they’re asking 500 young men to come dressed in suits — a stark contrast to current images of protesters seen in media — and stand with them on the Capitol steps in solidarity. The organizers plan to build off the demonstration to plan a local summit.
“Your public officials need to be hand in hand with you,” said Mitchell. “I want this to be more than just a protest, I want it to be a movement that’s going to last when these protests are over.”
Reform advocates received a bit of hopeful news on Tuesday, as the state of Minnesota announced it had launched a civil rights investigation into the Minneapolis Police Department, though it’s doubtful this news will quell the widespread anger that has boiled over since Floyd’s death.
As each day brings fresh news of protest, death and violence some have grown anxious; fearful for their loved ones who are demonstrating in the streets, the police officers obliged to patrol them and the livelihoods of small business owners. Many question what these protests will mean for the future of American society, they wonder what the country will look like once the embers of rage and discontent begin to burn out; for the majority of those demonstrating the short answer is: like it has never looked before.
Contact Montgomery Advertiser reporter Safiya Charles at (334) 240-0121 or SCharles@gannett.com
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