My heart raced as I awaited the verdict.
I had purposely not watched any part of the Derek Chauvin trial because I had watched every day of George Zimmerman’s.
I remember the nausea curling in my stomach as I heard the words not guilty.
I remember the disbelief, and the tears, and how my shaking hands struggled to turn off the TV.
I remember my heart tearing one year later when Darren Wilson was not indicted. And protesting through my pain as my friend and I marched with hundreds of others through downtown D.C.
I remember the sadness of Walter Scott, the haunting final moments of Philando Castille, the anger from Freddie Gray, Jr., and the outrage from Sandra Bland.
I remember how awful I felt every time an unarmed black man or woman was killed by police or so-called vigilantes.
I remember feeling helpless in the fight for social justice. We marched and disrupted to bring awareness to these injustices, only to have the legal system constantly dismiss our efforts, our voices, our struggles, and most important, the value of our black lives.
All these memories and feelings flooded my mind as I watched Judge Cahill take his seat.
I bowed my head in prayer as he began speaking.
“Lord, help us,” is all I could muster.
I wanted to believe that 12 jury members could see the inhumanity of Derek Chauvin’s actions. I wanted to hope in human decency, but I was afraid.
Because humans had made parties out of watching a black body hang from a tree. Humans brought guns into churches and sat beside those they later murdered. Humans watched an unarmed black person killed by police and demanded the victim explain why he or she caused their own death.
Humans can be far from decent, and so are the systems they’ve created.
Anxiety loosened its grip on me as Judge Cahill read the guilty verdicts. Tears blurred my sight.
I couldn’t quite figure out how I was feeling at that moment: relieved? Happy? Thankful?
It’s difficult to fully enjoy justice when the taste is so foreign.
Or to freely celebrate because you’re still forced to be apprehensive about the completion of justice.
I do think I felt an overall sense of relief that a cop is finally experiencing the consequences of his actions. That a statement, no matter how rare, was made about the value of black life.
But I also felt an overall sense of sorrow.
It pains me that Derek Chauvin thought it was okay to keep his knee on George Floyd’s neck for so long.
It hurts that we’ve had to add another person to our list of “Say Their Names.”
It saddens me that black Americans don’t expect justice, and that we still have to be leery even if we get a small taste of it.
The National Guard shouldn’t have to be deployed to multiple states in anticipation of a not guilty verdict because our failed legal system has repeatedly demonstrated that it won’t offer accountability for endangering and ending black life.
Black lives should matter without a video and without protests.
We shouldn’t have to tell Gianna Floyd that her daddy changed the world because he should still be here with her.
Although I am thankful for yesterday’s step forward, I am sorrowful that even though it’s 2021 our nation still needs this step toward equality.
I continue to pray for the comfort of George Floyd’s family; I pray that Derek Chauvin is led to repentance and accepting Jesus Christ (if he hasn’t); and I pray that one day we won’t have to hold our breaths awaiting a verdict on whether black lives truly matter.