KOMPLEXIFY!

Stephon Clark’s initials – SAC – spelled the nickname of his hometown, but his nickname was “Zoe Blow.” The 22-year-old and his brother grew up with his grandmother in Sacramento, where he was a funny student, an aspiring athlete, and worked at the youth center. Everyone agreed that he was gifted at explaining things “just right” for folks to understand. Though he was outwardly stylish and goofy, he was also traumatized by overwhelming fears of abandonment: his father was absent; his mother struggled with addiction; his older brother died of an accidental gunshot wound. He had two sons with his longtime girlfriend Salena, and though their relationship often ran hot and cold, he was committed to giving his sons the family life he did not have. He converted to Salena’s family faith of Islam, completed counseling for his anger issues, and had just applied for work at a local food warehouse.

Stephon Clark was murdered by police on March 3, 2018, for holding a cell phone. He had had a nasty fight with Salena and, panicked she might take his sons away, decided to stay with his grandmother. Responding to a 9-1-1 call around 9 pm, a police helicopter unit located Stephon running through homes’ backyards. When he finally stopped in the driveway of a house, cops burst in from the street to apprehend him. Stephon fled to the backyard, chased by the cops. With him cornered, they shot 20 rounds in five seconds, striking Stephon at least 8 times, many after he had already collapsed. Though police would claim that he had a tool bar, and then later a gun, Stephon was only carrying a cellphone. The cops would not be charged with any crime.

The house, it would turn out, was his grandmother’s. Stephon had almost made it home.

Black lives matter.

Keith Lamont Scott was a family man. The 43-year-old security guard had been happily married for 20 years and had seven children. He cheered his sons at football, helped them detail cars, and participated in dance-off videos with his daughters. He himself had a troubled youth, tussling with the cops in South Carolina and Texas, but straightened his life out to marry the love of his life, Rakeyia, and devoted himself to her and their kids. A traumatic motorcycle accident in 2015 slowed him down – he was confused a little more often, he often walked with a cane, and his baritone drawl now stuttered – but he remained focused on his children, spending his afternoons reading in his SUV waiting to greet them when they emerged from the school bus.

Keith Lamar Scott was murdered by police on September 20, 2016, for waiting in that SUV. Two cops, there to serve a warrant in an unrelated case, saw Keith park his SUV in the shade near them. Claiming they witnessed him holding a blunt and a gun, they drew their guns on him and repeatedly shouted for him to “Drop the gun.” Hearing the commotion from their apartment, Rakeyia ran out, telling the cops he that didn’t have a weapon; that he had just taken his medicine for his brain injury; that he wouldn’t hurt them; and – repeatedly – “Don’t you shoot him.” Upon seeing his wife, Keith exited his SUV, turned around, and slowly walked backwards towards the cops perched behind their vehicle two stalls away. They shot him four times as he walked. The cops were never charged with any crime.

Black lives matter.

Terence Crutcher was a big dude. The 40-year-old Tulsa resident, one half of set of twins, had had run-ins with the police since his teens (although that was not uncommon in this city, with its long history of racial tensions), and was struggling with addiction. But he was also the father of four children and was committed to doing right by them. He renewed his faith and in church discovered a passion for music. He joined the church choir and sang gospel songs for his neighbors from his driveway. Excited about learning more, he enrolled in Tulsa Community College to learn about music and music production. “I’m gonna make you all proud,” he texted his family.

Terence Crutcher was murdered by police on September 16, 2016, over a disabled SUV. Fearing it would explode, he ditched the car on the highway and ran out, prompting two 911 calls. A cop responding to an unrelated domestic violence call arrived and, believing that Terence was under the influence, drew her weapon on him. Ignoring her order to kneel, he walked slowly back to his SUV as more cops, responding to the 911 calls, arrived. When Terrence reached his driver’s side door, one of the arriving cops tased him, while the first cop on the scene elected to shoot him through the heart instead. She would later claim he reached in through the window for a gun, though the window was closed and there was no gun on Terence or in his car. She now teaches classes to help other cops who kill to cope with being “victimized by anti-police groups.”

Black lives matter.

Jordan Edwards was, in the words of his coach, “a kid who did everything right.” The 15-year-old grew up in a loving suburban Texan home with his mom and dad and brothers. Jordan was always in a great mood had a contagious smile. He was a talented student AND athlete, earning straight As and playing as a receiver and quarterback on his Texas high school football team, the Skeeters.

Jordan Edwards was murdered by police on April 29, 2017, for going to a party. The party was loud, and neighbors called 9-1-1 to complain about the noise and possible underage drinking. When cops showed up at 11 pm to break the party up, partygoers scattered. Jordan hopped into a car with his brothers and friends. As they drove away, a cop shot at the car three times with a rifle, striking Jordan in the head. The cop would later lie that the car was trying to back into him, but video footage would disprove that. He would be convicted of murder.

Black lives matter.
 

Diamond Reynolds was talking about getting married to her boyfriend. Growing up poor and Black in Saint Paul, she knew her way around homeless shelters and the omnipresent threat of the police. She met nice guy who worked for the school district, as introverted as she was extroverted, but who genuinely cared for her and her baby daughter Dea’Anna. They moved in together, she got a job, and the three became a family.

Diamond Reynolds was in the car when police murdered her boyfriend Philando Castile. Of the seven shots fired, a couple narrowly missed her and Dea’Anna, who was sitting in the back seat. As Philando lay dying and with the cop still pointing his gun at them, she began live-streaming on Facebook, recounting the events. She remained preternaturally calm as the cop screamed increasingly panicky commands at her. She answered his questions politely, always with a “Yes, sir” or “No, sir.” She quietly asked anyone who was listening — the cops, her Facebook friends, Jesus — to tell her her boyfriend was not dead. She kept her hands up until she was handcuffed and moved into the back of the squad car with Dae’Anna. And there, removed from police and alone with her daughter, she could finally scream and cry and grieve. “It’s okay,” said Dae’Anna as she hugged her mom, “I’m here with you.”

Black lives matter.

I do not link to the videos of the deaths of the Black men and women whose portraits I share, because while I mean to call attention to the senseless way in which they died, it is equally important that I pay tribute to the way they lived: who they were and what they did before their stories were abruptly ended. Black lives matter. (It’s also ghoulish and exploitative.)

However, I think every white person needs to watch Ms. Reynolds’ live-stream. I wrote at the start of this project that being white meant that I have the option to compartmentalize my sadness and my rage about police brutality whenever it becomes slightly inconvenient for me. By contrast, Ms. Reynolds shows in agonizing clarity that being Black requires the compartmentalization of your sadness and rage in order to simply survive an encounter with the police… and that sometimes that understanding must be learned when you are 4 years old.