Last January, millions watched a camera-recorded video of 22-year old Oscar Grant being killed on New Year’s Day by a California transit police officer. Three police officers restrained Oscar, who was unarmed, as passengers watched from the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) system platform. The video shows the officers wrestle with Oscar a bit, exchange words, and then pull him to the ground. The video also shows an officer thrust his knee onto Oscar’s neck as another officer stands back, draws his weapon and fires it into Oscar’s back, killing him instantly.
It wasn’t a scripted movie. It wasn’t a prank. It was police brutality; and the community was incensed. Protests ensued in Oakland, investigations were launched, lawsuits were filed, officers resigned, and legislation was passed to better regulate the use of force among transit police officers. Johannes Mehserle, the officer who fired his weapon, became the first Bay Area police officer charged with murder for an on-duty action, and one of a handful to be charged as such nationally. The public protest was so strong in response to the shooting that ultimately, a change of venue was issued, moving the trial from Oakland to Los Angeles.
Today, opening statements begin in the case against Mehserle, but while many who view the video and hear the testimony of witnesses may see a clear case of police abuse and excessive use of force, the family fears that they will not receive the justice they feel they deserve.
First, there’s the jury.
Not a single juror is African-American. Given the recent data regarding the systematic exclusion of African Americans from juries across this nation, it is of great concern that there is not a single black juror who will lend his or her voice to the interpretation of justice in this case. Witnesses reportedly overheard one of the officers repeatedly use a racial epithet calling Grant a “b*tch a** n****r”—just before the shooting. With such racially charged rhetoric and sentiment surrounding the shooting, were there not any African-Americans whose perspective would be useful on the jury?
Second, there’s the defense’s “expert witness.”
A videographer will be called to the stand during this trial to offer his interpretation of what is occurring in the video. Based upon preliminary interviews, the family suspects that this key witness for the defense will determine that Oscar assaulted the officers and so the use of deadly force was warranted. “They’ll call up that expert witness and he’ll tell us we don’t see what we see, just because we’re not ‘experts,’” said Cephus “Uncle Bobby” Johnson, Oscar Grant’s uncle. Words do not justify use of the deadly force. There are many other conflict resolution tactics that would have sufficed—police training curricula cover this at length.
Third, there’s Michael Jackson.
Recently, it was revealed that the trial for Dr. Conrad Murray, Michael Jackson’s former doctor, is set to begin next week in the same court, on the same floor as the Mehserle trial. This could be coincidental, but the family suspects that the stage is being set for Mehserle to walk away as a free man—and that it will happen when no one is paying attention. “Everyone will be watching the Michael Jackson trial,” Mr. Johnson said.
And then, of course, there’s history.
Excessive use of force by police officers in the African American community has been a point of contention for centuries. Books have been written about it. Movies made about it, and songs written about it. The lack of trust between law enforcement and African-Americans is so engrained in the popular culture that campaigns have been designed to reinforce the notion that even talking to police officers is taboo. In 1901, W.E.B. DuBois warned that if racial discrimination is used in the administration of justice, the integrity of the criminal justice system would fail. If people couldn’t trust the system to be fair, then people would begin to feel pity for those victimized by it, and the concept of “criminal justice” would lose all meaning.
This trial could be different. Even with these challenges, it is possible that those trusted to administer the law through a lens of objectivity and fairness will review the facts of the case, pay attention to the details presented, and make decisions that are, in fact, just. It is possible for them to hear the racial overtones that dominated the encounter. It is possible for them to see the photo that Oscar took just before his death, of Mehserle pointing the Taser gun at him. It is possible for them to see an unarmed man get shot in the back while in custody for what it is—a deadly assault on his life, and his civil and human rights.
Many community activists and justice advocates continue to show their support for the family—monitoring with a watchful eye what will occur over the next several weeks. For this, Wanda Johnson, Oscar Grant’s mother, is grateful. A woman of strength and resolve, Ms. Johnson remains thankful for the public show of support for her family, “not just because it’s Oscar, but because it’s police brutality.”
The relationship between African-Americans—and other communities of color—and law enforcement needs healing; but in order to develop trust, there must be an admission that the current relationship is broken. People, including those we trust to protect us, must be held accountable for actions that are antithetical to the public safety. Under the rule of law, no one should be exempt.
