‘This is a moment for us’: In their words, 4 NC Black men respond to the Chauvin verdict.

Last summer, the Editorial Board asked four North Carolina women to tell readers why they marched in George Floyd protests. Today, four N.C. Black men - a storyteller, a businessman, a college student and a law enforcement officer - offer their thoughts on the Derek Chauvin verdict.

Quentin Williams: “This is a moment for us”

A guilty verdict is not the finish line. However, it is evidence that the voice of one poured onto the sidewalks like rain. Streamed onto the streets like rivers of souls that formed choruses of rapids. Streets that turned into the Mississippi. Rivers of the fire this time. Some burning and all brilliant. Facing change and forcing a conversation.

The jury deliberated and before the “guilty” verdict could be stated, they, and them, and we had to acknowledge that Black Lives Matter. That your voice matters. That your choices, however small, are never completely invisible.

For Floyd, Wright, Bland, Martin, Aubrey, Till… and the countless others who remain unnamed. We stand for them. We speak for them. We march and demonstrate for them. For us. Because 400 hundred souls is just the multiplier. Not the sum.

This guilty verdict demonstrates that the words of the individual are climbing into a chorus that is undeniable. Diverse voices that are finding a rhythm in this moment that is forming the harmony of a new kind of civil rights. A movement yielding real change. However small, it is still monumental.

This demand for justice undoubtedly gave pause and inspired courage for the men and women in the Minneapolis police force who testified that Chauvin’s actions weren’t justified. These voices have helped usher in justice. These voice helped chip away at a racist system. These voices have been an earthquake that has damaged the foundation of institutional oppressive forces that, if we are not persistent, will be rebuilt and reinforced. A cacophony of captains and commanders capable of influencing the hearts and minds of many.

This verdict is confirmation that the courage of the nameless protesters can give voice to the victims who have been forced into early ancestor status. The victims who are threatened by the traditions of old whose very souls are the force acting against the momentum of systemic oppression.

This is a moment for us to be affirmed. To recognize the power that we stood in. What it does is perhaps make other bad cops to think a lot harder before using deadly force. It hopefully forces a redesign in policing. It lets us know unequivocally that, upon seeing these cracks in the foundation of this system, that we can never ever again be silent.

Our voices are the deafening roar and weight of waterfalls demanding “justice now”. This moment could not wait, and will not be dammed, because the movement continues forward even in light of this milestone. Especially since a guilty verdict can never bring Gianna’s father back. So we must continue forward until we live in a society when a guilty verdict is never again a cause for celebration. We must continue forward until the crime for which Chauvin was convicted is never again possible.

Quentin Williams is Founder & Executive Director of We The People Stage in Charlotte.

Jeremiah Williams: “Something about it feels so hollow”

Watching the Chauvin trial has felt like sobering up to the America I’ve always known. Quarantine has been an odd time. That very break allowed this summer of increased attention to the deadly racism we experience so painfully, and it also allowed me to be duped. I’ve been duped by black screens on Instagram. Acquaintances of mine spent the summer posting in solidarity, yet continue to spend time with their racist friends. I’ve been duped by conversations. I spent the latter half of 2020 in and around conversations about what entities can do to address internal and external racism, but these conversations seldom amount to any change. Worst of all, I’ve been duped into thinking there was some kind of justice for the officers who take Black lives as if we are worthless.

My parents never bought us Nerf or Airsoft guns. While my white friends would carelessly run around the neighborhood with these replica weapons, my parents feared for my life because I wasn’t home. Before I was reading at the 3rd grade level, I knew full well how to navigate conversations with a police officer. In many ways, a fear of police is almost synonymous with growing up Black. I was two years older than Tamir Rice when he was murdered by Cleveland police. Four years younger than Michael Brown when he was killed in Ferguson. My entire childhood, I have seen myself in these Black boys, wondering if I would live to be older than Mike Brown. Considering how differing my reality could have been if I were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And this week we won. Derek Chauvin was found guilty on all three counts, but something about it feels so hollow. To call this justice is a mockery of the word. In a just society, the circumstances which lead to George Floyd’s death would have never existed. In a just society, Breonna Taylor would still be here to help save lives as an ER technician. In a just world, Trayvon Martin would have safely made it home from the convenience store with his skittles and iced tea. In a just world, my mother wouldn’t fear every phone ring, every text message, every knock at the door when I’m away from home. My father wouldn’t have to stay up all night with anxiety when I’m not home. They wouldn’t have had to teach me how to navigate police encounters before

I fear for white comfort. I’m afraid America’s tendency to notice a problem and sweep it under the rug the moment a sliver of the necessary progress presents itself. I’m afraid that this summer of vocal rejection of white supremacy will amount to nothing because one man was arrested. That those same voices will go back to their daily peaceful lives in a way Black people like myself never can. I fear silence.

Jeremiah Williams is a 20-year-old UNC Charlotte student

Michael De Los Santos: “So much justice remains delayed”

Like others, I was on edge waiting on the Chauvin trial verdict. Was the family of George Floyd going to get justice, or be like the families of Freddie Gray, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, and others who saw no justice for their lost loved ones? I was shocked Chauvin was found guilty, relieved one family would finally get justice, sad nothing would bring Floyd back to life, and upset we still have so far to go.

There is still so much work to do. Black people relive trauma every time videos of these killings are played — not just trauma from seeing them, but from reliving our own brushes with death at the hand of law enforcement.

I’ve had encounters with the law that could have killed me. The time a sheriff’s deputy in Columbia, SC, demanded to search my home because of an alarm signal. We had no alarm, and when I refused to allow him to search because he was at the wrong house, he came face-to-face with me with his hand on his gun demanding I let him through. Would I still be here if my white neighbor had not come outside and asked what was happening? Or when cops showed up twice in a two-week stretch banging on our door at 4:00 a.m. to serve a warrant on someone that was not me. It was the same warrant both times. We all know such stories where a Black person wound up dead.

Until Black people don’t think these incidents are the norm, there’s no justice. Until people realize the trauma we relive with every video and trial, there’s no justice. Justice delayed is justice denied. I take solace some justice has been served for George Floyd, but so much justice remains delayed. When will it be served?

Michael De Los Santos is a Durham resident and business owner.

Greg Hedgepeth: “I may put on blue but I walk every day in black”

Until you have had to clinch the wheel 10 and 2, look straight ahead and be sure to make no sudden movements during a traffic stop. Until you find yourself developing ways to disarm or seem harmless and/or less threatening then reading this only further showcases the privilege some have when encountering the police. I acknowledge that I may put on blue but I walk every day in black and have myself taken these precautions to ensure any encounter I have ends with us both going home to our families.

There is and will continue to be an uphill battle for Black people when it comes to just and unbiased policing.

The preserving of Black life only happens when both Black and Blue see the importance of protecting and serving together, that rebuilding the trust lost, is more than PR statements and community photo ops. It takes real relationship building and time spent listening and learning from one another.

For too long our communities have been seen as the training ground for “real” policing as they say. From drugs, to serving warrants, traffic stops and searches, Black people have been the test subjects in a cat and mouse game within a system that hinders and it’s time we teach, train and protect differently. Note my use of the word “protect” instead of “police” because the mentality is different.

The fundamental reality is that not every encounter will be pleasant but not every unpleasant encounter warrants some form of negative action. As a police officer I learned that managing situations and compliance meant being OK with rethinking, retreating, reengaging and regaining control. Understanding that my “right now” moment was controlled not only by what the person did but by my own actions.

How we heal starts with a holistic acknowledgment that there is something to heal from. Unspoken and untreated trauma has existed between the community and police for far too long and it’s time we together did something about it. We must commit to teaching the next generation of officers that color, status or previous history shouldn’t dictate the encounters you have.

Greg Hedgepeth lives in Knightdale and is former full-time and now a reserve law enforcement officer.