George Floyd’s execution and the burning of a precinct

A protester raises his clenched fist in front of the burning 3rd Precinct building of the Minneapolis Police Department on Thursday, May 28, 2020. | Julio Cortez / AP

My police department murdered a man on Monday.

Actually.

No.

He was executed.

Murder implies some sort of emotional act or cold, non-feeling release by a psychopath. Whether emotional, premeditated, or impulsive, murder is committed by an individual (or individuals).

This killing was committed by the state. Specifically, the Minneapolis Police Department.

I am an educated, white, married, middle-class man living in Ilhan Omar’s stronghold.

White privilege.

I’ve had many interactions with police officers- including intentionally incendiary interactions. Dumb. Lucky. Stupid.

But that’s white privilege.

I say that to tell you this: Police malpractice has always been an intellectual exercise for me: My frustration with police has been founded in statistics, media, and the experiences of others. My ‘solidarity’ with others.

Until Justine Ruszczyk/Damond. Justine looks like my wife. Justine was trying to do good, just like my wife would do. Justine was murdered by a member of the MPD.

It instilled fear.

Doubt.

It made it personal, not intellectual.

I say all that to say this to skeptical readers: take my momentary experience and multiply it. Over decades, regions and countries.

Incomprehensible.

Reader, this commentary isn’t aimed at you- it’s aimed at your coworkers, friends, colleagues, and ‘obnoxious uncles’ that use thinly racist terms to condemn what’s happening in my city.

Share. Maybe if they read this, they will begin to understand what is happening in my city tonight.

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CONTRIBUTOR

JF Allen

JF Allen writes from Minneapolis, Minnesota.