I am crying over the killing of Pamela Turner but why am I crying alone?
I’m tired of crying over killer cops killing unarmed black people but more than that, I’m tired of crying alone.
Before tonight is over, I’ll be crying. Again. Alone. A killer cop killed an unarmed black woman. I’ll look at the video of the Texas killer cop killing Pamela Turner. She said she was pregnant. Her family says she wasn’t pregnant but mentally ill. I’ll think about the the killer cop not knowing about her biological condition but being trained to gauge her mental condition. I’ll think about the unthinkable, me losing one of my daughters. I’ll think about her parents unimaginably losing one of theirs. I’ll cry. I’ll think about America acting as if it’s normal. I’ll remember that it is. I’ll cry about that.
I’ll think about this isolated incident of a killer cop killing an unarmed black person. I’ll think about the other 10 or 20 or 10,000 isolated incidents of killer cops killing unarmed black people. I’ll think about how I don’t know the meaning of the word, “isolated.” I’ll think of new words, like “commonplace,” “regular,” “routine” and “ho-hum.” I’ll think about how accustomed America has become to killer cops killing unarmed black people, adult or child, man or woman. I’ll cry especially about that.
Sometimes, some days, some things are so outside of the realm of normal or what should be normal, the world should stop. The world should collectively focus on that one thing that is so far outside the realm of normal or what should be normal. Except when that one thing is no longer outside the realm of what’s normal. Except when that one thing is a killer cop killing an unarmed black woman and it is ho-hum.
There’s a lot going on. But today, only one thing is going on. Our president is a racist and a liar. But that’s everyday. But not today. Congressional republicans are complicit and cowards. But that’s everyday. But not today. Democrats are outraged and impotent. But that’s everyday. But not today. States are stripping women of their reproductive freedom. But that’s everyday. But not today. There may even be a new Kardashian kid. But that’s everyday. But not today.
I have no tears. I have no time.
Because a killer cop killed an unarmed black woman.
The killer cop killed Pamela Turner. He was a man, an 11-year officer. She was a woman, a 43 year old woman. He had a gun. She did not. He had police training. She did not. He had a Taser. She did not. As he menacingly stood astride her and she lay on her back, he said she took his Taser and tried to use it on him. He said he had no choice. He did. They will claim to thoroughly investigate. They might but they probably won’t. Some will say, “blacks lives matter.” They might but they seemingly don’t.
They’ll clear him of any wrongdoing. Killer cops killing unarmed black people almost always are.
Pamela Turner was mentally ill. About that, she had no choice. He shot her five times. About that, he did. He decided to put his hand on his gun. He decided to take his gun out of its holster. He decided to point it at her. He decided to shoot her. He decided to shoot her again. He decided to shoot her again. He decided to shoot her again. He decided to shoot her again.
And then her world stopped. And then my world kinda did. I can think about little else. Today I don’t care about our racist, lying, man-child president. I don’t care about our complicit congress. I don’t care that somehow republicans in Georgia and Alabama and Mississippi and Kentucky and Ohio and Missouri somehow get to call themselves “pro-life.” They’re not.
They weren’t pro-Tamir Rice’s life. They weren’t pro-Eric Garner’s life. They‘re not pro-Pamela Turner’s life. If they were, perhaps they would have cared or even cried. And if they cared or even cried, perhaps like Tamir’s, Eric’s and Pamela’s worlds, their worlds would have kinda stopped. And an ernest conversation about killer cop accountability would begin. Perhaps there would have been some outrage. Perhaps today would not have been ho-hum.
I’d still be crying. But I wouldn’t be crying alone. And perhaps I’d be crying less often.