How did we get here?

On Friday, from multiple angles, we watched a man- a black man, a father of four, a husband, a brother, a son, a musician, a student, a friend, Terence Crutcher, “Crutch” – bleed out in the middle of the road in North Tulsa.

This just a couple of months after watching Alton Sterling bleed out in a parking lot in Baton Rogue. And watching Philando Castile bleed out in the driver’s seat of his car.

The world lost another man this week too soon. Anytime that happens, it’s a tragedy. When it’s at the hands of the state, at the hands of a police officer – one sworn to protect and serve – it is all the more so.

And yet, a large portion of our country can’t find in them the most human and reasonable reaction to the death of someone’s father – grief, compassion, tears, empathy. Instead, they view the video of his death and their first reaction is to search – desperately, fearfully, guiltily – for a justification. For a reason why Terence Crutcher must have deserved to die at the hands of Officer Betty Shelby on that lonely Tulsa road Friday night.

Instead of reacting like actual human beings, they react like numb, disconnected shadows.

How did we get here?

We pride ourselves on our virtues in America: on our compassion, our loyalty, our commitment to justice, our kindness. It’s our enduring American myth. And yet, our public reactions to things like the death of our fellow citizens is anything but compassionate or kind or just. It’s always cold and cruel and dismissive and bloodthirsty.

“He must have been asking for it.”

“He was a thug.”

“He should have complied.”

“He shouldn’t have been wearing a hoodie.”

“He was a big, bad dude.”

“He got what he deserved.”

Terence Crutcher died Friday. He had his hands up. His car had been secured by the officer. He was moving slowly and deliberately. There were four officers there. He was not presenting an active threat. And yet, he died. He died physically. And white America is going to make sure he dies again and again in the coming weeks, so that we have to never face up to the guilt of having constructed a racist system that only works by disposing of black bodies as carelessly as we dispose of old paper towels.

I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. If Philando Castile – beloved Phil, sitting in his car, following all the orders, as innocent of any wrong doing as a person can be – if he can’t get even get a fair public hearing in this country, then folks like Terence and Keith and Alton and all the others don’t stand any chance in hell.

We don’t have a live feed to Terence’s brain to see what exactly was going through his mind at that moment, so consequently, he can never prove his innocence to so many in our country. So he’s guilty. Cut and dry. He was guilty the day he was born a black boy, and he has been guilty every day since, he was guilty on Friday, and now, he will be guilty for all posterity. That’s American justice at work.

The American myth has been preserved for another bloody day.

How did we get here?

How do we get out?