Sitting Out the Revolution

When the verdict came down I really wanted to feel anger. I wanted to talk to my friends, both black and white, and talk about how livid the failure to indict made me, but ultimately I could not. As I sat silently in my chair, slouching down as far as possible, I could not really feel much of anything. Another young black man, much like me, was killed and there is nothing I can do to change that fact. No matter what I do, Michael Brown will remain dead and Darren Wilson will never fear criminal prosecution for his actions.

I do not have any illusions of being a legal expert. Without doubt, the defenders, prosecutors, and jurors have far more information regarding this case than I do. As such, I do not intend to try to convince anyone of Darren Wilson’s innocence or guilt. In more ways than one, Wilson’s culpability for this crime remains secondary. Taking a step back, the case of Michael Brown and Darren Wilson amounts to one case in a small town in Missouri. The responsibility of adjudicating the particular facts of this case fell to the courts and I am certainly not qualified to determine whether or not they honestly undertook this duty.

But the response to this case magnifies social unrest and institutional ineptitude that pervades every corner of this country. There should have been no need to protest the killing of an unarmed black male. This case, like so many others the public will never discover, should have fallen into obscurity. Black people in Ferguson and across the country did not protest as a blind display of raw emotion, though without doubt these displays have been emotionally charged. The people of Ferguson took to the streets because they felt they saw no other way to seek justice. In a world where those meant to protect all cut down black bodies with little remorse, the people of Ferguson saw protest as the only way to guarantee due process.

And let us not lose sight of the stakes. Despite how many news outlets and public commentators have depicted them, protestors in Ferguson and beyond are not lynch mobs. They did not endure tear gas, military grade rifles, and tanks to try to tarnish the already tattered reputation of a police officer. Protestors simply wanted an indictment. An indictment is by no means a declaration of guilt or innocence. An indictment will not do any more to damage the life of Officer Wilson. At the end of the day, the people simply wanted an opportunity to fully investigate the death of an unarmed man. After the grand jury’s decision not to indict, we will never know exactly what happened between Michael Brown and Darren Wilson.

Each slain black body seems to erase a decade of progress in race relations. Not only does each case further polarize the population along racial lines, but it also seems to lower the bar on what is considered justice. After the events of Monday night, I found myself being thankful that at least Trayvon Martin’s killer was indicted. At least the Martin family had the opportunity to have their day in court and allow the full legal process take its course. Starting here only further underscores how inept the legal system has become at prosecuting offenders that prematurely cut down black bodies.

By and large, a prosecutor can get almost any grand jury to indict. Getting an indictment is so easy that New York State Chief Judge Sol Wachtler once said a prosecutor could persuade a grand jury to “indict a ham sandwich.” Put aside the fact that the grand jury failed to indict Wilson. The fact that the black community across the country felt compelled to fight for an indictment implies a history of systematic miscarriage of justice. We do not reach this point unless we have been here before and seen first hand how little black lives are valued.

People react very differently to situations like this. Immediately following the Monday night press conference announcing the verdict, I watched my Facebook newsfeed explode with rampant indignation form my peers, especially the black ones. Calls and texts came in asking if there were any accessible protests in the area. Black organizations prepared official responses to try to put words to the troubling feelings in the hearts of many parts of the student body. Everyone wanted to do something. Finding the right something may take several tries and potentially even some soul searching, but everyone I came in contact with wanted to get involved.

The urge to do something, in large part, comes from a flurry of emotions sparked by a heinous event. On a college campus, living with your peers and high levels of interconnectivity only amplifies these feelings. Angry texts, tweets, and Facebook posts beget more anger that in many cases leads to the militancy that demands immediate action. After the jury found George Zimmerman not guilty, I took to Union Square to protest for just that reason. Months of languishing with my fellow 17 to 18 year old black male friends made us all feel like we could be next and something should be done. At the time, I thought I joined the movement that would change everything.

But now I know better. I have no illusions about the world we all live in. Grand gestures may make us feel like we have made an impact, but they never single handedly create change. The March on Washington did not cause the Civil Rights Act. As much as I want to feel angry and do something about Ferguson, I find myself struggling to find any real motivation. My emotional well has run dry. The failure to indict Wilson was not met with the same anger that came after Zimmerman’s exoneration. I feel nothing. This injustice has left nothing in its wake but unequivocal numbness.

At times like this, inaction seems almost appealing. Protests have failed and politicians have shown no reason they deserve our trust. Inaction allows us to lick our wounds and try to forget the truly egregious event that caused the pain. But this will only allow for further injustice. I have lost the will to protest, though I am thankful for those that do. Change must come in the hearts and minds of every citizen. Galvanizing the people requires honest dialogue without fear of judgment. This time I will not heed the call for revolution from on high, but that will not stop me and hopefully everyone else in a similar position from doing what they can on the ground.

Jaime A. Cobham ’17, a Crimson editorial writer, lives in Mather House.