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By Elie Honig

Dear Reader,

Justice is not easy. It’s not perfect.

Nothing ever can un-do what Derek Chauvin did to George Floyd outside of Cup Foods last Memorial Day. You learn quickly when you prosecute murder cases: even the best you can possibly provide to a grieving family — a voice, a verdict, accountability — is thin consolation. But it’s also the best that we, and our imperfect system, can possibly do. Derek Chauvin killed a man who was helpless, handcuffed, face-down on the asphalt. And now Chauvin is behind bars, likely for much of his remaining life.

This has been the most meaningful trial in a generation, or more. Some have grouped it along with prior mega-trials of Casey Anthony and O.J. Simpson, but I dissent on both. While all three trials captivated a wide audience, Chauvin is far more important than the others. As horrific as the facts were in the Anthony trial, it was mostly a tabloid case without any broader social implications. The Simpson case was, of course, about race and celebrity and violence. The Chauvin case is about those things, to varying extents, but it’s also about what our government does to Black people, how it is capable of brutalizing them and then struggling to hold itself accountable.

The Chauvin trial heralded two notable movements in the broader public debate over that ongoing struggle. First, I believe this trial signals the arrival of mainstream recognition and acceptance of the notion of collective trauma. Scholars from James Baldwin to Ibram X. Kendi have long been aware, and struggled to make others aware, of this concept. As Fabiola Cineas wrote of the Chauvin trial a few weeks ago, “[f]or those already carrying the trauma of systemic racism, it doesn’t take much to trigger a physical and emotional response: Just hearing about Floyd or Chauvin’s trial can be enough to trigger memories of the other Black men who died at the hands of the police.”

While the notion of collective trauma is not new, the Chauvin trial displayed starkly, for all of America, what that trauma looks like, and how it radiates out in concentric circles. In the innermost ring, Philonise Floyd memorably testified about the devastating loss of his big brother, bringing George’s memory back to life while bravely trying to choke back tears (ultimately — understandably — failing. And why hold back, anyway, really?).

Moving one step outward to the immediate Minneapolis community, we saw Christopher Martin, the young cashier at Cup Foods who testified about how he wished he could have done more; the minors who saw a man killed in front of them, and now struggle with the aftermath; Donald Williams, the man who tried to wake the police up to what they were doing to Floyd, and now bears a sense of grief over what he was helpless to prevent; and Charles McMillian, who left us with perhaps the trial’s most indelible image when this dignified, composed man broke down on the stand after watching video of Floyd’s death.

At the final level, beyond the Floyd family and the Minneapolis community, is all of us. As I’ve written in this space before, I’ve never seen so much collective grief, and such poignant expressions of communal trauma, as I have during this trial. People now discuss collective trauma — in media, and in regular conversation — with much more freedom, understanding, and acceptance than even a few months ago.

The second major movement I’ve seen during this trial is the crumbling of the “blue wall” — that often unspoken but undeniable force that inhibits (or perhaps even prohibits) the police from calling out their own who have done wrong. Note my word choice here: “crumbling” of the blue wall, but certainly not “collapse.” I don’t suggest the blue wall is gone. But with this trial, we’ve seen that, at least in the most extreme circumstances, there are police officers who are willing to step forward, speak truth, and condemn abusive and excessive conduct by their peers.

Most memorably, we heard testimony from Minneapolis Police Department Chief Medaria Arradondo, who calmly but forcefully testified that Chauvin’s actions were completely inconsistent with police training, policy, and principle. Chief Arradondo embodies the ideal of the police as protectors, not occupiers, of a community. He spoke quietly but passionately about the duty of any police force to serve its community, rather than to overpower it. Other senior officers from the Minneapolis Police Department got on the stand and followed the Chief’s lead, and many other cops all around the country echoed condemnation of Chauvin.

That’s not to suggest that police officers will now readily turn on one another. The Chauvin case is unique because his actions were so flagrant, obvious, and grotesque that it seemed almost impossible to defend them (a single “expert” witness for the defense, Barry Brod, tried — but failed miserably, exposing himself as a quack with a badge). Many other cases of controversial or improper police conduct will fall somewhere on the hazier parts of the spectrum, and the blue wall likely will hold to some extent. But this was a watershed moment, to see a respected Chief and his top brass speak out so starkly against one of their own, who by his conduct had disgraced the Department and its mission to serve and protect.

In some part, Chauvin failed our policing process. He should have known better; he did know better. His every move on May 25, 2020 ran counter to what any good cop would do. But in another sense, our policing process failed all of us in that it produced a Derek Chauvin to begin with. He’s not the only one or the last one, either — he’s just the one receiving the most focus right now.

But our criminal justice system worked. Indeed, that process still can be flawed, and fallible. But here, it produced an orderly, fair trial and a resoundingly legitimate and just verdict. Derek Chauvin has now met accountability. And the broader social impact of his trial will be with us permanently.

Stay Informed, 

Elie

Elie Honig is the author of the forthcoming book, “Hatchet Man: How Bill Barr Broke the Prosecutor’s Code and Corrupted the Justice Department,” now available for pre-order.