Ignoring footage won’t erase need for real reform
If Tyre Nichols was beaten to death by police officers during a traffic stop without video evidence, did it really happen?
If we had simply accepted the initial police report of Nichols’ Jan. 7 encounter with the Memphis Police Department, his tragic and violent death three days later would’ve been reduced to a cautionary tale, a chilling example law enforcement agencies cite whenever the circumstances of an arrest lead to officers killing a civilian.
If the cops said they felt threatened, then the violence was justified.
That’s the version of reality that the five officers wanted the public to believe. Their police report painted Nichols, a Black 29-year old, as an erratic suspect in an aggravated assault in which one of the officers was the victim. The report claims it was, in fact, Nichols who had “started to fight” with the officers, “refused a lawful detention” and even reached for one of the officers’ guns.
This appallingly deceptive account was contradicted by the officers’ own body cameras as well as nearby surveillance footage. That video, released to the public by Memphis authorities five days ago, shows that the same officers who claimed to be victims, had instead beaten Nichols so savagely, so senselessly, that their utter disregard for human life calls into question why they ever were hired as officers in the first place, let alone as members of a specialized unit to fight crime.
The video of Nichols’ death has — much like the heart-rending footage of George Floyd, Philando Castile, and too many others killed by police before him — animated yet another national discussion on police brutality and the suffocating wall of silence that enables a culture of intimidation within law enforcement agencies.
It has also, due to the disturbing nature of the video, raised questions as to whether the public has an obligation to sit and watch it. Is bearing witness and sharing the footage on social media an act of civic duty, a hopeful catalyst for change? Or is it simply a voyeuristic rubber-necking to the often brutal interactions with police that many communities ravaged by crime endure with unfortunate regularity? There are salient arguments on both sides.
The video itself is gut-wrenching and difficult to watch. Officers screaming a series of confusing and contradictory commands at Nichols, who reacts with intense panic in his voice. The officers restrain him in ways that keep him from following their orders and pepper spray him He flees the scene, but the officers quickly catch up to him, then rain punches, kicks and baton blows down on Nichols’ skinny 150-pound frame, pepper spray him several more times, and continue kicking and punching him. His body limp and reeling from the officers’ vicious haymakers, Nichols calls out for his mother, whose house is a mere 100 yards away from where he was pulled over.
Those who abstain from watching such a horrific scene might do so because they don’t need a gruesome reminder of their own vulnerability to policing. Black adults are about five times as likely as whites to say they’ve been unfairly stopped by police because of their race or ethnicity. Others might not watch out of willful ignorance of that reality. Only four in 10 white Republicans, for instance, believe Black people are treated less fairly by the police or criminal justice system. Still others, regardless of their political persuasion or views on policing, may believe that sharing the footage only reinforces the racial and cultural divides that have plagued our nation for centuries, even though the officers who beat Nichols were also Black.
Everyone has a choice as to whether to put themselves through that experience. We believe, as difficult as it might be, that large numbers of Americans watching the video is critical to achieving any semblance of progress. Choosing not to won’t erase its existence. It may save you the anguish of feeling a fraction of the pain that Nichols’ family is enduring, but it won’t solve the problem that his death has brought to light.
We are not under any illusion that the existence of the video itself will be a deterrence to future police brutality. While body cameras were once hailed as a crucial measure for police accountability, Nichols’ death is a stark reminder of their limits. Did it cross these five officers’ minds that beating Nichols to death would be captured on their cameras, that the footage would be so damning it would serve as clearcut evidence for their indictments on murder charges?
Not watching the footage means avoiding conversations that are conducive to contemplating a healthier culture for law enforcement. Where police no longer commit abuses against the people they are sworn to protect. Where we can analyze the factors that led other officers and paramedics who arrived at the scene to do nothing for far too long as Nichols writhed in pain. Where we can openly question the efficacy of specialized crime units, such as the Scorpion unit the Memphis officers were assigned to, which have a sordid history of extrajudicial activity that sow fear and intimidation and lead to questionable results in actually preventing crime. Where we can focus more on democratic policing approaches such as community engagement, which has proven to be far more constructive in building residents’ trust in law enforcement.
The collective outrage in the wake of George Floyd’s death has led to substantive change on the state level. Half the states in the nation have passed laws regulating use of force by officers; requiring officers to intervene or render medical aid in instances of police misconduct; and allowing the decertification of officers who commit misconduct.
Merely watching the video of Tyre Nichols’ violent beating won’t make our streets safer or our police better at their jobs. We can only hope that it triggers conversations in living rooms, classrooms, city halls, state capitols, and the corridors of Congress, that will bring us closer, much closer, to those endeavors.
Bearing witness to police brutality is crucial to achieving progress.