Las Vegas Review-Journal

The Tyre Nichols video and the overdue promise of police reform

- Helen Ubiñas Helen Ubiñas is a columnist for The Philadelph­ia Inquirer.

Iguess they expected us to be grateful for the warning. Before Memphis police released the body cam footage of the Jan. 7 fatal beating of Tyre Nichols at the hands of its officers, nearly everyone who’d already seen the video warned it would be “heinous” and “inhumane.”

And it was. Nichols was tortured. You can describe the hour of footage in all sorts of ways — sadistic, graphic, shocking — but that is the bottom line. A 29-year-old man was tortured after a traffic stop by five officers who gave him 71 contradict­ory commands in 13 minutes and seemed to take glee in watching him writhe in pain.

The advisory about the video was meant to prepare and reassure the public: Officials weren’t waiting for widespread outrage to act. The five officers who were directly involved in the confrontat­ion with Nichols were quickly fired and indicted on multiple charges, including murder. Nichols died in the hospital three days later. Two more officers were taken off-duty as the investigat­ion continued.

And while it made some kind of sense to brace a country traumatize­d by the killing of Black men by the police, the countdown to the release of the footage ended up feeling a lot less like care and a lot more like a calculatio­n.

The message was carefully managed to soothe the public: Yes, it happened again. Yes, it was horrific, again. But — these cops aren’t going to get away with it.

See — justice.

A showy imitation of justice, anyway. More than 30 years after Rodney King’s brutal beating by police in Los Angeles put a spotlight on police brutality, and just over 30 months after George Floyd’s murder in 2020 by Minneapoli­s police summoned a national reckoning, this is where we are:

We are still waiting on wholesale change that’s long been needed to save more Black and brown people from bad officers. But instead, we are now watching law enforcemen­t agencies focus more on effectivel­y stage-managing the release of videos depicting police brutality than actually doing what needs to be done to address police brutality.

Nationwide, police officers killed more people in 2022 than during any other year in the past decade.

And all that controvers­ial “defund the police” talk in 2020 has largely given way to even the most progressiv­e leaders softening — and in some cases outright changing — their tunes.

Just last week, Philadelph­ia mayoral candidate Jeff Brown told a crowd that “more police and more money for police” was “the No. 1 priority” — days after telling residents in West Philadelph­ia that he’d oppose increasing the police budget. Who knows: Maybe Brown will visit voters in another neighborho­od next week and tell them that he’s changed his mind about policing yet again.

Brown’s most recent comments came the day before the Nichols video was made public.

The countdown to Friday’s release of the footage by Memphis police reminded me of another run-up to a big reveal that was much less horrific, but which I found to be similarly unsettling.

Last year, Philadelph­ia police announced that after more than six decades of being known as the “Boy in the Box,” they had finally determined the identity of the once-anonymous child whose bruised body was found in a weed-strewn lot in 1957.

But, after an initial news report about the developmen­t, it took days for officials to reveal his identity during a news conference meant to give credit to people who had dedicated their lives to getting justice for a forgotten little boy.

It was clearly a reason for celebratio­n, but I couldn’t help but imagine a world where the city was committed to an allhands-on deck approach to every unsolved murder in Philadelph­ia.

That would be real justice.

In Memphis, real justice would mean the wholesale systematic overhaul of law enforcemen­t — finally — so that Americans wouldn’t have to be subjected to the brutality that seems baked into the culture of policing. Or, as Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass put it, “the chilling familiarit­y of a Black man crying out for his mother as he is beaten to death by officers of the law sworn to protect us.”

Nichols was left slumped to the ground in handcuffs, and 23 minutes passed before a stretcher arrived at the scene. Three Memphis Fire Department employees who responded to the call have been fired.

The U.S. attorney has opened a federal civil rights investigat­ion into the incident.

And while there were nationwide demonstrat­ions following the release of the video, I couldn’t help but notice that they didn’t seem to be on the scale of the 2020 protests.

Part of that, I think, is because Nichols’ family asked for calm. “It’s going to be horrific,” said Nichols’ mother Rowvaughn Wells. “But I want each and every one of you to protest in peace. I don’t want us burning up our cities, tearing up the streets, because that’s not what my son stood for.”

It’s been nearly three years since George Floyd was killed, and the kinds of changes in police procedure that so many have been demanding aren’t just a long way off — they seem to be moving further away.

We are a nation reeling from constant trauma. We are angry and exhausted, and rightly so, but we can’t let fatigue and piecemeal justice distract us from working to ensure that promises made in 2020 aren’t just not forgotten but kept.

 ?? JEFF ROBERSON / ASSOCIATED PRESS ?? Rowvaughn Wells, mother of Tyre Nichols, pauses Tuesday at Mason Temple in Memphis, Tenn., as she listens during a news conference about the death of her son.
JEFF ROBERSON / ASSOCIATED PRESS Rowvaughn Wells, mother of Tyre Nichols, pauses Tuesday at Mason Temple in Memphis, Tenn., as she listens during a news conference about the death of her son.

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