Courtroom hug serves as inspirational act
“I love you as a person. I don’t wish anything bad on you.”
Can you imagine telling these simple, straightforward words to the killer of your sibling or loved one? Can you imagine doing so in a public courtroom, filled with TV news cameras, immediately after the sentencing of the killer? Even more challenging, can you imagine doing this while offering a genuine, heartfelt hug?
I cannot. I could not. I would not.
Yet, this is what Brandt Jean did in Dallas after the killer of his older brother was found guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced to 10 years in prison. I watched the video clip of this exchange five times the following day, looking for … well, I’m not exactly sure.
Compassion personified? Forgiveness in action? Unconditional love for a fellow human regardless of circumstances? Possibly all of these admirable, yet elusive qualities. Such aspiring attributes are casually talked about in our unforgiving society, but rarely demonstrated publicly. Grace is usually a noun, not a verb.
Brandt Jean, who’s 18, somehow self-actualized his own beliefs for all of us to see and to learn from. I don’t believe most of us could do the same. Some of us can’t forgive other social media users for an online disagreement about abstract concerns.
“I don’t know if this is possible, but can I give her a hug, please?” Jean asked the judge presiding over the highly-charged court case. “Please?”
After pausing to absorb the uncommon request, Judge Tammy Kemp allowed him to leave the witness box to do so. If you haven’t watched the video clip, you should.
If you’re unfamiliar with this case, in September 2018, former Dallas police officer Amber Guyger, who’s white, shot and killed her unarmed neighbor, Botham Jean, who’s black, in his own apartment. Guyger, who was on the force then but off duty, claimed in court that when she opened the door to the unit, she thought he was an intruder.
“I thought it was my apartment,” Guyger said repeatedly in the frantic 911 call.
Guyger, 31, shot and killed Botham Jean, who was watching television and eating ice cream.
His family, originally from the Caribbean island of St. Lucia, has been devastated since that night. Rightfully so.
“My Sundays have been destroyed,” Botham Jean’s father, Bertrum Jean, told the jury, referring to his weekly phone calls with his late son.
When Guyger was convicted of murder by a jury, largely made up of women and minorities, Botham Jean’s family exhibited audible relief.
When Guyger was later sentenced to only 10 years, the family exuded visible disbelief.
“No justice!” chanted a group of people outside the courthouse.
“That’s just a slap in the face,” said Dominique Alexander, president of the Next Generation Action Network, a local social justice organization.
Other onlookers simply cried.
Prosecutors initially asked for a sentence no shorter than 28 years, which would have been the current age of Botham
Jean. Guyger could have received the maximum of 99 years in prison. She’ll be eligible for parole in five years.
Five years. For an innocent man’s life. If this sounds like justice to you, it wasn’t your brother who was killed. Justice is merely a social concept until its consequences open your door and begin shooting. This fact alone would harden my already bitter feelings toward the killer of a loved one.
Not Brandt Jean, though. He’s a better man than me. A better human, too.
Holding back tears, he asked to hug his brother’s killer. They clutched each other for nearly a minute as a bailiff stood awkwardly nearby and as the world watched, with people sorting through their own feelings about it.
Their exchange appeared counter-intuitive to what many of us felt should have happened. Guyger should be consoling him for his loss, right? Instead, she sobbed uncontrollably in his embrace. He gently patted her back. The healing began.
And there it was – a raw and seemingly instantaneous – moment of genuine forgiveness. It was an inspirational rarity in courtroom cases for murder, especially involving race, which typically polarizes the killer and the victim’s family.
The riveting courtroom exchange transcended the complexities of race relations, social justice, wrongful death shootings, and the policing of black men in our hair-triggered nation. It illustrated the best of our species under the worst circumstances.
Through the most painful of human emotions – loss, grief, shock, confusion – the exchange’s visceral simplicity transcended the social complexity of the situation. And it always will, thanks to the perpetuity of online technology and a video recording that I can watch again and again.
Whenever we struggle to find such elusive virtues in our life, in an attempt to heal our own loss, pain or anger, we should remember an innocent victim’s brother who somehow found forgiveness, not hatred, in his heart. And we should remember that Brandt Jean’s emphatic message was not only for Amber Guyger, but for the world.
“I love you as a person. I don’t wish anything bad on you.”