Police didn’t see my sister as human
New video shows why Sandra Bland died
Last week, new footage of my sister Sandra Bland’s traffic stop was released. This time, instead of dashcam footage, we saw the incident as it was recorded on her cellphone, from her vantage point. It went viral.
Despite all my work over the past four years to piece myself back together after her untimely death, I became unraveled as I was reminded of what I’ve always known: My sister died because a police officer saw her as a threatening black woman rather than human.
When I watched the video, I was immediately reminded of where I was while writing my 28-year-old sister’s obituary on tear-stained paper. The prevailing thought in my mind then: “This is hard, but I know her death will not be in vain because this is America and we’ll get justice.”
This is America. A country built on the promise that all people are created equal with access to freedom and the pursuit of happiness. A country that promises innocent until proven guilty.
This nation has a history rooted in discrimination, specifically in its mistreatment of black Americans. Despite America’s efforts to align itself with the notion that we are living in a post-racial society, viral videos of black women, men and children dying at the hands of the police confirm that the scales of justice are imbalanced.
Jail cell death
Following the death of my sister in a jail cell in Waller County, Texas, after a routine traffic stop, my family set out on a journey in pursuit of justice based on America’s promise.
Navigating the U.S. court system during overwhelming grief, intense news coverage, public scrutiny and even immense support is daunting. This became clear each time our family was met by opposing counsel when we entered the court room. Their legal arguments were contradictory to the initial promise of full transparency and immediate access to evidence that would answer our lingering question: What happened to Sandra?
Glitchy dashcam footage, the dissemination of Sandra’s autopsy report to the public (including pictures of her lifeless body) and the intentional assassination of her character by referring to her as “not a model person” left me questioning whether justice would prevail as I had believed.
In traveling this grueling road, one thing became clear to me: The foundational promises of justice and freedom come at a sacrificial cost to black Americans as we demand to be seen and heard regardless of our gender, age, educational attainment and socioeconomic status. When we’re thrust into unsolicited encounters with law enforcement, it leaves us bruised, humiliated and with a loss of dignity not otherwise experienced by a majority of
Americans who benefit from the liberties promised by “our” America.
Our mere existence is perceived as such a threat to police officers that we’re consistently asked to pay for our freedom with our bodies and sometimes even with our blood. In turn, we cling to the hope that our justice system will right the wrongs that have been done to countless black families. These are families like mine who did not sign up for the collateral damage that comes with empty indictments and dismissals and no convictions — all resulting in repeated heartbreak.
Pursuit of justice is not a sprint
What I’ve learned from this ordeal is that those five words “liberty and justice for all” aren’t as linear of a concept as I naively believed. The pursuit of justice is a marathon, not a sprint. It is wrought with hurdles that need to be cleared based on relentless commitment to demand equity and fairness.
Whether it be through naming Sandra Bland Parkway permanently in my sister’s honor, memorializing our horrific experience since Sandra’s death through the HBO documentary “Say Her Name: The Life and Death of Sandra Bland,” or demanding Texas lawmakers prioritize mandatory deescalation training for all officers who take the oath to protect and serve — I’m unabashed in my effort to clench the freedom that black Americans still yearn to see, feel and live.
In the words of poet Audre Lorde: “I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.”
The evidence my sister left behind shows that the officer in her case lied. Though perjury charges against him were dropped, what happened in court isn’t the sole measure of justice. My sister was unafraid. Her strength gives us the power to continue to fight for her and say her name.
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