by Gwen Carr
The fact that I was able to move forward the way I did was something that I allowed myself to be proud of. It’s not that I was innocent a year ago, but I did not understand anything about government and politics and legislation or any of that. I never imagined that I would be meeting with the governor and championing legislation that could potentially benefit people across the country. It was somewhat mind boggling to think about it like that.
That was the very reason why I decided at the beginning to just take things one step at a time. I didn’t think too far down the road about what would happen if this bill passed or if we didn’t get to meet with that politician. I couldn’t spend my energy like that. Plus, if I did think too much about it, it was overwhelming, and I’d start to think that I couldn’t do it. When I’d be asked to speak in front of people, I didn’t focus on it too much because if I did, I’d internalize it and work myself up. If the speech was a few months away, I’d mark it on the calendar and then not think about it.
I decided to just handle things as they came along and deal with them as best I could. I focused on the tasks in front of me, and things worked out better that way. For me, slow and steady was the best strategy, and it seemed to be working. I thought after a year of talking about Eric the interest would die down and people would start moving on to something else, but that’s not what happened.
A large part of that could be attributed to those mothers who were out there before I was. They weren’t doing many things together, but individually they were having their own rallies and marches and working in their communities to bring about much-needed change. They gave me strength, and when we all came together we fed off each other’s energy. We weren’t necessarily best friends, but we were all connected in our passion, and that was enough.
In July 2015, almost exactly a year to the day of Eric’s death, Governor Cuomo signed an executive order that said he was appointing an attorney general as a special prosecutor for cases where people died at the hands of the police. I attended the announcement along with several other mothers, including Iris Baez, Margarita Rosario, Constance Malcolm, and Hawa Bah. We released a joint statement that read:
For decades, our families and those of other New Yorkers killed by police have faced repeated injustices, not only losing family members to police violence by those tasked with serving and protecting but also being failed by local district attorneys not holding officers accountable to the law for those deaths. Many of us have been calling for a special prosecutor for decades, so this reform stems from the legacies of New Yorkers whose unjust deaths go back a long time and the leadership of our families. Today, Governor Cuomo is listening to our voices and those of other New Yorkers who support equal justice to enact an important reform to end this conflict of interest. Nothing will bring back the lives of our loved ones, and this was never simply about our families—it was about all those who come after us because we so deeply understand the pain and heartache of losing a loved one and then having their life not matter within our justice system. While New York takes national leadership with this reform, there remains much work to be done to ensure our children and family members are no longer unjustly killed by police in the first place. We hope to work with Governor Cuomo and other leaders in moving New York forward to build upon today’s important step to end the discriminatory and abusive policing that threatens our families and communities.
I can tell you that was an amazing feeling. I’m not saying that I was the one responsible for it, but I did work hard to make something happen, so it was exciting and rewarding to see that something was finally going to be done. Of course, I knew it wasn’t a perfect solution and it wouldn’t solve all the problems, but it was a start, and it was more than we had the day before.
Lots of folks had been involved, and many spoke out in support of the action. People from the National Action Network and the NAACP spoke out about it, including Attorney General Eric Schneiderman, Congressman Hakeem Jeffries, several senators, and even Russell Simmons.
Specifically, the executive order says:
EXECUTIVE ORDER
A SPECIAL PROSECUTOR TO INVESTIGATE AND PROSECUTE MATTERS RELATING TO THE DEATHS OF CIVILIANS CAUSED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS.
WHEREAS, the Constitution of the State of New York obliges the Governor to take care that the laws of New York are faithfully executed; and
WHEREAS, I have solemnly sworn, pursuant to Article 13, Section 1 of the Constitution, to support the Constitution and faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor; and
WHEREAS, there have been recent incidents involving the deaths of unarmed civilians that have challenged the public’s confidence and trust in our system of criminal justice; and
WHEREAS, public concerns have been raised that such incidents cannot be prosecuted at the local level without conflict or bias, or the public perception of conflict or bias; and
WHEREAS, it is necessary to ensure that a full, reasoned, and independent investigation and prosecution of any such incident is conducted without conflict or bias, or the perception of conflict or bias; and
WHEREAS, the foregoing compels me to conclude that my constitutional obligations provide that in cases where an issue of a real or perceived conflict of interest exists, and to ensure full confidence in our system of criminal justice, a special prosecutor should be appointed with respect to such incidents. Such appointment of a special prosecutor will supersede in all ways the authority and jurisdiction of a county district attorney to manage, interpret, prosecute or inquire about such incidents; and
NOW, THEREFORE, I, ANDREW M. CUOMO, Governor of the State of New York, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and Laws of the State of New York, and particularly by subdivision 2 of section 63 of the Executive Law, hereby require the Attorney General (hereinafter, the “special prosecutor”) to investigate, and if warranted, prosecute certain matters involving the death of an unarmed civilian, whether in custody or not, caused by a law enforcement officer, as listed in subdivision 34 of section 1.20 of the Criminal Procedure Law. The special prosecutor may also investigate and prosecute in such instances where, in his opinion, there is a significant question as to whether the civilian was armed and dangerous at the time of his or her death;
FURTHER, for any matter covered herein, the special prosecutor shall have the powers and duties specified in subdivisions 2 and 8 of section 63 of the Executive Law for purposes of this Order, and shall possess and exercise all the prosecutorial powers necessary to investigate, and if warranted, prosecute the incident. The special prosecutor’s jurisdiction will displace and supersede the jurisdiction of the county district attorney where the incident occurred; and such county district attorney shall have only the powers and duties designated to him or her by the special prosecutor as specified in subdivision 2 of section 63 of the Executive Law;
FURTHER, for any matter covered herein, the special prosecutor shall conduct a full, reasoned, and independent investigation including, but not limited to, (i) gathering and analyzing evidence, (ii) conducting witness interviews, and (iii) reviewing investigative reports, scientific reports, and audio and video recordings;
FURTHER, for any matter covered herein, the special prosecutor shall, (i) attend in person, a term or terms of the County or Supreme Court to be held in and for the County of such appropriate jurisdiction consistent with this Order, (ii) appear in person before any grand jury drawn for any term(s) of said court, for the purpose of conducting any and all proceedings, examinations, and inquiries, and (iii) bring any and all criminal actions and proceedings which may be had or taken before said grand jury and other grand juries concerning or relating to any and all alleged unlawful acts as described by this Order;
FURTHER, for any matter covered herein, the special prosecutor will provide to me, or my designee, a report on all cases where, (i) the special prosecutor declines to present evidence to a grand jury regarding the death of a civilian as described in this Order, whether
in custody or not, allegedly caused by a law enforcement officer, or (ii) the grand jury declines to return an indictment on any charges. The report will include, to the extent possible and lawful, an explanation of that outcome and any recommendations for systemic reform arising from the investigation.
This Executive Order shall continue until modified, suspended or terminated by the Governor.
G I V E N under my hand and the Privy Seal of the State in the City of Albany this eighth day of July in the year two thousand fifteen.
BY THE GOVERNOR
That announcement came at the perfect time because, later that month, to honor and pay tribute to Eric on the one-year anniversary of “that day,” I had arranged for events that would last all weekend, from Friday to Sunday. It went into the following Monday when some family members held a march in his name, even paying the subway fares for people to attend if they couldn’t afford it themselves.
I held my event on Staten Island, and this was the first time I’d arranged something where I was in charge of everything. I had plenty of people helping, but it was basically up to me to coordinate and oversee everything. The first thing I did was invite anyone and everyone whom I had met over the last year who I thought would be interested in attending. I wanted to show them my appreciation for their support, and I wanted them to have a chance to celebrate Eric’s life. Many of them only knew him from the video and from my stories, so I hoped they could come.
I also had the idea to invite as many of the other mothers as I could. I wanted all of them to attend. Through other events, I had seen how powerful we were together, and I hoped that they would be able to come together . . . and they did. There were at least twenty other mothers of victims there, some I’d not even met. When I invited them, I made sure to ask them to tell any other mothers that I hadn’t met that they were welcome as well.
It worked. There were several mothers I didn’t know, and we embraced each other and exchanged stories, shared experiences, and wiped away some tears. On Friday, after all the moms arrived, we stayed together in a nice New Jersey hotel. It was much easier to fly into Newark, stay there, and then travel to Staten Island. I was able to get sponsors and donors to provide rooms for the mothers and a shuttle service to the events.
I was so grateful for those who donated, and I was proud to be able to do that for the mothers, to treat them to a nice weekend. They deserved that and so much more. Reverend Al Sharpton, Reverend Daughtry, Pastor Bartley, and the Christian Love Baptist Church all helped to make it happen.
On Friday, once everyone was settled, we had a dinner at the Marriott Courtyard and then that evening went to Brooklyn on a bus provided by Pastor Bartley. We arrived at the House of the Lord Church, and Reverend Daughtry spoke to the group and then had an open mic session. He allowed each mother, if they chose to participate, to come up and tell their story. None of the women were rushed or cut off during their time onstage. The reverend told them this was their time and no one would take it away from them. And no one did.
It was such a powerful and emotional night because each strong Black woman stood up in front of the microphone and told her tragic story. The painful words traveled through the room, floating above us and landing like emotional daggers into our hearts and souls. All of them were different, but the message was the same. The pain was the same. The loss was the same. The voices of those ladies took over that night. We were scheduled to go from 7:00 to 9:00 p.m., but we didn’t finish until near midnight. The church was understanding and allowed us to stay as long as we needed, sharing our misery. A group formed by our common grief.
I was scheduled to speak at the end, after everyone had finished. I wasn’t sure whether I could even get up there at first because those heartbreaking stories were so draining. After they had shared such raw emotions, how could I stand in front of them and talk about the weekend I had planned? Just as I’d been doing all year, I took it one step at a time. I went up to the microphone and looked out at those strong faces, those brave faces, those emotionally drained faces, and I realized that it didn’t matter what I said to them. They were not only brave enough to share their own stories but also resilient enough to listen to other tragic stories and show empathy. That was the amazing thing about these mothers. They had endured so much; yet they were somehow able to listen to other stories. Despite their pain, they projected understanding, warmth, and caring. It created a very open atmosphere.
I talked about Eric, about what he was like as a person, about how important he was to me and all of our family, and how much I missed him. Then I thanked everyone for being there and gave them a rundown of the activities I had planned for the weekend. It turned out better than I could have ever imagined. We created a fellowship that day, a fellowship of grieving mothers on a mission.
I didn’t know some of the women who attended. Since I had asked the ones I did know to spread the word, that’s exactly what they did. There was one mother from Maryland who had established a coalition, and she brought nine other mothers along with her. That was fine by me—the more mothers, the more opportunity to learn from each other. There were others from Georgia, Ohio, New York, and all over. The ones who didn’t know each other got to know each other really well during the program on Friday. It was interesting because, with so many people there, they were all at a different stage of grief. It was very new and fresh and raw for some. Then there were others like the mother of Nicholas Heyward, a thirteen-year-old boy who was shot by police in 1994. She had been speaking out for more than twenty years.
It was hard to grasp that she had been doing that for so long and there was still the need. That was the hardest part to come to terms with. This was still happening to our young boys and men in the Black community. And almost all the stories had the same ending—nothing happened to the police officers involved. We grew up thinking that there was fairness and justice in this world, and even when things are now recorded, caught on tape, there is still no change. It’s unbelievable.
We had breakfast the next morning; then we went back to the hotel to get ready for the picnic. At 12:30, we rode over to Staten Island, where we had something like a family cookout on steroids, with more than three hundred people showing up. My husband, Ben, cooked fish, we had salad, there was lots of other picnic food, and it was just a fun day to release. Everyone got to interact in an informal setting with no pressures and no social agenda. The only requirement was to relax. It was like a big family—a day of freedom. We even made up funny names for smoothies, like a Legacy Fusion named after Eric’s youngest child. There was, of course, one named after Eric as well. It was nice to just let loose and not be so serious.
Despite the levity and fun that we were having, we were never too far from the reality of the tragic bond among us. I heard stories that I’d never heard before. Some involved small children. I learned from that event that when I meet a new mother, I embrace her, but I never ask for her story. I let her tell it if she wants to, but I never ask because I know what I am going to hear. I know it will be tragic.
On Sunday, we went to Christian Love Baptist Church in Irvington, New Jersey, and then to the New Hope Baptist Church for services. They were nice services, and we felt like we all had a lot to pray for and pray about. Then I thanked everyone for coming, my old friends and the new ones I’d made. I also checked to make sure everyone got home safely.
I was proud that I was able to pull that off. I was so grateful for all the help and support I had, but, more important, I was indebted to the women who attended and shared their stories and their strength and their wisdom. It was the perfect way to remember my son and to celebrate the first positive news we’d received after so many disappointments. I decided to accentuate the positive and focus on the good things that happened that month and the new friendships I’d made at the picnic.
To my surprise, as our picnic was ending the DJ played a soul song from the 1970s, and everyone started dancing. That was so amazing and just felt so good, and it was all i
n Eric’s memory. The fun and the seriousness and the food and the music and the fellowship all mixed together seemed like the perfect way to honor my son.
The song that the DJ played was called “I’ll Always Love My Mama.”
Chapter 7
The Royal Treatment
Healing begins where the wound was made.
—Alice Walker
IN THE LAST FOUR MONTHS OF 2015, I met several women who would become very important in my life. It started in September when I was contacted and asked to go to Chicago to meet Hillary Clinton. I suppose she had heard about us mothers and our fledgling group of activists. I was excited to meet her because everyone knew she was running for president on the Democratic ticket against Bernie Sanders. I felt so blessed that she was asking me to meet with her.
It still astounded me that I was getting calls from people like her who traveled in much different circles than I could ever imagine. I was learning that along with this activism there are some highs, some successes, and many more lows. Trying to effect change is never easy and never fast—that’s what I was learning. Getting that morsel of success from the state of New York took a lot of work by a lot of people. And even that still didn’t guarantee anything, but it was a start. You take those wins where you can get them, I was learning.
There were lots of those ups and downs, and that roller coaster of emotions was just something that you had to get used to. I think that’s why many people who get involved with being active in the community give up after a little while. It’s just too hard and too defeating to keep hearing “no.” I’m from Brooklyn, and I was raised to stand tough when things got difficult. I had no intention of giving up at this point. Granted, in the beginning there were some moments when I allowed those thoughts to dance around in my head, especially as I stood out in the rain or snow trying to hand information to people who didn’t want it.