Excessive Use of Force

by Loretta P. Prater

  D. J. was shot on October 18, 2010. He was a junior and football player at Pace University. From my review of information about the Henry family, and D. J. in particular, he was a young man from a beautiful family. He was pursuing a college degree, with potentially a bright future ahead of him. He embodied high moral standards, was never in any trouble, had a winning personality, and was highly regarded by friends, teacher/coaches, and loved ones. The Henry family, living the American dream in middle-class suburbia, was very different from the negative picture of the African American family characterized by former New York senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan.13 I mention this because many people are comfortable with thinking that there is no way that they, or any of their family members, could be the victim of police brutality. I continue to stress that anyone can become a victim, even unarmed law-abiding persons. All that is needed is for circumstances to place you in contact with an abusive or trigger-happy officer. This can happen even if you do nothing wrong and obey the officer’s commands. Once bullets are released, they don’t discriminate. No demographic criteria will serve as protective armor.

  On the evening D. J. died, police responded to a call of a disturbance at a restaurant. D. J. and two other football players were in a car, parked outside. D. J. was the driver. According to one of the others in the car, an officer approached the car and knocked on the window. They thought the officer wanted them to move the car, because they were in a fire lane. As D. J. slowly began to drive away from the disturbance, of which he was not a part, an officer jumped from behind another car onto the hood of D. J.’s vehicle. That officer immediately started shooting D. J. multiple times at close range through the windshield. Another officer shot into the car, injuring one of the other passengers. This was the report from eyewitnesses. The police version was that when they knocked on the window, D. J. tried to speed away, striking one officer and pinning another against the hood.14 As usual, the justice system accepted the officer’s version and D. J.’s killer was cleared of any wrongdoing. He provided the defense that always seems to work: he felt threatened.15

  A video of the event showed that the police threw D. J. to the ground, handcuffed him, and stood around without offering any paramedic aid, which they were trained to give.16 This was another example of white police officers demonstrating no regard for the life of an innocent and unarmed African American male. In recognition of D. J.’s life, the family established the D. J. Dream Fund, which has benefited hundreds of children. This nonprofit 501(c)(3) organization provides funds to support youth from families with low incomes to participate in various sports, music, dance activities, and summer camps. D. J. was known to be involved in healthy lifestyles, so this initiative mirrors his life. There was no justice for the homicide of D. J., but the Village of Pleasantville, New York, agreed to a settlement of $6 million awarded to the family for his wrongful death.17 Money is not justice, although it is a signal that there was wrongdoing.

  A former faculty colleague contacted me to tell me about her grandson. He had been shot and killed by a police officer in California. James, her twenty-five-year-old grandson, had a prior diagnosis of mental illness and was on medication. Crisis intervention teams had been called to the house on nine occasions and were able to diffuse the situation without violence. On the day of his death, James had another episode, believed to be caused by his not taking his medicine. His mother called the police for assistance. James ran outside his home with two knives from the kitchen. An eyewitness stated that he never saw James rush toward the police and questioned the police officers’ ability to handle that situation. The police asked James to drop the knives, but he did not immediately comply. Two shots were fired at James by one officer. James’s mother, my friend’s daughter, was in a bedroom and his father was not at home. When she heard the shots, she assumed that he had been shot in the leg, to stop any threat. She was not allowed to accompany James in the ambulance. At the hospital, she was told that James had died in surgery.

  The experience of James’s parents is common to other parents of victims of police violence. Information was withheld from them, and many inquiries remained unanswered. I was asked to send a letter to the mother because she was too distraught to talk about her son’s death. On April 5, 2014, I sent her a letter of support and understanding. Their case was eventually resolved with a lawsuit settlement.

  There are so many mothers of this “sisterhood” whom I have never met, and I probably will never have a face-to-face discussion with them. I never met Deborah Jenkins, the mother of unarmed Larry Jenkins, killed in Milwaukee on September 19, 2002.18 I never met the mother of Jonathan Ferrell, who was killed trying to seek help from a police officer after surviving an automobile accident.19 The officer did not help Jonathan but instead shot and killed him. He was found innocent of any wrongdoing. That case was settled in 2015 for $2.25 million. Ferrell’s mother received no justice.

  Thirty-one-year-old Donte Hamilton, an unarmed black male suffering from schizophrenia, was killed in Milwaukee on April 30, 2014. I haven’t met Maria Hamilton, Donte’s mother, who started the group Mothers for Justice. The white officer was fired but not charged with a crime. Donte became paranoid after missing his medication because of insurance problems. He was resting in the park, causing no harm to anyone, but was shot fourteen times.20 The officer’s appeal to get his job back was unsuccessful.

  Marcella Holloman was the mother of thirty-one-year-old unarmed Maurice Donald Johnson, killed by police in Northeast Baltimore on May 19, 2012. Maurice, her firstborn child, was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2009. Marcella called the police for assistance because of Maurice’s disruptive behavior.21 She wanted an ambulance to take her son to the hospital for treatment. According to Marcella, her son was shot twice in the chest and once in the back within minutes of police entering her home. Marcella has also said that there have been many inaccuracies reported of the incident.22 I do believe that there is inadequate training of police officers in confronting persons diagnosed with mental illness. Surely they are not told to just show up and kill them.

  It seems as though the number of “sisterhood” members is inexhaustible. Valerie Bell’s life changed when Sean Elijah Bell died. Her twenty-three-year-old unarmed son was killed on his wedding day in New York on November 25, 2006. Police officers fired a barrage of fifty shots into the car in which Sean was riding. Although the officers were charged with criminal offenses, they were acquitted of any wrongdoing. Valerie Bell is the founder of Mothers of Never Again (MONA).23 New York City paid the Bell family a settlement of $3.25 million. In Sean’s memory, the New York City Council designated a portion of Liverpool Street in Queens as “Sean Bell Way.”

  There are countless other mothers suffering from the results of police brutality. Who is Jeralynn Blueford? She is the mother from Oakland, California, whose unarmed eighteen-year-old son, Alan Blueford, was shot and killed on May 6, 2012, just weeks before his high school graduation. She founded the Alan Blueford Center for Justice.24 Dallas resident Collette Flanagan is another grieving mother. Her twenty-five-year-old son, Clinton Allen, though unarmed, was shot seven times and killed on March 10, 2013. Colette spoke during a Mothers Against Police Brutality candlelight vigil in front of the US Department of Justice in Washington, D.C., on December 10, 2014. Collette has also given a powerful interview near her son’s gravesite.25 I also completed an interview at Leslie’s grave, and I was so proud of Collette, because I know the magnitude of strength required for gravesite interviews. Why do we expose ourselves to that suffering? We do it for our sons and daughters, and for the children of others, dead and alive. For those still alive, we want them to continue living and pursue their constitutional rights.

  Thirty-four-year-old Rumain Brisbon, an African American father of four daughters, was shot and killed by a white police officer in Phoenix, Arizona, on December 2, 2014. As usual, the police’s version of the killing contradicts reports from eyewitnesses. Also typical, the o
fficer said he shot Brisbon because he felt threatened, although Rumain was unarmed. The police officer was not charged with the fatal shooting. Nora Brisbon is Rumain’s mother. Our direct paths have never crossed. I viewed a news report in which she pleaded for the killings to stop. She stated her belief that lack of training and fear, more than race, are factors leading to these killings.26

  I identify with Gwen Carr, whom I met in 2016 in St. Louis. In so many cases, guns were used to end the life of unarmed persons. In the case of both Leslie and Gwen’s son, Eric Garner, they were not shot but died from positional asphyxia. In both cases, no criminal charges were filed against the officers responsible for their deaths. Gwen has stressed that mothers need to fight through the grief. She noted that the deaths of our sons is yesterday’s news, but to us those deaths remain a headline in our lives. Gwen quit her job to become a full-time advocate and is one of the leaders of Mothers of the Movement, a social justice initiative comprised of mothers of sons and daughters whose deaths resulted from violence. The majority of the mothers represent sons who died from interactions with law enforcement officers, but not all. Sandra Bland is a daughter of one of the Mothers of the Movement. Also represented are sons and daughters whose death resulted from lay citizens, as with the death of Jordan Davis and Hadija Pendleton. Hadija, a fifteen-year-old who performed at President Obama’s inauguration, was shot in a Chicago park. She was a beautiful, innocent child, but that didn’t seem to matter to gang members.27 Mothers of the Movement is believed to be the inspiration for Black Lives Matter, which was created in 2012 after Trayvon Martin’s murderer was acquitted.

  Since Leslie’s death, I have had several mothers and others contact me to share accounts of police brutality resulting in homicides or assaults of their loved ones. Many of these persons live in Chattanooga, and some of the situations occurred years prior to Leslie’s homicide. It seemed to me that they just wanted someone to listen, to express compassion and understanding without judging or blaming them or the victims. In some instances, many were without partners to share their sorrow. Many expressed having experienced harsh words from strangers, acquaintances, or social media. Some persons approached me when I was in Chattanooga presenting lectures or participating in marches.

  We are mothers who love our children. I use the present tense, because that love will never fade, nor will the memory of how they died. The scary thing is that if I continued gathering information from mothers with experiences of police brutality, I could fill volumes of books. The fact that there are so many of us is distressing. Please, stop the violence, on all sides. We don’t want to see any more mothers bury their sons or daughters, including mothers of police officers.

  I want to thank Hillary Clinton for listening to grieving mothers and giving Mothers of the Movement a national platform to share their stories. Featuring those nine mothers at the 2016 Democratic Convention in Philadelphia allowed millions of Americans to confront these issues of violence. Three mothers spoke on behalf of all. Those appearing on the stage were Sybrina Fulton, mother of Trayvon Martin; Gwen Carr, mother of Eric Garner; Geneva Reed-Veal, mother of Sandra Bland; Maria Hamilton, mother of Dontre Hamilton; Lucia McBath, mother of Jordan Davis; Lezley McSpadden, mother of Michael Brown; Annette Nance-Holt, mother of Blair Holt; Cleopatra Pendleton-Cowley, mother of Hadija Pendleton; and Wanda Johnson, mother of Oscar Grant.28 Their experiences represent the experiences of many. That national exposure was an opportunity to acknowledge that our sons and daughters matter too. For parents reading this book who love their children, all I am saying to you is that we love our children too, just as much as you love yours.

  9

  Police Academy Workshops

  A Proactive Strategy to Address Police Misconduct

  I felt strongly that the Chattanooga Police Academy needed sensitivity training. Regardless of what its training manual may have said, it was evident that sufficient training was lacking in that area. The history of interactions between unarmed citizens and Chattanooga police officers in which the citizens died or were seriously injured indicated that recruits, as well as seasoned officers, were not getting the message. Sensitivity training, in comparison to some of the other topics taught at a police academy, should not be just another assignment conducted by a veteran police officer. There is a need for the “face and voice” of victims of police misconduct to be represented as part of the curriculum. As Leslie’s mother and an advocate for social justice, I felt a calling to accept that role. I was more than a mother of a victim; I was an experienced educator, and one with knowledge of criminal justice issues and police academy curricula.

  I was allowed to teach in three classes at the Chattanooga Police Academy. An alternative would have been for me to make a video and have that available for others to present. I felt that the more powerful approach would be for me to present the workshops in person. I didn’t want someone to merely drop a video into a recorder and “check the box” that sensitivity training had been completed. Only someone who had experienced a wrongful death of a loved one at the hands of police officers could assume the role of the “face of a survivor.”

  Speaking to groups of people was familiar to me and not intimidating. I had conducted many professional workshops and class presentations. I had spoken at local, state, and national conferences for a combined period of decades. However, although I had spoken to cadets at the academy in Cape Girardeau, speaking to a group of police officer recruits in Chattanooga was emotionally challenging. I anticipated an unwelcoming and cold reception in Chattanooga because a legal settlement was obligating the department to allow my presentations.

  The structure of the academy presentations in Chattanooga was similar to the one I used in Cape Girardeau. Dwight was at each, providing technical assistance and moral support. After the introductions and prior to the audiovisual presentation, I conducted a brief research activity. I asked each recruit to write an anonymous response on an index card provided. The question was “Why did you want to become a police officer?” I collected the cards. Near the end of the session, I read some of the responses, commented, and facilitated a discussion.

  The presentation lasted approximately ninety minutes. We showed a brief video in which Dwight and I were interviewed and shared memories of Leslie and how we felt about losing him. The PowerPoint was mostly focused on what happens with families after the burial and closure of any related legal matters. I boldly stressed that Dwight and I were parents who represented families they had read about in newspaper accounts of police brutality. I included the poem “Never Be Another You,” written by our son Stefan. In introducing the last slide, I said, “The family is left with this.” That slide is a picture of Leslie’s gravesite. A question-and-answer period immediately followed the PowerPoint presentation. In the first presentation in Cape Girardeau, few questions were asked. Of the inquiries voiced, most were about the outcome for the police officers and the lawsuit settlement agreement. One recruit approached me after the session. He wished us well and congratulated me on the presentation.

  The first academy presentation in Chattanooga was scheduled on March 26, 2007, from 9:00 to 10:00 a.m. at the Police Training Center. Chief Cooper, who had approved the content of the presentation, had informed me that I would be allowed additional time to respond to any questions from recruits. When Dwight and I entered the building, we were greeted warmly. I’ll admit I was surprised but cautious. I knew that we were expected and easily recognizable from the many local television appearances.

  The training officer who greeted us ushered us into his office to explain the logistics we needed to know. He gave us information about the room arrangements and the computer and video equipment. Another officer would video the presentation for possible future use. Although we had our own laptop computer as a backup, he explained to Dwight the particulars of using the department’s equipment. My interaction with this particular officer was cordial but rather guarded, as I noted t
hat his last name was the same as a departmental executive administrator who had publicly expressed support of the police officers who caused Leslie’s death. He also looked like a younger version of that administrator, and I thought they could be related. Nepotism is common among personnel in police departments, especially father/son pairings employed in the same department.1

  At the department’s request, I had already sent a written description of the workshop’s objectives and content, which closely followed the workshop presented in Cape Girardeau. The main difference between the two presentations is that I provided no handouts in the prior workshop. For the Chattanooga recruits, I brought a handout that described the Leslie Vaughn Prater Memorial scholarship, available at the University of Tennessee in Chattanooga. The handout also included a picture of Leslie and Stefan’s poem, “Never Be Another You.” Because the scholarship is in the Department of Criminal Justice, I thought that there might be persons in the session with an interest in applying or who might share the information with others.

  While the recruits were on break, we entered the classroom with the training support staff and proceeded to set up, test the equipment, and adjust the lighting. I placed a blank index card at each recruit’s seat for them to write a response to the research question.

  As the recruits entered the room from their break, other training officers also came into the session and sat at the back of the room. There were approximately twenty-five recruits present. They were mostly white males, with a few women and African Americans. The supervising training officer introduced Dwight and me and told them why we were there, and he provided some information about my past as a resident of Chattanooga. To my surprise, he also gave some examples of my years of positive relationships with the Chattanooga Police Department. When I spoke about why we were there, I didn’t mention anything about the lawsuit but talked about how this initiative was about saving lives, theirs and citizens. Before beginning the official presentation, I asked them to respond to my research question on the index card.