We Matter

by Etan Thomas

  Etan: That’s a lot.

  Snipes: Yeah, and people don’t even think about all of that. So we have gone through this very public execution of our father, and we have to see it replayed over and over and over again on TV, the phones are ringing nonstop because everyone wants to stick a mic in your face, and then all of a sudden they move to the next story, and all you hear is silence. And that silence can be torturous. People don’t understand hearing voices tell you to do something bad, or that nobody cares about you and you should slit your own wrist or your own throat, that your life and your father’s life doesn’t matter and isn’t important and doesn’t mean anything and neither does yours. People don’t see that.

  So what happens the next time we are confronted with the police? Some are shell-shocked and can’t move, some are angry and want to lash out, some break down crying every time they hear a siren, people don’t know that side. They see that we were awarded some settlement but don’t take into account that lawyers cost money, courts cost money, and it’s by the hour, and the city doesn’t always pay when they announce they have paid. But even when you do get it, so much of it is taken before it even gets to you. And in the meantime, you have to live, you have to go to work if you can.

  I could hardly leave my house, so most of us have to either do the school year over or lose our jobs. Tamir Rice’s sister missed like a hundred days of school the year, or the next year, after her brother was killed. Why? Because her brother was killed! I don’t want anyone to feel alone and have to go through that without some type of support. Sometimes, people just need someone to talk to. Or they want to yell and scream, or they want to go in a quiet place and cry and have someone to allow them to cry and then be there for them for support. You need to have a place for that. I want to punch something—okay, here’s a punching bag, go punch it out. So that’s what I want to do with the Children of the Movement: offer support—emotional, mental health, spiritual support.

  Etan: And now you are comfortable speaking. Tiffany Crutcher, who had her brother Terence Crutcher taken away from her, said that she wasn’t really comfortable before speaking, but now she is. And Jahvaris Fulton, who doesn’t really like speaking, now sees how powerful his voice is. Talk about seeing the reactions from people hearing you speak.

  Snipes: I started hearing feedback and people genuinely asking me how I am doing and how I am feeling, how am I coping and what I am doing now. Jahvaris is not comfortable speaking and he prefers to be in the background. His mother speaks and they have the Mothers of the Movement, and what they do is powerful. What I want to do is to take what they are doing, and do it for the children. The young people. Jahvaris will never have Trayvon back, and your sibling is sometimes your best friend. They are the person where, you don’t even have to speak and they know what you are thinking. You can finish their sentences for them. You are protective of them. Y’all have conversations that nobody else knows about, and he will never get that back. And he lost his little brother who he couldn’t protect. Could you imagine what that feels like? So the fact that he doesn’t want to speak shouldn’t be surprising to anyone. But also, the fact that he will show up, and just sit there on the stage and show his support, speaks volumes.

  Etan: You told me the story of when you met Cameron Sterling, and how his words really pushed you into stepping up to the platform and showed you the tremendous influence you could have.

  Snipes: Yes, when we went to do the town hall with President Obama in Washington, and I saw Cameron Sterling and his family sitting there . . . I went up to him and his eyes lit up. He said, “You are the one that we have seen all over the place speaking.” And they actually saw the video from your event in Harlem during All-Star Weekend, and they said my words gave him strength and courage. Now, he didn’t know that I was nowhere near courageous, I was a hot mess. I mean, I didn’t know if I was gonna make it, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was gonna go crazy, depression, I didn’t want to leave my house. But after talking to his mother, she told me that he is the oldest, and everybody else is younger, and they don’t have a voice. And he wants to go around and talk to people but will do it in his time and he was really emotional at the time and couldn’t stop crying. It broke my heart to hear her explain where he was because I was there.

  He wants to tell people that he didn’t grow up without a father, he knew his father the way a father and son are supposed to have a relationship. And that it isn’t fair that he has to lose his father at such a young age. He wants to tell the world that he has beautiful memories of his father. And that stories of his father from his point of view, a young Black boy growing up in the hood, and his father was killed by the police . . . He wants to turn all this anger that he has into action. He speaks very well, he is a very well-rounded young man, he’s just a sweetheart.

  People have to understand that a lot of times in situations like these, the children are younger. They are under ten. They don’t form opinions of their own or form relationships, and they don’t get the help they need. In my situation, we were all adults . . . I am the oldest so I can be the voice for my father and I can tell you who he really was. I mean, imagine having your father killed by the police, and then seeing the media justify how your father was killed. You can’t imagine what that feels like. To want to save your father’s good name and his reputation, but you are a child. People just don’t know how that feels.

  Etan: You know, I have a radio show here in DC and we were discussing the Korryn Gaines case, and the fact that she was holding her five- or six-year old son at the time when the police killed her. And they demonized her in the media. Said she was crazy, that she was holding her son captive, that the police were trying to help her son who was being abused and held against his will. Then a video came out of the little boy in the hospital bed, and he was giving a completely different account of everything that happened, saying that he loved his mommy, and his mommy was scared for him and didn’t want anyone to hurt him, and I got choked up on the air. I was thinking, What’s going to happen to this little boy after the cameras go away?

  Snipes: Yeah, he is a five-, six-, seven-year-old little kid, and he was very aware and everything that he said in that video showed that he knew everything that he needed to know. It’s sad that you have to tell your kids at a young age that this is what you do, this is what you don’t do, and that it can be a matter of life and death. Korryn Gaines tried to do the best that she could raising him as a Black boy growing up in this world. And she didn’t want her son to become a victim.

  And when it comes to the media, nothing is off limits. I discovered that myself. How can it be okay to stick a mic in the face of a five-, six-, seven-year-old after they just witnessed their mother being killed by the police? And if he doesn’t have the proper therapy, he could grow up having PTSD. He could flip out every time he hears a knock or a bang because he is reminded of the knock and bang on the door by the police when they wanted to knock down his front door before eventually killing his mother . . . That situation made me cry. He is going to need help, and a lot of it. And that’s what the Children of the Movement is for, to help those people who need it the most. And not just children who are victims but children who go through things every day . . . We are going to use our platforms and our tragedies in order to help them.

  Etan: And one of the main pieces of feedback we got from all of the young people was, “Wow, they are so strong, so courageous, seeing their strength gives me strength.”

  Snipes: And it’s that level of support that could give people the extra push to say, “Yes, I have been through a tragedy, but you know what, I’m gonna make it.” I see Emerald, I see Jahvaris, I see Tiffany, I see Alton, I see Eric, my brother, who is going to start speaking as well—I see all of these people who have been through so much, and the fact that they haven’t given up or thrown in the towel will push me to follow in their footsteps. Or, “I’m in the foster care system, but I can make something out of myself and I can ignore all of these hate
rs who are telling me I can’t.” I know now that my voice is making an impact on people. I know now that I can turn my anger into action. I don’t want to walk around angry all day, and I don’t want anyone else to walk around angry all day, because anger builds up and then it explodes. And we don’t need kids exploding all over the world. We need love and support for the young people, and that is exactly what the Children of the Movement is all about.

  Emerald Snipes and Erica Garner at our first Children of the Movement panel in Harlem, speaking on the pain of dealing with their father being taken away from them and their continual fight for justice following his murder.

  Interview with Tiffany Crutcher

  (Sister of Terence Crutcher)

  When Terence Crutcher was murdered in my hometown of Tulsa, Oklahoma, it wasn’t just another police shooting for me. This hit very close. I know the Crutcher family personally. I went to school with Terence’s twin sister, Tiffany. She was a little bit older than me and played basketball at Carver Middle School and Booker T. Washington High School. I remember when I was in the sixth grade, Tiffany’s AAU team kicked our AAU team’s behinds. I particularly remember Tiffany’s smile and her telling me and a few other teammates to keep working and that we were going to be all right.

  I remember another game, when I was a freshman playing varsity at Booker T. Washington. I had probably one of the worst four or five minutes I had ever had on the basketball court. I remember Tiffany coming up to me after the game, putting her hand on my shoulder, and saying that I was going to be just fine. “You’re only a freshman,” she told me. “Nobody expects you to be ready now.” It may not seem like much, but it was so genuine, and it meant the world to me at the time.

  So it really hurt me to see her in the news when her twin brother became another sad Twitter hashtag. Terence was unarmed and standing beside his stalled SUV with his arms raised prior to the killing. When I saw her on TV, in tears, talking about how the police had shot and killed her brother, it hit me. Hard.

  Even though I didn’t really know Big Crutch personally, I knew of him. All I kept thinking was that she and the rest of her family shouldn’t have to go through all this pain. She looked so defeated when she was forced to defend her brother’s reputation.

  I’ll never forget how this one reporter kept asking her how she felt, and trying to get her to directly address the fact that an officer observing the incident from a helicopter said that Terence looked like “a bad dude” before he was shot and killed.

  That just seemed like a stupid approach. How do you think she feels? Her brother had just been taken away from her. She shouldn’t have to go on CNN and speak through tears while attempting to convince the world that Terence didn’t deserve to die. She shouldn’t have been subjected to the endless tape loop of the shooting, haunted by that voice saying that her brother looked like “a bad dude.” And she shouldn’t feel that, as she expressed: “Anyone who . . . may have brown skin, it just seems like they automatically criminalize or demonize.” She shouldn’t be experiencing this pain.

  And after the death of her brother, Tiffany shouldn’t have been bombarded on social media by all of the people trying to somehow justify her brother’s killing. Seeing all that happen made me sick to my stomach.

  Was Big Crutch a saint? Was he perfect? No. Who is? Did he deserve to die?

  The answer to that last question should be a resounding no. But, unfortunately, that answer was not the most prevalent one on social media. It was so sad and frustrating to see Terence’s death talked about as though he was not a real person—as though his life had been of no value. Time and time again, so many people attempt to justify and rationalize killing after killing at the hands of the police.

  “Why didn’t he simply comply?”

  “I never have problems with the police. I just do as I’m told.”

  “What about Black-on-Black crime in Chicago?”

  One thing has absolutely nothing to do with the other. To attempt to justify the killing of a human being by using deeply flawed reasoning is both absurd and sad. And it goes to show how little some individuals value the lives of Black people.

  One of the things that was especially striking about the police videos that were released was that the officers on the scene were talking about everything so casually, almost like they were watching TV or something. This was an actual human being with a family and children and loved ones. What was going to happen to Terence’s children, now without a father? What would it be like for them in the future, when they google their father’s name and see all the videos and photos of him being shot by the police? And read the articles in which people attempt to justify his killing?

  The media moved on to the next story as they always do, but Terence’s family and friends will have to live with this reality and tragedy for the rest of their lives. And that is so sad.

  I went down to Tulsa to stage a Black Lives Matter panel at the church I grew up in—Antioch Baptist—and I participated in a manhood summit alongside many powerful speakers. The next day, the Oklahoma City Thunder played a preseason game against the Memphis Grizzlies. The team donated a thousand tickets, which we gave to the middle school students who had attended the panel and summit. I gave the invocation at the game, interviewed Russell Westbrook, and watched as the Thunder and Grizzlies players all wore TC (for Terence Crutcher) on their warm-ups. Many players greeted the Crutcher family, offering their condolences and assistance. It was a really special weekend.

  I caught up with Tiffany, now Dr. Crutcher, in New York for this interview. I am still amazed at her ability to continue fighting for justice while still grieving the loss of her brother. I honestly don’t know how she does it.

  Etan: All the Thunder wore the initials TC on their jerseys and so did Memphis. What was your reaction to their support?

  Dr. Tiffany Crutcher: Well, we were definitely humbled because, you know, athletes getting ready for preseason . . . you just wouldn’t think that they would stop and take the time to be that vocal. For them to speak out on our behalf like they all did, we were surprised, we were shocked. When we saw the footage of Russell Westbrook speaking out after my brother’s death, and telling the world how wrong it was and that they were going to do whatever our family needs, and that they were going to be there for us, it really touched my family. It meant so much to my father . . .

  And we invited all of the men in our family, because at that point we knew that we needed to come together and represent our community. But for Russell to make that comment, it’s like he dropped the rope and tied a knot in it and said, “Just hold on, we got you.” That knot, for me, symbolizes hope. It symbolizes love. It symbolizes the fact that we’re going to continue to be there when everybody goes away.

  Etan: Yeah, Russell spoke with so much passion at the press conference, it was really powerful.

  Crutcher: And yourself. You flew down to Tulsa. You did the panel. You’ve been helping us keep Terence’s name out there . . . You don’t see that a lot. People are just moved by the moment and then it goes away. It’s like church on Sunday: we get happy, and then on Monday, back to reality.

  And so, I just can’t say enough about people of your stature and Russell Westbrook’s speaking out on my brother’s behalf. You put yourself in a situation where it could possibly affect the organization. It could possibly affect ticket sales because you have people who think that we are anticop and antipolice and all of this. So, if you’re speaking out against something that the majority do not like or agree with, it makes them uncomfortable. I heard a lot of people—and I don’t tend to look at the comments—say, “Hey, we’re going to boycott the Thunder games,” and I’m like, Boycott the Thunder games? Simply because of what Russell said?

  Etan: Oklahoma is a very conservative state. For the Thunder organization to be that supportive—I mean, I was pleasantly surprised about it.

  Crutcher: Right. The Memphis Grizzlies sent paraphernalia to the kids. To my nieces. To my nephews. H
ats and a box full of things to let us know that, Hey, we support you, we’re standing in solidarity with you.

  I was thrust into all of this chaos. But you never know how strong you are until you have to be strong. I just think that this is all what God ordained, and unfortunately Terence had to be the sacrificial lamb, but everything that you’ve been preparing for, I believe it was for a time such as this. I was just proud to know that I had the right people in the right place at the right time for such a tragedy as this. I mean, I just can’t even explain it.

  I had to fight to keep my composure during this interview. It broke my heart to see the pain in Tiffany's eyes as she talked about losing her twin brother Terence.

  Etan: I’ve been so amazed at how you all have gone through these tragedies and then you all have this similar passion to pour into other people. Talk about that aspect of it.

  Crutcher: You know, it’s so different when it happens to you. Of course we see all of these other families go through this . . . I mean the Trayvon Martin case, it ate me up. I was drained, I consumed myself with this, like, This isn’t right! What are we going to do? But never in a million years would I have thought that it would be my brother. Or my mom and dad’s son. And so, it’s like you’re obligated. You have a duty when it happens to you to make sure it doesn’t happen to anybody else. You have to be the voice for the cases that aren’t publicized, that don’t become a trending topic . . .

  We were at the Circle of Sisters and people were coming up to us afterward, crying, saying, “Hey, can you help us? You know the police did this to my son, we’ve never gotten justice. They won’t even answer our phone calls.” And I just feel obligated . . . because people don’t really realize that for the first time in Tulsa’s history, a police officer has been charged or indicted . . .