by Matt Taibbi
Between the Bay Street tragedy and the onset of the Trump administration years later, America had essentially decided to start moving back in time, formally pushing back against the civil rights era. Garner’s death, and the great distances that were traveled to protect his killer, now stand as testaments to America’s pathological desire to avoid equal treatment under the law for its black population.
But Eric Garner isn’t a symbol. He was a flesh-and-blood person—interesting, imperfect, funny, ambitious, and alive—who just happened to stumble into the thresher of America’s reactionary racist insanity at exactly the wrong time. But his story—about how ethnic resentments can be manipulated politically to leave us vulnerable to the lawless violence of our own government—is not his alone. His bad luck has now become ours.
To the family and friends of Eric Garner, who told his story with love.
To Clementine Russ, who is still waiting.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This was a difficult and painful book to write, and it would not have been possible without the understanding and cooperation of the friends of Eric Garner and members of his family. First and foremost, I want to thank Erica Garner, daughter of Eric, who insisted upon telling all sides of her father’s story, including those that were painful and uncomfortable. Erica’s courage in telling both her story and the story of her family’s ordeal was a continuing inspiration. Moreover, the fact that she and many family members and friends continued to go out on the streets and protest, often when there was no media around and there were only small crowds of supporters, spoke to a determination to find justice that sadly was matched only by the relentless ignorance and insensitivity of the city bureaucracy.
Erica’s mother, Esaw Snipes, similarly told insightful and colorful stories about her husband’s life as a young man and father, and I’m grateful to her especially for telling the story of how young Eric Garner met her and fell in love. Gwen Carr, Eric Garner’s mother, was also generous with her time despite the obvious discomfort the retelling of her experiences caused her. The story of how she finished her shift driving a subway car en route to Coney Island on the day of her son’s death is one of the most powerful in the book. Her husband, Ben Carr, whom I saw often on Bay Street, was also a great help and never hesitated to add perspective to the story—his tale of growing up in the South with the two-faced men is another image I’ll never forget.
Jewel Miller, the mother of Eric Garner’s last child, Legacy Garner, was an immense help with this story. Her painstakingly candid recollections helped paint a compelling picture of the complex but likable figure who was Eric Garner. I wish her nothing but the best and hope she and her children find happiness and peace.
The people with whom I spent the most time were in and around Tompkinsville Park in Staten Island, where Eric Garner worked every day in the years preceding his death. To people like James Knight, John McCrae, DiDi, Ramsey Orta, and Doug Brinson I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude. The little stretch of Bay Street where Garner spent his days is a unique place, and they all welcomed me into it from the start.
This book really began with a bitter cold afternoon when John and James walked me through the essentials of the Garner story from their perspective, while we all stamped our feet on the sidewalk. The sections about Bay Street draw upon more than two years of visits in which I mostly just sat and listened to them tell stories. I couldn’t be more grateful.
A great many lawyers helped me through the complicated second section of the book. Those include, first of all, James Meyerson of the NAACP, a compelling philosophical personality whose historical perspective was critical to helping me understand the legal battles that took place after Garner’s death. Legal Aid Society lawyers Christopher Pisciotta (who runs the Staten Island office), Joe Doyle (Garner’s personal lawyer), and Cynthia Conti-Cook (who handled the effort to unseal Daniel Pantaleo’s history) were all a great help and very generous with their time.
Michael Colihan offered valuable perspective, as did Art Eisenberg of the NYCLU, Jen Levy (representing the public advocate’s office), Ken Perry and Will Aronin (who represented Ramsey Orta), and numerous others. Richard Emery, named head of the CCRB just before Garner’s death, is an old acquaintance who was gracious enough to pick up the phone when I called about this terrible story. Gregory Watts, who represented Ibrahim Annan, is another attorney who took time he probably didn’t have to walk me through the vagaries of the New York criminal justice system.
Pedro Serrano, the whistleblower cop who helped defeat Stop-and-Frisk in court, was someone whose perspective from the police point of view was invaluable. There were other police officers with whom I spoke throughout the course of researching this book, many of whom I could not name, who all sounded the same theme: that policing is a difficult and thankless job that in the modern era has been compounded by “community policing” policies and statistical stressors that make it virtually impossible to avoid problem encounters on the job.
Even voices like ex-captain Joseph Concannon, who was so incensed by the Garner protests that he started pro-police protests of his own, offered important perspective on the difficulty of the job in the CompStat age.
George Kelling, the father of Broken Windows, is another person who was exceedingly generous with his time. Over the course of many conversations with George I came to believe that he was a misunderstood figure who may be unfairly maligned by history for having made a simple but brilliant observation about human behavior. I sense that Kelling himself feels that Broken Windows is a concept that evolved in directions he never foresaw, and that he’s torn about its applications. On the one hand, he clearly believes in the efficacy of the concept as a policing tactic. But the mechanical or indiscriminate use of Broken Windows—what turned into “zero tolerance” policing—was to Kelling a bastardization of his ideas. I’m glad for his cooperation, and I hope readers will see him for the complex figure he is.
Ibrahim “Brian” Annan, whose brutal story provides the opening chapter of this book, is another figure who deserves recognition. Ibrahim kept me in the loop throughout his tortuous and ridiculous years-long court ordeal, and he took time out to help me re-create his experience through repeated trips to the scene.
Sam Roudman, who helped with research throughout, found countless facts and leads to pursue. He’s an outstanding young journalist and I imagine he’ll be writing his own books soon. Thank you, Sam, and sorry to drag you on all those trips across the Bay.
I owe a great deal to my editor, Chris Jackson, without whose help and guidance I would have been lost. Chris has been a great friend and mentor over the years and it’s been an honor to work for him.
Joining Chris at Spiegel & Grau and Penguin Random House are countless others who helped along the way, but most notably Catherine Mikula, Nicole Counts, Barbara Fillon, and of course Cindy Spiegel and Julie Grau. Their support in taking on this difficult and controversial subject has been invaluable.
There are so many others to whom thanks are owed: Carmen Perez and the Justice Leaguers, Dennis Flores of Copwatch, Public Advocate Letitia James, and countless other unnamed sources helped with this book. I am grateful to everyone who took calls from Sam and me during these years.
As always I must thank my wife, Jeanne, for her love and support. Two of our children, Nate and Zeke, were born while this book was being written. My hope for them, and for my oldest son, Max, is that they grow up in a world that is better than the one described in these pages.
Lastly, I want to thank Miss Clementine Russ and her family for welcoming me into their home in Arkansas. Miss Clementine lost her husband, Carnell, to a brutal shooting nearly five decades ago. She told the story of her loss in the kitchen of the same home she shared with Carnell back in 1971. I remember listening to her describe how he used to come home after work and collapse from exhaustion in that very house, his work clothes beside the bed. I could almost hear him snoring in the bedroom a few yards away.
Until I visit
ed, Miss Clementine had never been back to the scene of his death. That was an emotional experience, and I immediately felt a great sadness that there was not more I could do to bring attention to the continuing injustice of her case. I hope readers will take note of her story, and I have a faint hope that someone in Arkansas who sees her story told again might be inclined to take up her cause.
BY MATT TAIBBI
I Can’t Breathe
Insane Clown President
The Divide
Griftopia
The Great Derangement
Spanking the Donkey
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MATT TAIBBI, author of the New York Times bestsellers The Divide, Griftopia, The Great Derangement, and Insane Clown President, is a contributing editor for Rolling Stone and winner of the 2008 National Magazine Award for columns and commentary.
Twitter: @mtaibbi
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