And Then

I assumed they were guilty,
that they were trying to escape,
But I had no basis for that belief,
I thought, “only the guilty ran.”
Because in my privilege I didn’t know
that running from the police meant running for your life.
And then, Rodney King.

The report said “cuts and bruises of a minor nature,”
that he was resistant, aggressive, reaching for a weapon.
But the video showed fifty-six baton strikes,
a man on the ground, his leg shattered, his face broken,
while some officers stood and watched,
while one typed into his computer afterward,
“I haven’t beaten anyone this bad in a long time.”
Evidence. No wonder people rioted.
And then, Tamir Rice.

The officers said they gave “multiple commands to show his hands,”
that he was reaching for a weapon, that they feared for their lives.
But the video showed a police car racing into frame,
stopping within feet of a twelve-year-old playing in a park.
Two seconds.
That’s how long it took to shoot a child with a toy gun.
No time for multiple commands.
No time to assess the threat.
No time to see this was a boy.
And then, Eric Garner.
And then, Laquan McDonald.
And then, Walter Scott.
And then, Alton Sterling.
And then, Philando Castile.

Officer Yanez said Philando Castile was reaching for his gun,
that he feared for his life, that he gave multiple commands.
But the dashcam showed Castile telling the officer calmly
that he had a licensed firearm in the car.
Castile said, “I’m not pulling it out.”
His girlfriend said, “He’s not…”
Seven shots.
Five hit.
Castile was reaching for his wallet,
doing exactly what the officer had asked,
while his girlfriend’s four-year-old daughter watched from the back seat.
And then, Justine Damond.
And then, Ahmaud Arbery.
And then, George Floyd.

The police report called it “a medical incident during police interaction.”
No mention of the knee, no mention of nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds.
But the video showed Derek Chauvin kneeling on George Floyd’s neck
while Floyd said “I can’t breathe,”
while Floyd said “Mama,”
while Floyd said “please,”
while Floyd stopped talking,
while Floyd stopped moving,
while Floyd lost consciousness,
while Floyd had no pulse,
while bystanders begged Chauvin to check for a heartbeat.
Nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds.
Chauvin had eighteen complaints over twenty years,
was “unnecessarily aggressive on nights when a club had a Black clientele.”
A teenage girl with a cell phone is the only reason there was a trial.
And then, Daunte Wright.
And then, Amir Locke.
And then, Renee Good.

The federal government called it “an act of domestic terrorism,”
said Renee Good “violently, willfully, and viciously ran over” an ICE officer,
that he shot in self-defense, fearing for his life.
But the video showed a woman trying to get away,
space to drive forward without hitting anyone.
Good was a poet, a mother of three, a US citizen
out caring for her neighbors that morning.
ICE agents wouldn’t let a physician provide aid for fifteen minutes.
She died from gunshot wounds to her head.
Blocks from where George Floyd was killed.
The pattern never stopped.

How many were missed because there were no cameras,
or because the body cameras “malfunctioned?”
How many official reports went unchallenged,
how many “medical incidents during police interaction,”
how many times was it their word against a dead man’s silence?
How many officers are still on the force,
with eighteen complaints, with a pattern, with a signature move?
How many more names will we have to say?
How many names do we not know?

Unsolicited
Current Events
And Then
Laura Gerling
© 2026

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