MY NAME WAS TRAYVON MARTIN. Before George Zimmerman shot and killed me, I was walking alone, headed to my dad’s house. I was minding my own business. I didn’t hurt anyone. Yet moments after the wannabe cop approached me, I was dead. My crime? Being a seventeen-year-old black kid with Skittles and iced tea after dark. MY NAME WAS MICHAEL BROWN. Before Officer Darren Wilson shot and killed me he said that I looked like a “demon.” He also described me as a fictional character named “Hulk Hogan.” He never described me as a human being. MY NAME WAS TAMIR RICE. Before Officer Timothy Loehmann shot and killed me, I was playing alone in a Cleveland park. I was minding my own business. I didn’t hurt anyone. The 911 caller said that the gun that I was playing with was probably fake. Yet two seconds after the officer pulled up, I was dead. My crime? Being a 12-year-old black child with a toy gun. MY NAME WAS ERIC GARNER. Before Officer Daniel Pantaleo choked me to death, I was standing alone on a New York street. I had just broken up a fight. Otherwise, I was minding my own business. I didn’t hurt anyone although I did question why the police constantly harassed me. For that the officer caught me in a choke hold and took me down. I begged him to let me breathe. Instead he let me die. My crime? Being a father of six who was trying to provide for my family.
Posted on: Thu, 04 Dec 2014 05:27:49 +0000