<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div dir="auto" style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><font class=""><span class="">A Glimmer of Justice*</span></font><div class=""><font class=""><b class=""><br class=""></b></font></div><div class=""><font class="">I remembered the day that my father asked me if I ever saw a </font></div><div class=""><font class="">Black man hung. He used the other word, all that Mississippi</font></div><div class=""><font class="">writhing through his veins. I cringed. The very last time</font></div><div class=""><font class="">he used that word, I left his house. He didn’t live to rue this day.</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">The ghosts of all those bodies swaying from trees, men and women sacrificed to the</font></div><div class=""><font class="">strut and preen of white supremacy held in the DNA of the heirs to the</font></div><div class=""><font class="">throne of injustice, as justice melts away, just ice.</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">Veredictum, to speak the truth, but whose truth—</font></div><div class=""><font class="">that of the cop who genuflected at the altar of bigotry</font></div><div class=""><font class="">and violence for nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds</font></div><div class=""><font class="">on the neck of George Floyd, a lynching some called it.</font></div><div class=""><font class="">There is no law against lynching.</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">We have a verdict the judge announces as the nation watches</font></div><div class=""><font class="">the split screen trained on his Honor and the defendant. The</font></div><div class=""><font class="">jury is off screen. He fumbles with the envelope, his face</font></div><div class=""><font class="">reveals nothing as he flips through the counts: second-degree murder,</font></div><div class=""><font class="">third-degree murder, manslaughter.</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">In the streets, outrage and grief suspended, unrest on pause</font></div><div class=""><font class="">the nation quiet with foreboding, hope dangling</font></div><div class=""><font class="">on each verdict:</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">GUILTY</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">GUILTY</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">GUILTY</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">The jurors, four white women, two white men, and their peers,</font></div><div class=""><font class="">three Black men, one Black woman, two multiracial women,</font></div><div class=""><font class="">each one polled sound a chorus of certainty in their unanimity.</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">I watched the cop’s eyes flit left and right, left and right</font></div><div class=""><font class="">his brow arched in disbelief, the entitlement shattered.</font></div><div class=""><font class="">Does he feel the knee of law on his own neck or</font></div><div class=""><font class="">imagine decades behind bars with all those men</font></div><div class=""><font class="">sentenced to the chauvinism of bigotry?</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">The streets erupt in shouts. Strangers embrace. Tears bless faces.</font></div><div class=""><font class="">The President calls the Floyd family. Pundits speak of true justice,</font></div><div class=""><font class="">but the dead are gone. Yet, today a ray of light pierces the thick</font></div><div class=""><span class="">smog of darkness that chokes the breath out of belief and change</span></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">until . . .</font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- L. L. Stamps</div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font class="">* The title is borrowed from the post-verdict comments</font></div><div class=""><font class="">of Gwen Carr, Eric Garner’s mother.</font></div></div></body></html>