Photography by Jamelle Bouie, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Faced with the prospect of losing their football team to Los Angeles, fans of the St. Louis Rams have been clamoring for a sign—any sign—that the team feels like it’s a part of the community.
Well, they got such a sign on Sunday, when several Rams players made the now-universal “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot” gesture, in tribute to Michael Brown, before and during the team’s triumph over the Oakland Raiders.
No wait! Not that sign! Not that community!
The players’ gestures—made by five players (tight end Jared Cook and receivers Kenny Britt, Stedman Bailey, Chris Givens, and Tavon Austin) exiting the tunnel before the game and by running back Tre Mason after a touchdown—created quite the furor, with local police and most everyone from south of the area’s own Mason-Dixon line protesting the protest. And as if the aggrieved didn’t find it scandalous enough that the Rams and NFL chose not to fine or reprimand the players, a collateral furor emerged when Rams CEO Kevin Demoff took the extraordinary step of denying that he apologized to St. Louis County Police Chief John Belmar in a kumbaya session intended to smooth the cops’ ruffled feathers.
And who reported—or misreported—that Demoff’s olive branch was an apology when Demoff himself insists that it wasn’t? Why, none other than Belmar, backed by fellow officers, including the official police department blog.
Let’s see here: We have a case in which a civilian and police officials have different recollections of the same event. I wonder if that’s ever happened before. Too bad we don’t have any impartial witnesses: You can always trust them.
This, of course, brings us back to the central point of the police outrage, which is their view that it has now been firmly disproven that Brown had his hands up when Officer Darren Wilson fatally shot him on August 9. The “proof”: Why, the fact that a grand jury declined to indict Wilson on November 24.
Here’s the problem with that: The grand jury’s failure to indict Wilson resolved absolutely nothing with regard to the hotly contested question of whether Brown’s hand were in some sort of surrender position when he was killed. We learned one thing—and one thing alone—from the grand jury last week, and it was that four or more members of the 12-person panel did not believe the evidence supported a criminal indictment of Wilson. Period.
For all we know, eight of the 12 grand jurors voted to indict Wilson. Or maybe none of them did.
Or pick your number between one and seven that might have voted to indict him. This is the fundamental problem with resolving in secret a matter of such blazing public interest: We the people get to know nothing other than the fact that the grand jury did not reach the statutory nine-vote threshold for indicting Wilson. Any speculation about how or why is just that: speculation.
The grand jury made no comment whatsoever in delivering its “no true bill” findings to County Prosecutor Bob McCulloch. His rambling public comments about witnesses having contradicted themselves (among many other assertions) constituted pure inference on his part, and irresponsibly so. He had no legal basis whatsoever to assume, or even suggest, any reasons that the four-or-more members of the grand jury didn’t vote to indict Wilson.
Neither does the St. Louis Police Officers Association, which, in blasting the Rams players, asserted, “the evidence is in and Officer Wilson's account has been verified by physical and ballistic evidence as well as eye-witness testimony, which led the grand jury to conclude that no probable cause existed that Wilson engaged in any wrongdoing.”
If there is a grand jury report to that effect, perhaps the officers association should release it. Otherwise, there is simply no basis to declare any of the above as fact. To repeat: The grand jury simply returned no-true-bills regarding Wilson. Nothing was “verified.” Nothing was proven or disproven. And there is no justification to speculate about anything that might have “led the grand jury to conclude” anything. We don’t even know if a majority of the panel agreed with not indicting Wilson.
In fairness, Brown’s supporters similarly have no proof to validate that he was in a surrendering mode when Wilson shot him, even though 12 of the witnesses testified to that effect before the grand jury, with only two testifying that he did not. It’s all speculation at this point.
That said, the “hands-up” gesture has taken on a larger, symbolic meaning in the African-American community (and among many of us whites) about what is seen as oppression of blacks by police and by the criminal justice system in general. It should not be assumed that the Rams players' gestures were literal statements about the Michael Brown shooting. Rather, they were a show of solidarity with their community. That’s fine with me.
The same can be said about police officers and their allies. They have the same right to support Wilson and to express indignation about what they see as the Rams’ disrespect to him and to their profession. You certainly cannot blame the police for finding that quite galling, given the extra police protection afforded NFL teams for their games and other activities. The police outrage is fine with me, too.
This is America. Both sides of the Ferguson tragedy have a right to be heard––and continue to be heard––as long as a public forum remains available, which at the moment appears to be for eternity.
And as long as the Wilson side is “sick of hearing about it” from the Brown side, it probably behooves the Brown side to continue expressing itself. Good for them.
I was especially intrigued by police and others on the Wilson side arguing that the NFL stage is “not the right place” for this sort of expression. Why not? The Rams players peacefully expressed their viewpoint and without compromising the rights or property of anyone else (and even without disruption), and they did so in front of millions of people. That’s a pretty effective peaceful protest if you ask me.
Now the Wilson side can win strong debating points by noting that the NFL has displayed much inconsistency and hypocrisy on the topic of player expressions. Indeed, its own rules pretty clearly ban players from making any form of political expression at NFL games. Earlier this year, the Dolphins fined and suspended a player who went on Twitter to express his indignation toward Michael Sam’s public display of affection for his gay partner.
In that context, it’s quite disingenuous for the NFL to defend its inaction on the Rams players as a matter of free speech, since it didn’t offer the same protection to homophobic expression just months earlier. (It should be noted here that the NFL’s newfound concern for the rights and well-being of gay people was likely nothing more than a public-relations trick to draw attention from the fact that Sam was passed over until the very end of the draft, because he was openly gay. And that discrimination continues today.)
Certainly, the NFL picks and chooses its free-speech issues based upon the winds of public opinion and the corresponding free-wallet expressions of its sponsors. But let’s not forget this is the same league that initially gave spouse-abuser Ray Rice literally one half of the punishment for punching out his then-fiancee that it would have given him for smoking a joint with her. Saying the NFL is hypocritical and inconsistent is something like saying it’s a football league. Why, yes it is. And how do you find that surprising?
In this particular case, I think the NFL did the right thing by making an exception to its own anti-free-expression rules, even if it was pandering with its customary insincerity to its players, an overwhelming majority of whom are African-Americans. There’s no need to go to the replay booth here.
If those on Darren Wilson’s side don’t like it, they have every right to make themselves seen and heard, just like Rams players did. But as to their specific concern that the players pipe down and refrain from free expression, I couldn’t disagree more. Why, the players are simply channeling the immortal words of the great John Belushi, whose call-to-action is beamed regularly to arouse joyful sports fans at venues across the nation:
“What? Over? Did you say 'over'? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!
And sorry, my fellow Caucasians, this one’s not over, either.
SLM co-owner Ray Hartmann is a panelist on KETC Channel 9’s Donnybrook, which airs Thursdays at 7 p.m.
Editor's Note: This article has been updated from an earlier version.
