The dash cam video has been released of the traffic stop that led to the tragic events in my city this week. Rather than clarifying what happened, for me it raised more questions. From it, we have learned several things. There was a passenger in the car, whom we had not heard about before. Walter Scott, the man who was killed, told Officer Slager that he had no registration or insurance papers to present, because he was only considering buying the car, and did not yet own it. The "violation" that was the justification for the traffic stop was that the third brake light was out. And twice Mr Scott got out of the vehicle, once with his hands up but with what I thought on first viewing might have been his wallet. Officer Slager told him to get back in the car, and he complied for a time. Then, for reasons I still cannot comprehend, he opened the door and took off running, setting off the chain of events that ended in his death.
When we first saw the dash cam video, my man snorted in disbelief. The third brake light was out? He recognized instantly that it was, frankly, a bullshit excuse to pull someone over. So I looked it up. South Carolina Code, section 56-5-4510 requires "at least one tail lamp mounted on the rear which... shall emit a red light plainly visible from a distance of five hundred feet..." This car had two working brake lights, and if the State of SC v Jihad (heard by the Court of Appeals 1999-2000) is precedent, then an exact reading of the law means that it was compliant. Because of this incident, I've also been prompted to learn more about the "fleeing felon rule," which came after the US Supreme Court decided in 1985 on the case of Tennessee v Garner, and decreed that law enforcement may only use deadly force on a fleeing suspect if the officer has probable cause that the suspect presents significant threat of death or serious physical injury to the officer or others. In plain English, Officer Slager had Mr Scott's vehicle, passenger, and driver's license. Mr Scott had not brandished a weapon nor threatened anyone. He could have let Mr Scott run away all he liked, and issued a warrant for his arrest. But again, as I cautioned yesterday, there are still volumes of information yet to be revealed about this case. I am sure we will learn soon some version of what happened in those moments when the officer fired the taser, as we will learn about Officer Slager's history of improper use of the taser on a man who filed a complaint two years ago (which was originally dismissed, but is now being reviewed). I still don't have enough facts to feel like I have the right to judge anything.
I know better than to read comments sections, especially on politically or racially charged topics, but I did it anyway on reports by the local televisions stations. Local people have been doing a lot of victim blaming. "If only he hadn't run..." Others are feeling the need to offer tacky "I'm tired of this story" statements. Some of the comments, and I am ashamed to say it is not a small number, are downright hostile and racist. I can't express how it hurts the vulnerable part of my heart to read these things, and know that these hateful people surround me, brush past me when I'm at the grocery store or gas station, or worse, interact with me as my cashiers, waiters, receptionists, mechanics, or contractors. It leaves me breathless knowing that the same people who smile at me with southern charm harbor these feelings inside them.
This week Murray wore out key elements of his wheelchair. There is a nylon webbing and foam cradle where his pelvis rests, with straps that fit around his back to hold him in his magic wheels. The strapping finished ripping all the way through yesterday, so my man bought replacement webbing to run through it. All he could find was thinner material made of polypropylene instead of nylon, and it couldn't hold firm in the clips. By the time Murray sat in the wheels for ten or fifteen minutes, he would be hanging, his hind legs crossed at the ankles, and he would need adjustment. So this evening we pulled out the sewing machine to permanently affix the straps to the clips, eliminating the need for adjustment, and to sew on new velcro to run around Murray's back to hold him in his chair when he's running around the back yard, popping wheelies. At first, the man was doing it, and making my sewing machine choke and gag on super heavy duty outdoor thread, from a bobbin that was inserted upside down. I chased him off, fixed the machine, and then let him try again. While I cleaned up after Murray (a daily job), I heard the sewing machine violently seize again, and this time I refused to let the man have his project back. It took me several minutes to free the tangled project, and I showed it to him. He said it was doing just fine when it was just the polypropylene folded in on itself. But when he tried to sew the velcro down, the underside was covered in loops and it became tangled in the machine. I explained that for different situations, you have to check your progress and you might have to adjust the tension. I corrected it and slowly, gently sewed on the remaining velcro straps. I recognized that some working parts do not respond to brute force, but require a more nuanced touch. And thus my metaphor for the evening was formed.
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