Honoring Philando Castile

One year later, we walk as a group toward the spot where Philando Castile was shot. The sky is open and blue above us. North and east, clouds puff upwards, verging on thunderheads. The sun is setting. The weather is eerily like it was during Philandos last moments on earthhumid, a slight breeze easing ninety degree heat. Its been a sweaty, two-mile walk from a private celebration and memoriam at a nearby historical site. Those gathered represent every part of Phils lifehis mother, aunts and uncles, cousins, neighbors, high school buddies, and the parents and coworkers from the two elementary schools where he prepared and served food over ten years, to thousands of kids.

Philando had no biological children, his mother tells us, but he had all those kids he fed and cared for and mentored and comforted and calmed. Those are all Phils kids.

Among us, too, are thosewhite and brownwho, since Phils death, have felt destinys tap on their shoulder, propelling them into activism.

A year ago, Philandos life ended at a routine traffic stop, his blood spilling over his seatbelt and white t-shirt while his traumatized girlfriend Facebook ed the world, her small daughter still strapped into her carseat in the back.

That was a year ago. On this day, weve eaten together, picnic styleappetizers, and, of course, the fruits and vegetables Phil always urged on the children who knew him as Mr. Phil. Weve heard a cycle of praise music songs and listened carefully as Philandos mother retold the story about his first job at the age of thirteen, when he wanted some of those flashy new Jordans and she told him, Okay, you get a job to pay for half and Ill pay the other half.

Weve been brought to laughter and to tears by Pastor Danny Givens, who has buried too many loved ones, including his cousins two-year-old son, shot in the chest during a drive-by shooting in North Minneapolis within days of Philandos death.

We stand here in solidarity with Philandos family, said Pastor Givens. King Philando lives forever. He was a voice and a light. . .a light this world will continue to see until we get justice. Philandos flame will never die.

Now, we arrive at the very spot where Phils life ended, this little verge by the side of a busy street. What was once empty grass and weeds is now filled with impromptu memorials, including a wooden plinth bearing the words of Nelson Mandela: I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and achieve. But it needs to be an ideal for which I am prepared to die.

Philando was busy with an everyday life of kindness and responsibility. He didnt choose to be a hero, to give his life for a cause. He had that choice taken from him, ripped away in an officers panican experienced officer who did everything wrong, yet still walks free. Its those who Phil left behind who are being asked to become the heroeshis mother, his Uncle Clarence, his friends, his girlfriend, and many others who are raising funds for scholarships in his name, working to change laws and training and hearts, working to prevent the next person from turning into the martyr that Philando was forced to become.

At the historical site, before we left, I spoke with Phils friend and colleague, John Thompson, a man still struggling with his grief, yet one of those fate has tapped to become both healer and leader. I know Im supposed to forgive him, he said of the man who shot his close buddy. I know I have to forgive him. I have to. I just cant do it yet.

I shook my head, stubborn. My tradition says I dont have to forgive anybody until theyve cleaned up their mess, made good the harm they did, and then, they have to ask me for forgiveness. Jeronimo Yanez could have admitted what he did, how he freaked, how he messed up. Instead, hes blamed his victim and asked forgiveness of nobody. I dont have to forgive him at all.

Earlier in the day I spoke with an LAPD training officer, a twenty-year veteran, who told me, Nothing good comes from this. Its a traumatic thing for even the most hardened police officer to get involved in a categorical use of force. You live with it your whole life. You have feelings of second guessing yourself. You have friends and families and sometimes the public feeling that youve done the wrong thing and youre saying, You werent there.

All I could think waswell, Jeronimo Yanez gets to live with it. Philando is dead. Philando doesnt get to live. I appreciate compassion, but there is no comparison.

But the officer kept going. If something happens, whether its your fault or not, youre going to be significantly affected. PTSD runs rampant through this profession. You have all those problems that are going to pop up later, and you dont know why youre angry at the dog, or the kid, or your wife, or you cant think straight. I can tell you his condition is pretty fragile, because Ive seen it. I know where it is.

All I could think wasthat little girl will have nightmares her whole life. Diamond Reynolds will have nightmares her whole life. And she didnt make it happen. Yanez did.

The last stragglers join us at the shootings site. We now number about a hundred. Cars honk in support. Two young girls hand out candles in white, bell-shaped holders. Some of us have matches, lighters. The rest pass the light from one wick to another, carefully shielding each from the strengthening breeze, holding all aloft. The time is approaching9:03, when Philandos car was pulled over. The last candle is relit as the minutes pass.

9:05, when Yanez leaned in at the drivers side window.

Seconds later, when Yanez fired seven shotsthe last at 9:06 pm.

There are two moments in our lives, says Pastor Givens then, that are the most holy moments of all. The moment when were born, and the moment of our passing. We would never have chosen for Philandos passing to happen this way, but his spirit has passed, and we honor it and it lives on in us all.

And we all of uswhite, black, parents, children, retirees and high school students, friends and strangerswipe away tears and hold our candles high.