So I was scrolling thru Twitter a few minutes ago, fascinated by the reaction to the decision in Minnesota, when I noticed that ROT IN HELL is trending. In case you think I’m making such a thing up …
And I get it. I 100% get it. Derek Chauvin snuffed out another man’s life. For no good reason. George Floyd no longer walks the earth, and that’s 100-percent because a cop who should never have been a cop thought it his duty to remove a person’s final breath. Chauvin will spent his remaining days behind bars, and I am grateful for that. It’s the only reasonable decision.
However, whenever stuff like this happens, a small (actually not so small) part of me feels sympathy. It’s hard to explain, but I felt the same thing when O.J. Simpson was arrested, when that Washington sniper was caught, when … eh, countless times. I guess it’s not sympathy, so much as sadness. At some point in his life, Derek Chauvin was a blank slate. A kid, probably playing in a street. I actually found the above obituary of his grandmother, and I’m sure Berenice considered Derek her darling. Polite. Warm. Always kissed her on the cheek. That sorta thing.
He could have wound up anywhere, doing anything. His life could have turned left, could have turned right. He didn’t have to be a cop. He didn’t have to be a murderer. But whatever led him there led him there.
Or, really, not sad.