From KJA's Blog 'On The Dig'

I actually thought I could end the day without thinking about Sean.  Go through my weekend and pretend it didn't happen the way it happened.  I really believed I could avoid every email, Facebook update, every subtle and/or vocal comment in Fort Greene, Brooklyn as if it was no big thing.  An unarmed young black groom shot at 50 times was an easy hurdle to jump. Right?

Or maybe I was thinking I didn't have room in my psyche to translate it. Yeh, that's it.  I was still deciphering the crazy of Rodney King, Amadou Diallo, the unarmed Timothy Thomas of Cincinnati, who after being shot to death by a white police officer, set off the Cincinnati Riots of 2001, a riot my father got caught in, fearful for his life. Whatever the logic for my denial, by day's end it was impossible to sustain.  Sean Bell and his assasins' acquittal was real, and everybody from Bed-Stuy to Park Slope was talking about it.

So there I was:  Sitting at a screening of my friend Karamuu Kush's film at Creatively Speaking, a Brooklyn-based film fest for filmmakers of African descent, enjoying his work, and Sean Bell was on my mind.  Afterwards, I parlayed over to some local foodie with Karamuu and several of his supporters and folks started unraveling.

And the unravel was clear:  we were outraged, disappointed, not surprised at all, and just simply mad.

But after five minutes, I didn't know what else say.  There had to be more than just giving color to some profane outburst.  I kept thinking, we've been here before.  It's no secret men of African descent are targeted everyday.  We're given that second glance, that clutched purse, that random pacifying smile in case, you know, we need sudden pacifying.  If we're not careful, our stress levels alone could kills us.  But something about this was different.  Maybe because two out of the three assailants were black.  Maybe it was because I'm getting tired of having to walk this line of suspicion and comfort with white and black authority trained to attack black.

Then it hit me.  Obama.  Obama's pending presidency.  His plea for clarity in a murky political system.  His demand for this country to uplift and be smarter.  His very presence as a man of color in the ultimate political game. For the last several months Obama has sunk into my subconscious, and I believed we were moving somewhere else, being primed to be nationally intolerant to blatant injustice.  Even with the Reverend Wright controversy and the aftermath of what I call his "contexualizing American racism" speech, I believed change was imminent.  I still believe.  That's why the Sean Bell travesty really unnerves me, I think.  Lately, public conversation has been smarter, more inclusive -- not perfect, but hopeful.  And I've been feeling hopeful.  But after yesterday's jury-less judgment, I'm forced to remove myself from the Obama-bubble and stick my nose back in the real.  Obama or not, it appears the social climate of this country continues to condone a police culture that unleashes 50 bullets onto a unarmed young black groom.  At least that's what the acquittal suggests.  At least that's what I can't deny at a film fest or in the privacy of my own mind.

Honestly, will the day ever come... ?

Keith Josef Adkins is an award-winning playwright and screenwriter.

For more on the Sean Bell case on The Root: Check out Kai Wright on the history of Dead Black Men and the Paranoia Defense and Kevin Powell on what he didn't have the heart to tell Mrs. Bell.

Also on The Root: Michael C. Dawson on Demcrats, Superdelegates and A Nightmare of their Own Making. and Lawrence Bobo on what Dr. King's Dream and the modern Black Gulag.