When the verdict of the Derek Chauvin trial was finally announced, I closed my laptop, texted a few of my friends and then took a nap. I woke up to news of the death of Ma’Khia Bryant, and the next day, to news of the death of Andrew Brown Jr. 

Ultimately, I’m not sure what made me turn to NBC’s live broadcast leading up to the verdict. Within minutes I regretted it; the wait was exhausting. Anchors tap-danced,switching from pundit to pundit to rehash recycled questions. What does it mean that the jury deliberated for under 11 hours? What verdict are you expecting? Most of all, the question that the anchors and pundits kept returning to was: What do you think will happen after?

Every few minutes they’d switch to live overhead footage of the growing crowd outside Hennepin County courthouse. “What is the mood in the crowd?” The anchors ask the reporters they have on the ground. “What are people planning to do after the verdict is announced?” The reporters on the ground ask the gathered protesters. 

It’s clear as day, both in their held breaths leading up to the verdict as well and the sighs of relief following it. The question they are really asking is obvious: Will this be enough? Will this appease them? They can’t even hide their hope that this small action of accountability will be enough to quiet the protests, bringing us all to an idyllic version of America where everyone is a little nicer to cops and a lot quieter in the streets.

“What do you say to people who might be worried about exactly what might happen if this verdict doesn’t go the right way?” reporter Gabe Gutierrez asks a person protesting outside the courthouse. I should think the answer is obvious. In the hour before the verdict, NYPD helicopters were already spotted hovering over Brooklyn. DC’s police department was fully activated in anticipation of protests, and helicopters were spotted across the city as the verdict was released. Portland’s mayor declared a state of emergency and warned that both state police and national guard were on call. Lori Lightfoot, mayor of Chicago, deployed 125 National Guard members ahead of the verdict. “Don’t test us,” she said. “We’re prepared.” And prepared they were. In major cities across the country, police departments prepared to brutalize and cut down protesters. They prepared to add George Floyd to the list of Black people whose murderers walk free.

That the whole nation watched a police officer kill an unarmed man with his bare hands and yet remained unsure if our justice system would punish him is evidence enough that no part of this process—including the verdict—resembles the kind of justice that equal human beings deserve. That anyone believed, even for a moment, that a guilty verdict (or even three of them) would resolve centuries of injustice, mourning and murder proves that many of you do not know what America looks like. And that anyone expected Black people to stop being angry upon the delivery of the historic and unprecedented verdict is evidence that America is bankrupt of empathy for Black mourning.

So I would like to ask you to stop waiting for us to stop being angry. I instead ask you to work to abolish the systems that prevent us from joy without fear or mourning. Black children are taught (as my parents taught me) the names and details of Black deaths as both warning and inheritance. George Floyd’s family is without a brother, a son, a father. If you are satisfied with this result as justice, then you do not think that they matter. 

Please do not preach to me about precedent. Or about small steps. Please do not pretend that America was on trial. Please do not ask us to thank you for moving as slowly as possible toward systemic change. In the time since George Floyd was murdered, almost 200 Black people have been killed by police. In the time since Chauvin’s trial began, Daunte Wright, Adam Toledo and Michael Leon Hughes (among others) were killed. By the time I woke up from my nap, Ma’Khia Bryant was dead, and the next day, Andrew Brown Jr. was, too. I am all out of applause for the bare minimum.