MoveOn.org & The New York Times – 2012-04-02 11:32:20
Demand Justice for Kenneth Chamberlain Sr.
Below is an email from Kenneth Chamberlain Jr., whose father, a 68-year-old veteran of the US Marines, was killed in his home by the police in White Plains, NY, on November 19, 2011. You can read more about his father’s death in the New York Times report below.
On November 19, 2011, my father, 68-year-old Kenneth Chamberlain Sr., was shot and killed in his home in White Plains, New York.
My father was a 20-year veteran of the Westchester County Department of Corrections and proudly served the United States of America as a Marine. He stood about 5 feet, 9 inches tall, and he suffered from a heart condition.
The events that led to his killing began around 5 a.m., when his medical alert device was accidentally set off, sending a call to the City of White Plains Department of Public Safety. Everything that happened after that was recorded by an audio device installed in my father’s home as part of his medical alert system.
When the police arrived at my father’s home, he and the staff for his medical alert service told them that there was no medical emergency and asked them to leave. And yet they insisted that my father let them into his home, banging loudly on my father’s door for over an hour. On the recording, the police can be heard calling my father a “nigger.”
Ultimately they broke through his apartment door and first shot him with a Taser. He was wearing nothing but boxer shorts when the police began their assault against him. Shortly after that, he was shot with two 40-caliber rounds and killed.
My family is asking the Westchester County District Attorney to bring a criminal indictment, and we call on the United States Department of Justice or the New York State Attorney General to prosecute this as a hate crime.
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The petition says:
This petition is regarding the upcoming grand jury hearing in the case of Kenneth Chamberlain Sr., an unarmed elderly black citizen who was shot to death by the White Plains Police Department.
This case not only brings into question the policies and practices of this department; but it is an open question whether it was inevitable, particularly in light of the audio tapes and video tapes witnessed by Mr. Chamberlain’s family members and attorneys where racial slurs and expletives were used before ultimately shooting him twice in the chest and killing him.
It is imperative that those tapes be made available to the grand jury, and that all other evidence be presented as well. I am concerned that secrecy so farâ€”for example, the names of officers involved have not been releasedâ€”bodes badly for transparency in this case as it moves forward. Nor am I aware of any public statements about the case from elected officials calling for openness.
Members of Mr. Chamberlain’s family and communityâ€”and a much wider circle of people who need to know there is fairness in the criminal justice systemâ€”seek reassurance that, no matter what the verdict, the process has been open, honest, and just.
We, the undersigned, implore Westchester County District Attorney Janet DiFiore to no longer allow police misconduct, brutality, or criminality to happen in this community and ask that these officers be indicted and charged with murder and civil rights violations.
â€“Kenneth Chamberlain Jr.
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‘Officers, Why Do You Have Your Guns Out?’
Michael Powell / The New York Times
WHITE PLAINS (March 5, 2012) — The niece stood in the darkened stairwell of the Winbrook Houses, listening, as 20 feet away five police officers yelled at her uncle, who had locked himself in his apartment.
It was 5:25 on a chill November morning. The officers banged loud and hard, demanding that her 68-year-old uncle open his door.
â€œHe was begging them to leave him alone,â€ she recalls. â€œHe sounded scared.â€ She pulls her shawl about her shoulders and her voice cracks; she is speaking for the first time about what she saw. â€œI heard my uncle yelling, â€˜Officers, officers, why do you have your guns out?â€™ â€
The string of events that night sounds prosaic, a who-cares accumulation of little mistakes and misapprehensions. Cumulatively, though, it is like tumbling down the stairs. Somehow the uncle, Kenneth Chamberlain Sr., a former Marine who had heart problems and wheezed if he walked more than 40 feet, triggered his medical alert system pendant. The system operator came on the loudspeaker in his one-bedroom apartment, asking: â€œMr. Chamberlain, are you O.K.?â€ All of this is recorded.
Mr. Chamberlain didnâ€™t respond. So the operator signaled for an ambulance. Police patrol cars fell in behind â€” standard operating procedure in towns across America. Except an hour later, even as Mr. Chamberlain insisted he was in good health, the police had snapped the locks on the apartment door.
They fired electric charges from Tasers, and beanbags from shotguns. Then they said they saw Mr. Chamberlain grab a knife, and an officer fired his handgun.
Boom! Boom! Mr. Chamberlainâ€™s niece Tonyia Greenhill, who lives upstairs, recalls the echoes ricocheting about the hall. She pushed out a back door and ran into the darkness beneath overarching oaks. He lay on the floor near his kitchen, two bullet holes in his chest, blood pooling thick, dying.
It makes sense to be humble in the presence of conflicting accounts. The White Plains public safety commissioner declared this a â€œwarranted use of deadly forceâ€; the shooter was later put on modified assignment. Mr. Chamberlain, in the commissionerâ€™s telling, had withstood electric charges, grabbed a butcher knife and charged the officers.
The alert system phone in Mr. Chamberlainâ€™s apartment recorded most of the standoff, as did a security camera in the hall. And the officersâ€™ Tasers carried video recorders.
Last month, the Westchester County district attorney played these for the dead manâ€™s son, Kenneth Chamberlain Jr., who teaches martial arts for a local nonprofit organization and intends to file a lawsuit. He is lithe, with a shaved head, and takes pride in a reasoned manner. â€œMy family, weâ€™re not into histrionics,â€ he says. â€œWe donâ€™t run down the street inciting riot.â€
His voice cracks, though, as he describes the tapes. â€œI heard fear,â€ he says. â€œIn my 45 years on this earth, I never heard my father sound like that.â€
The district attorney will present the case to a grand jury and has not released transcripts. But the familyâ€™s recollection matches that of neighbors who listened through closed doors.
They say officers taunted Mr. Chamberlain. He shouted: â€œSemper fi,â€ the Marine Corps motto. The police answered with loud shouts of â€œHoo-rah!â€ Another officer, the niece says, said he wanted to pee in Mr. Chamberlainâ€™s bathroom.
Someone, the niece and neighbors say, yelled a racial epithet at the door. Black and white officers were present.
Kenny Randolph listened from his apartment across the hall. â€œThey put fear in his heart,â€ he says. â€œIt wasnâ€™t a crime scene until they made it one.â€
The police say Mr. Chamberlain was â€œknownâ€ to them, although it appears he had not been convicted of a crime. There are intimations that he wrestled with emotional issues. Sometimes, neighbors say, he talked to himself. Whoâ€™s to say? As often, lifeâ€™s default position is set to â€œcomplicated.â€
Many police departments have trained corps of officers expert in talking with the emotionally upset. Their rule of thumb: talk quietly and de-escalate. That night in White Plains, no one appeared to have de-escalated anything.
Mr. Chamberlain sounded spooked. His son recalls hearing his father say on tape: â€œThis is my sworn testimony. White Plains officers are coming in here to kill me.â€ A few minutes later, a bullet tore through his rib and heart. The ambulance took him to White Plains Hospital, where he soon died.
His son lives five minutes away. He says he could have talked his father down. Standing in the office of his lawyer Randolph M. McLaughlin, he mimes knocking on his dadâ€™s door. â€œDad, itâ€™s me, Ken, Iâ€™m here.â€ His eyes are bloodshot and brimming. â€œI always said, â€˜Iâ€™m the protector now.â€™ But I wasnâ€™t there when he needed me.â€
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