Kim Handy-Jones stands at the front of a meeting room in a working-class portion of southeast Minneapolis, large pieces of butcher paper labeled “Body Cams,” “Accountability” and “Training” hanging behind her. In the months since a police officer shot and killed her son in neighboring St. Paul, Handy-Jones has met here regularly with a dozen or so longtime Twin Cities advocates of police reform.
But this meeting is different. This time, the room is full. Some of the nearly 80 people present have to stand.
And this time, the majority is white.
Handy-Jones, who is black, pauses and bows her head, displaying the intricacies of her braided updo. It’s as though she’s considering her words, what she can and what she must say.
“I am so glad — truly, my heart is glad — to see this room so full,” she says softly, before building in a crescendo.
“Now, most of y’all were not here when my son was killed. . . . But this is about life, human life, not black and white, not just my son or your neighbor, but about all of us,” she continues. “It took Justine’s death to make that clear, I think, for some of y’all. But I really do welcome y’all to the fight.”