When you’re Black in America, justice is rarely served—it’s endured. It is a word we’re taught to believe in but often experience as a double entendre: a promise for others, a punishment for us. The heartbreaking and complex case of Rodney Hinton Jr. reminds us just how devastatingly true that can be.
Rodney Hinton is not a monster. He’s a father. A man. A human being who, on May 1, watched the bodycam footage of Cincinnati police officers killing his 18-year-old son, Ryan Hinton. Less than 24 hours later, Hinton was accused of using his vehicle to kill Deputy Larry Henderson in what prosecutors are calling a “targeted attack.” But to simply label this as a calculated act of violence is to ignore the gaping emotional wound behind it—and the systemic rot that helped inflict it.
Let’s be clear: the killing of anyone, especially in a moment that endangers others, is not to be celebrated. But we cannot ignore the context in which this tragedy unfolded, because context is everything. The criminal legal system would have us compartmentalize grief, especially Black grief, into something manageable, something acceptable. But what does acceptable look like when you’ve just watched your baby be executed on tape?
Rodney Hinton snapped, and while that may not be a legal justification, it is a human explanation.
The Trauma of Losing a Child to Police Violence
The loss of a child is often described as the most excruciating pain a person can endure. According to research from the American Psychological Association, parents who lose children, particularly to violent, traumatic causes, face higher rates of PTSD, depression, substance abuse, and even suicidal ideation. For Black parents, that trauma is compounded by centuries of systemic racism, policing that disproportionately targets their children, and a justice system that rarely holds officers accountable.
Watching the footage of Ryan Hinton being shot by police — after he allegedly ran from a stolen car while armed — was undoubtedly a triggering event. Hinton’s attorney confirmed he has a history of mental illness and experienced a psychiatric episode after seeing the footage. That’s not an excuse; it’s a reality.
And while many are quick to dismiss “mental illness” in Black defendants, it’s important to remember that trauma, especially racial trauma, is cumulative. It builds, silently, beneath the surface until it explodes. Whether or not Hinton was in full control of his faculties will be determined in court, but mental health experts already know this kind of psychological break isn’t rare—it’s tragically predictable.
The Weaponization of Grief
GoFundMe, the platform many turn to for support in crisis, swiftly removed all campaigns created to support Hinton after demands from the Ohio Fraternal Order of Police. They apologized for the “misuse” of the platform. And yet, platforms like GiveSendGo have hosted campaigns for individuals caught on camera spewing racial slurs at children and even accused murderers. Why the double standard?
Because in this country, Black rage—especially when it follows Black death—is not allowed. We are expected to mourn silently, to protest peacefully, to bury our children with poise and dignity. Anything more, and the full weight of the system comes crashing down. Hinton’s grief wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t palatable. It was real. And now, the state is seeking to kill him for it.
A System Stacked Against Us
The facts speak for themselves. According to Mapping Police Violence, Black people are nearly three times more likely to be killed by police than white people, and more likely to be unarmed at the time of their death. In 2023 alone, police in the U.S. killed over 1,200 people, and Black individuals made up a disproportionate percentage of those deaths.
Since the Trump administration, the risks have only grown. Under Trump, federal oversight of local police departments was effectively neutered. Consent decrees—agreements between the DOJ and police departments to address misconduct—were rolled back or ignored. Trump’s Justice Department ended investigations into departments with a history of racial abuse, sending a clear message: police would not be held accountable on his watch.
In 2017, Trump even told a room full of officers not to be “too nice” when handling suspects, indirectly encouraging aggressive and often violent behavior. And when the federal government refuses to check police power, we get the kind of horror that Rodney Hinton had to watch: his child, gunned down by the people sworn to serve and protect.
A Legal System Built on Punishment, Not Compassion
Now, Rodney Hinton faces the possibility of the death penalty—the only charge in Ohio that allows for it. And while prosecutors paint this as a premeditated, cold-blooded killing, his defense insists that Hinton was experiencing a psychiatric episode and could not fully comprehend the consequences of his actions. As his attorney rightly pointed out, “an indictment is not indicative of guilt.”
In fact, death penalty cases in Ohio rarely end in execution. The last time someone was executed in the state was in 2018. There are 113 people currently sitting on death row, and many have been there for decades. Why? Because Ohio, like many states, is facing increasing moral, legal, and logistical challenges in carrying out executions. Pharmaceutical companies no longer want their drugs used for lethal injections, and public sentiment continues to shift away from capital punishment.
Yet, here we are again—using the threat of state-sanctioned death against a Black man whose real crime, some would argue, was loving his son too much to let his murder go unanswered.
Justice for Whom?
Rodney Hinton’s case will make headlines, stir debates, and likely polarize communities. But it should also make us ask hard questions: What does justice look like in a system that produces this kind of pain? What resources exist for families who suffer violent losses at the hands of police, and why are we more comfortable condemning the broken response of a grieving father than we are in confronting the broken system that put him there?
There are no winners in this story. Deputy Henderson should still be alive. Ryan Hinton should still be alive. Rodney Hinton should not be sitting in a jail cell, staring down the possibility of death. But this is what happens when we refuse to address the root causes—when we let racism, unchecked policing, and disregard for mental health run our justice system.
The truth is, justice in America was never built to protect Black people. It was built to police us, punish us, and parade us as warnings. And until we confront that reality, until we stop expecting grieving parents to act like saints while burying their babies, there will be more Rodney Hintons.
And more broken hearts that no courtroom can heal.
SEE ALSO:
Sean Combs’ Legal Team Claims ‘Mutual Abuse’ In Relationship With Cassie Ventura
Trump Administration’s Push To Suspend Habeas Corpus Is Fascist