As Minneapolis’s chief of police in 2020, I was in the eye of the storm — and at the helm — during a moral crisis that swept around the globe — the murder of George Floyd, whose life was extinguished under the knee of a police officer while three other officers failed to intervene.
The entire policing profession found itself on trial. Blue and Black collided — the two worlds I inhabited, as a police chief and as a Black man.
But I never felt my loyalties were divided. My duty was the same as it had always been: to serve the people of the city — all the people — and to uphold the constitution and the laws of my state. It was the oath I had sworn and honored for more than 30 years.
When I was chief of police, my job was the pursuit of justice, and it did not require taking sides. Yes, the so-called blue wall of silence that has long protected police officers from accountability is real. Yes, it was painful for me to be seen by some as an enemy to my own community — my lifelong advocacy for racial justice suddenly eclipsed by the uniform I wore. And yet, I fired the involved officers immediately. I became the first police chief in U.S. history to swiftly and unequivocally denounce and testify against the actions of one of my own officers in a landmark murder trial.
My loyalty was clear. I reported to the 430,000 citizens of Minneapolis.
Public servants must guard against transactional relationships. Public-sector leaders have a duty to all their stakeholders — not only those who praise us or align with us politically. Our commitment must extend to those who challenge us, protest us and hold us accountable.
I had never sworn an oath to the city council or to the mayor, even though the mayor had the power to fire me. He was my partner in seeking justice, yes, but I was prepared at any moment to be fired or to quit, if necessary. My career trajectory was simply not part of the equation. The stakes were much, much higher. I could get another job. What I could not do was turn back time, rewrite history or evade my conscience. What I could not do was let the children of my city and America down.
Leaders must often respond to circumstances beyond their control. Sometimes their only options are bad and very bad. Yet they must make that difficult choice and stand behind it.
In the summer of 2020, I faced a decision no police chief ever wants to make: surrender a police headquarters to an angry, violent crowd or defend it with force. A throng of thousands had surrounded the Third Precinct. Rocks and Molotov cocktails rained down on the building as intermittent pistol and rifle fire rang out from the crowd. It quickly became clear that we lacked the resources to safely hold the precinct.
Inside, officers transmitted urgent calls over their radios as the crowd attempted to breach the doors. I informed the mayor of the grave situation, and we made the decision to abandon the precinct. Within minutes of the officers’ evacuation — some forced to leave on foot — the building was set ablaze by the crowd. Few people realize how close we came, in America, to a confrontation between armed police officers and angry citizens.
I drew criticism from both the left and the right for my decision. I’ve been insulted in the streets and vilified in the press. But I stand by my decision to this day. Amid that crisis, my objective was neither a show of strength nor the preservation of property. My goal was simply this: no more funerals. Everyone’s life mattered to me. And not a single life, officer or civilian, was lost that day.
I can attest that when you are tapped on the shoulder by history, under an unprecedented crisis with dynamic pressures all around you, it’s understandable to say to yourself, “I didn’t sign up for this,” “I’ve got a family and finances to consider” and “let someone else take this on.”
Not everyone will be up to the challenge. But for those who step into the arena, know that history and future generations will remember who stood up and spoke the truth, even if it meant standing alone.
Today, our educational institutions, federal agencies, corporations, law firms and more are facing upheaval. Their leaders and frontline workers face hard choices and must affirm their allegiances and their purpose. Values are the heart of an organization, and you can’t function without them. You can’t pause them or turn them on and off like a light switch based on the pressure you are experiencing. If you compromise your principles, you will not be fighting another day, because your credibility will be nullified. Once you start carving slivers out of your values, the damage is almost impossible to repair.
Too many organizations treat a crisis as a fire to be extinguished, not as a signal that transformation is necessary. But the summer of 2020 taught me that a crisis reveals character and can accelerate change. What leaders choose to do in those moments will define who they are.
The worst thing a leader can do is be silent when the situation is screaming for them to act. Throughout my career, I have often said, “integrity is not situational.” That belief helped guide me through one of the most painful times in our country’s history. It helped me speak truth to power and stand firm in the face of internal resistance, public anger and political pressure. I did not build my legacy with speeches; I built it with action.
History is rife with times of chaos and uncertainty. We are in such a time now. For those disillusioned by institutions or unsure if their voice matters, I say: Change is possible when we show up in the moments that matter most, when we honor our shared humanity, and when we act with courage.
Medaria “Rondo” Arradondo served as served as chief of the Minneapolis Police Department from 2017 to 2022. His new memoir, “Chief Rondo: Securing Justice for the Murder of George Floyd,” discusses his experience of the death of George Floyd.
