I have had a hard time taking my mind or my attentions away from the coverage of the death of Laquan McDonald. Since the public release of the dash camera video of his death in 2015, his name has hardly been out of the news. Neither has the name of the police officer who shot McDonald, who was later charged with McDonald’s murder. From the days leading up to the trial, to the opening statements, through the key witnesses testimony and closing statements, I have followed this story and trial of former Chicago Police Department Officer Jason Van Dyke using a special news collaboration between Chicago’s WBEZ and the Chicago Tribune—a free podcast called 16 Shots. I think I know the basic facts as well as anyone else who has followed these events.

But the question remains: Why did this happen?

On Friday, October 5, 2018, a jury found Jason Van Dyke guilty of murder in the second degree and guilty of 16 counts of aggravated assault with a firearm. Whether one believes the verdict to be just or unjust, I can’t imagine that anyone wasn’t surprised on some level by the verdict. Especially in a case like this, with such strong arguments presented on both sides, we can never be sure of how a jury will decide. For me, even after this verdict, I do not think my question has been answered. Mr. Van Dyke has been found guilty, but the verdict does not tell us WHY this happened, or tell us how to keep it from happening again.

I think that the “why” has something to do with implicit racial bias—and not just in policing. I think that there is implicit bias in all of us, and if we don’t talk about it – name it, learn about it—then we can’t deal with it. In this case, while following the developments in the Van Dyke case and trial, I always suspected that no matter how the verdict went, my heart would still be broken, because I don’t see how a verdict alone can bring us to address implicit racial bias and the impact of implicit bias on the administration of justice.

So, yes, my heart is still broken.

Whenever the subject of racism comes up, there is a cacophony of adamant and heartfelt statements against acts of racism or racist practices. Almost everyone is able to state that they strive to treat all persons fairly and equally, regardless of race, color, or nationality. I think that this state of mind makes sense—it is an indisputably GOOD approach—but it fails to address all of the modern challenges to racial justice. What if the racism that we need to address is not overt? How do we commit ourselves to racial justice in a world in which an outcome can be racist, even if the intentions were essentially benign?

What does it mean to be so afraid of minority children that force is the first, and seemingly only, option for securing obedience?

Can we condemn a real subjective fear of a black boy as objectively unreasonable, and talk about the way implicit racial bias feeds such a fear?

Human beings are complicated. And I, for one, don’t tend to believe that all situations can be viewed as clearly black and white, all good or all bad. I imagine that there are people, including law enforcement officers, who would never engage in overt and knowingly discriminatory practices. I also imagine that some of these people still hold implicit racial biases and such biases affect their actions and decisions.

Sometimes, those biases lead to the death of racial minorities. And that is a consequence we cannot continue to tolerate. I hope that this verdict takes us all a step closer to talking about implicit racial bias in a proactive way.

Khara Coleman is a Chicago attorney, a member of the Standing Committee on Racial and Ethnic Minorities and the Law, and the editor of the REM Newsletter.