PERRY: Court is adjourned, but the case of Elijah McClain’s death is far from over

Another catastrophic Aurora case closed last week, but it hasn’t ended.

On April 26, nearly five years after Elijah McClain was accosted by Aurora police walking home on a hot summer night, then brutally arrested, choked, drugged and killed, a judge gaveled the last criminal court case against police and paramedics closed.

Aurora firefighter paramedic Jeremy Cooper was sentenced to 14 months in jail and four years probation for his part in McClain’s death.

Cooper’s sentencing was the last of three trials over the past year, resulting in exceedingly rare convictions of paramedics and cops involved in the death of a Black person.

Both the trials and the sentencing hearings were agonizing.

For years, the public, and finally courts and jurors, have been subjected to seemingly endless replay of officer body cam video from the fateful night on Aug. 24, 2019 that McClain was killed.

The slaying begins with former Aurora Police Officer Nathan Woodyard aggressively confronting McClain, who was walking home from a nearby convenience store with a bag of canned iced tea.

The confrontation immediately spirals out of control as McClain begins to fear for his life. Within moments, he’s on the ground being first wrestled and then choked as a herd of police descend on the scene, all the while as he begs for first mercy and then just breath.

Some police and their supporters brush off what state prosecutors and others have insisted: McClain was accosted and killed because he was a young Black man in a poor Black neighborhood.

After several minutes of being pummeled and choked into unconsciousness by police, Aurora paramedics roll up on the scene.

Medical experts and others agree what happened then was the most likely cause of McClain’s death.

Cooper and fellow paramedic Peter Cichuniec came upon the nearly unconscious McClain and were told by police he exhibited symptoms of “excited delirium,” a cue to dope the subject with a tranquilizer like ketamine.

The jury agreed that, rather than make their own and clear assessment of McClain, paramedics instead overdosed him with ketamine and then essentially ignored him for several minutes as he was dying, not resting.

Cichuniec was convicted last year of criminally negligent homicide and second-degree assault in the case. He authorized forcing ketamine on McClain and admitted in court to knowing it was a larger dose than should have been prescribed. He was sentenced earlier this year to five years in prison by 17th Judicial District Court Judge Mark Warner.

During sentencing hearings for both Cichuniec and Cooper, a company of witnesses gave emotional and compelling testimonials to how dedicated, talented and virtuous both of the paramedics are, and have been for their decades-long careers.

But Cooper’s roster of supporters was exceptional.

Fellow firefighter Matthew Wakefield started his tribute to Cooper by sharing that his son was shot dead in a Miami restaurant three years ago. He referred to the bizarre case of Justin Wakefield, who was confronted in the restaurant by a man who later said he had eaten hallucinogenic mushrooms. Wakefield stood in front of his toddler son to protect him from the gunman and was shot to death.

“My heart truly breaks for the McClain family,” he said.

But in his defense of Cooper, he tried to negate what the world saw in those videos of McClain’s assault and medical “treatment.” He painted Cooper as a thoughtful, doting rescuer who took the time to pay close attention to anyone he encountered.

Another supporter said she, too, had lost a family member to tragedy, but that Cooper’s actions that night belied who she thought he really was, compassionate and attentive, especially to people of color.

Clearly, the defense considered losing a loved one as a key to inviting trust and making good judgments of character. McClain’s mother, at the sentencing hearing, disagreed.

“No one can say they had a similarity to my son’s murder,” Sheneen McClain told the court after all the defense witnesses had spoken. “We are not the same.”

The compelling character endorsements were extensive. 

“He was passionate about working on the north side of Aurora,” said Diane Shcroeder, a former high-ranking firefighter that worked with Cooper. 

In the end, the hearing devolved into what most of the criminal trials reflected: Police blamed paramedics for McClain’s death. Paramedics blamed the police. Many blamed McClain himself for not staying calm while he was accosted, assaulted, attacked and then choked into unconsciousness, and for not understanding that Black people in northwest Aurora must be prepared at all times to calmly defend why they would be walking home from a convenience store in the evening carrying cans of iced tea.

Sheneen McClain is right. Everyone there that night has her son’s blood on their hands. No one tried to stop his attack and overdose.

And despite each paramedic being the best of the best, as their friends, family and others told the court, they never bothered to treat McClain as any medical provider would have treated a patient, or any human, if he hadn’t been Black, young, male and handed over as a criminal suspect super-charged with “excited delirium,” even as he lay there, still and just breathing.

This was no case of mistaken identity, nor a muffed encounter, nor medical malpractice. No amount of testimony or context or revisioning can overshadow the raw cruelty, indifference and incompetence these responders and rescuers exhibited as their body cameras rolled.

While criminal court has adjourned, the court of the public is still very much in session. As Aurora police roll out promises and details of new training, change and a determination to earn back trust, that jury remains out.

If only one of those responders on Aug. 24, 2019  had been more like Elijah McClain, who made clear who he was with his dying words. “I’m trying. Please, help me.”

Follow @EditorDavePerry on BlueSky, Threads, Mastodon, Twitter and Facebook or reach him at 303-750-7555 or dperry@SentinelColorado.com