“As I look Into The Faces Of The Loved Ones Left Behind”

Ceremonial flag presented to widow of slain NYPD officer Rafael Ramos

FULL TRANSCRIPT OF NEW YORK CITY POLICE COMMISSIONER’S EULOGY FOR OFFICER RAFAEL RAMOS

Every time I attend a cop's funeral, I pray that it will be the last.  But I know it won't.  As I watch the casket carried past all those salutes, I wish it weren't real.  But it is.  And as I look into the faces of the loved ones left behind—whose worst fear has been so suddenly realized—I silently hope, "never again."  But here we are.


My first police funeral was 44 years ago.  On September 24, 1970, Boston Police Department Patrolman Walter Schroeder was ambushed by a violent group of anti-war extremists, shot in the back as he responded to a bank holdup.

In 1970 Boston, like America, was a tumultuous place: protests for civil rights, anti-war demonstrations, anti-government demonstrations; anti-police demonstrations.  Divisive politics polarized the city and the country.

Maybe that sounds familiar.  The murder of Officer Schroeder shook the foundations of City Hall and the Boston Police Department.  It sowed doubt and fear among officers and citizens alike. We mourned, we vowed never to forget, and we moved forward.  And here we are.
 Here we are to celebrate the life of Police Officer Rafael Ramos, and to honor him. To memorialize the sacrifice he made with his partner that day—with his partner for all time—Officer Wenjian Liu.

Here we are to remember.  We remember what it means to take "the Job."  No other profession will give you as much, or sometimes, take as much.  The job can reward you like no other, but one day it might demand from you everything in return.  For the Ramos family today is that day. And here we are.

We're in a city struggling to define itself, where people are searching for what they stand for and why, where people claim to know best what it's like to be everybody else.  But we know who we are, because we know who Rafael Ramos was. He was a father, a son, a brother, and a husband.
 He was a New Yorker.
 He was a New York City Police Officer.  And he was—he is—a hero.

His sister, Sindy, told me that because his dad died when he was an infant, he took on the father-figure role for the family as he grew.  Cops who served with him said you could see that in the way he worked. 


Justin, Jayden—you got the chance to know your dad, the way he didn't get to know his. You got to learn from him, the way he taught others.  Your aunt said your dad knew a little bit of everything, and he was willing to let you know it.  Your mom said he was the type of man who, if he set his mind on something, he went for it and did it.  Other cops said the same thing: he came on the job older, a family man, street smart. He knew how to handle people, and the younger guys looked up to him.
He never shirked a task and he never complained.
You should be so proud of him, as we all are.

But over the last week, you've seen that the memorials and this funeral have been about more than just your dad.  I know how strange it is.  So comforting on the one hand, to have the whole Department in mourning with you, to feel that solidarity, to know that we will never let you be alone again, that we are your family now, just as we were your dad's.  But a burden, too, having something so private for you be so public at the same time. Because here we are.


We're here because your dad was assassinated.
That's a different word than murdered, which is awful enough.  It speaks of the prominence of the person killed; it makes the crime intentional and symbolic. Your dad was assassinated because he represented something—and that's true, he did.
 He represented the men and women of the New York City Police Department.
 He was the embodiment of our motto: "fidelis ad mortem," "faithful unto death."

He represented the blue thread that holds our city together when disorder might pull it apart.  He represented the public safety that is the foundation of our democracy. 
He represented the best of our values—as anyone can see by looking at you, and at your family. But he was also your dad.
 A good man, who tried hard, and sacrificed, and had a desire to serve.

When DHL closed one employment door, that desire led him to a new door with our School Safety Division—where he was assigned to the Rocco Laurie Intermediate School, named for another officer slain with his partner, Gregory Foster, nearly 43 years ago.  Like Rafael Ramos and Wenjian Liu, these officers were killed for their color—they were killed because they were blue.  And that desire to serve led him to enter the Police Academy at 37 years of age.

Your mom said he'd come home pretty tired, competing with all those younger recruits. But he passed with flying colors, wearing the gold braid for being in the top of his class. No small feat. And that desire to serve led him to study to be a chaplain.  And I'm privileged to be able to tell you that today I'm making him a Department chaplain—a posthumous member of that family within our family, that ministers to us in time of need.

Rafael Ramos was assassinated because he represented all of us. Even though, beneath the uniform, he was just a good man.  And he was just your dad.  And maybe that’s our challenge.  Maybe that’s the reason for the struggle we’re now in—as a city, as a nation.  Maybe it’s because we’ve all come to see only we represent, instead of who we are.  We don’t see each other.

The police, the people who are angry at the police, the people who support us but want us to be better, even a madman who assassinated two men because all he could see was two uniforms, even though they were so much more.  We don't see each other.

If we can…If we can learn to see each other…to see that our cops are people like Rafael Ramos and Wenjian Liu, to see that our communities are filled with people just like them too.  If we can learn to see each other, then when we see each other, we'll heal.  We'll heal as a Department.
 We'll heal as a city.
 We'll heal as a country.  But as Ecclesiastes teaches, there is a time to every purpose under the Heavens. 

Today, it is time for us to mourn Rafael Ramos. Today, it is time for us to remember Rafael Ramos.  And in a few days, we'll be here again, in a different place that is the same, to celebrate the life of Officer Wenjian Liu.  That will be a time for sadness, too.  But someday the tears will end.  The memories will not.  We never have and we never will forget.

Last Sunday at Saint Patrick's, Cardinal Dolan spoke to the police.  His cathedral thundered with prayer and he asked me to tell my officers "we love them very much, we mourn with them, we need them, we respect them and we're proud of them and we thank them."  I'm proud of them, too.  And prouder of none more than Police Officers Wenjian Liu and Rafael Ramos, both of whom I promote today to Detective First Grade.  Please let us rise and applaud the lives of Detective First Grade Rafael Ramos and Detective First Grade Wenjian Liu, so they can hear us in heaven.

Maritza, Justin, Jayden, Julia, Sindy here we are today surrounded by a sea of blue. Our family will always be with yours. We don't forget.
We are here for you and for this city.


God bless the New York City Police Department.
And God bless you and God bless Rafael.  In life he guarded the streets of this city; in death, he guards the Heavenly Gates.  Grant him rest.  Grant his peace.

How Far Must We Fall?

A wounded city is about to lay to rest one of its finest on Saturday.  The other officer’s funeral awaits the arrival of his relatives from China.  Some 20,000 to 25,000 police officers and law enforcement officials from across the U.S. and Canada are expected to attend the funerals of Wenjian Liu and Rafael Ramos.

For months we have witnessed the disintegration of civil society stemming from the death of a young black man in Missouri to the chokehold death of a black man selling loose cigarettes on the streets of New York.  In both cases, a grand jury returned a “no true bill” of indictment against the officers involved in those deaths.

During a press conference New York’s mayor Bill de Blasio brought up his son, Dante, who is of mixed race and implied that he was concerned that his son might be the victim of police misconduct from the NYPD:

“I've said very, very clearly in these last days, let's be clear this is not based on decades of racism, this is based on centuries of racism.”

"So I've had to worry over the years. Chirlane's [de Blasio’s wife] had to worry. Is Dante safe each night? There are so many families in this city who feel that each and every night. Is my child safe? And not just from some of the painful realities—crime and violence in some of our neighborhoods—but is safe from the very people they want to have faith in as their protectors.”

“We’ve had to literally train him, as families have all over this city for decades, in how to take special care in any encounter he has with the police officers who are there to protect him.” 

The ravings of protesters spurred on by racial huckster Al Sharpton and the incendiary remarks following the grand jury announcement in the Eric Garner case saw two police lieutenants attacked by a City University of New York adjunct professor and an organizer for the Service Employees International Union on the Brooklyn Bridge.

de Blasio callously praised the protesters even as some chanted, “What do we want?  Dead cops!  When do we want it?  Now!”  The mayor said the attack was “an incident in which a small group of protesters allegedly assaulted some members of the NYPD.”

Someone at The New York Daily News offered a powerful suggestion that the injudicious mayor “bring his teen son Dante to the funerals of Ramos and Liu to witness firsthand the tragic human side of the police experience. Let Dante meet Ramos’ teenage son. Have Dante greet the shattered families, weeping cops mourning fallen brothers in blue. Let Dante understand the unspoken fears of a son every time his dad puts on his blue uniform and goes out to protect high-crime neighborhoods filled with kids who look a lot like Dante.”

This is a suggestion that I wholeheartedly admonish him to consider.  If Dante would exhibit even a fragment of character, he would tell the world his dad was wrong to associate with Al Sharpton and he was wrong to tell him to fear a civil society.  His words might sway those who have hardened their hearts and degraded the value of human life and incited violence.  He would know that each killing, whether black or white, hastens the next killing.