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- Diamond Reynolds is working to move forward from the traumatic impact of police brutality.
- Reynolds live-streamed the aftermath of her boyfriend Philando Castile's fatal shooting in 2016.
- Now, she focuses on advocacy and art to not only get past her own traumas but to heal others.
- Visit Insider's homepage for more stories.
Diamond Reynolds, 31, wants to move out of Minnesota, a state that has been coping with the loss of Black Americans at the hands of police for years.
Vigils and marches were also held in the days after her late boyfriend, Philando Castile, was killed in Falcon Heights, a suburb near St. Paul.
Five years after live-streaming the aftermath of Castile's shooting in the now-infamous viral video, Minnesota no longer feels like home.
"I feel like because the officer was let off scot-free, the community of Minnesota, my peers, needed someone to judge, needed someone to blame," Reynolds said of former St. Anthony police officer Jeronimo Yanez's acquittal a year later.
"When they didn't get answers from the system, they began to look for reasons to blame me."
She is still haunted by experience. But as Minnesota is once-again grappling with police violence, Reynolds told Insider she's fighting for justice not only for the Black men killed by law enforcement, but the women and children forgotten in the aftermath.
Tensions rose again in the state this month after police shot and killed 20-year-old Daunte Wright during a traffic stop in Brooklyn Center, a Minneapolis suburb.
Demonstrations erupted just a short distance from where Derek Chauvin, former Minneapolis police officer, was later convicted of murdering George Floyd.
Reynolds and her 9-year-old daughter Dae'Anna were among the hundreds of protestors who flooded the streets following Wright's death.
"I felt really bad for the family, most importantly, because he's so young and innocent," Reynolds said. "They always try to use traffic stops as a reason to harass Black people. I felt as though the reason for him being pulled over wasn't a credible reason for him to be dead."
Wright's mother said her son was in the car with his girlfriend when he was shot -reminiscent of Reynold's own reality when she first hit record less in 2016, less than 20 miles away from Brooklyn Center.
Reynolds says families who witness police don't get enough support
Jeff Wheeler/Star Tribune via AP
Reynolds told Insider she empathizes with the Wright family, confirming she and Dae'Anna reached out in solidarity.
Having witnessed her own boyfriend's final moments at the hands of police, she fears the difficult road ahead for his girlfriend, as well as mother of his child.
"I'm just really hurt for my son because he doesn't have his father now," Chyna Whitaker, the mother of Daunte Wright's child said at a press conference last week. "It's kind of stressful on me because I really don't want to do this by myself. I feel like I'm by myself."
Behind the hashtags and calls for justice, are women overcoming the loss of their loved ones - and the trauma of witnessing it.
For years following Castile's death, Reynolds faced her own hardships trying to move past the tragedy that changed her life forever. She struggled to get hired and obtain housing.
"I've had jobs tell me that they can't hire me because if something goes wrong, they don't want me to livestream it," she said, adding that people denied her the opportunity to rent homes because they "heard" she smokes marijuana.
She eventually connected with Ashely Quinones and Torisha Garraway, two Minnesota women who also lost their partners in different police incidents. As a Black woman trying to overcome the grief and trauma, Reynolds' own healing quickly turn to advocacy.
Reynolds created Black Love Twin Cities LLC, which provides resources to local communities that help women and single mothers who have been through similar ordeals.
The goal is to build a trusting relationship to help them heal from their trauma.
"I'm just always on the rise, trying to create new things, trying to keep my daughter active, just trying to continue to get my story out there, let my voice be heard, and just really keeping Phil's legacy and name alive through me," she said.
Reynolds now advocates for women and children left behind
Courtesy of Diamond Reynolds
Now situated in a predominately white neighborhood located in Dakota County, Reynold is still confronted with racism on a daily basis. She's often racially profiled by neighbors who recognize her from the now infamous video. She still doesn't feel safe in her own home.
"Knowing that I feel uncomfortable where I live and in my skin" keeps her up at night."
Still, for five years Reynolds has risen above the pain, and is now a full-time personal care assistant. She was working when word spread that Daunte Wright had been killed.
"Here we go again," Reynolds thought to herself. "Another police killing a Black man, unarmed."
She and daughter Dae'Anna were hit as police levied rubber bullets and tear gas at protestors. "We had gas masks on, but we were burning," Reynolds said.
That did not stop Dae'Anna from wanting to be on the frontlines, shouting for justice, however. The two often attend protests to advocate for victims of police brutality, like Breonna Taylor and Jacob Blake.
While healing from their trauma is the goal, Reynolds won't shelter her daughter from the world she first experienced at the age of four, seated in the back as her mother livestreamed Castile's final moments. Reynolds credits art and therapy for treating Dae'Anna's PTSD.
But she also told Insider it's "relevant" and "necessary" for Dae'Anna to be exposed to what's happening on the ground.
"I never want my kids to grow up living a lie. She's going to read about herself in her textbooks when she gets in high school," she said. "She needs to see it and witness it and experience it herself."
Reynolds added part of the experience is the reality that being Black in America, especially in Minnesota - means more grieving girlfriends, wives and children to lift up when both the system and the community let them down.