Black History Month is generally a time for celebration and commemoration – of Black heroes and Black heroines. This year, coming on the heels of horrific tragedy, it has provoked serious consternation – of Black violence and Black victims. The deadly beating of Tyre Nichols at the hands of five Black Memphis police officers has once again crushed our collective hearts and assaulted the nation’s psyche. So vicious was the beating it begs for explanation, some meaning to quell our bewilderment. It’s not that Black men haven’t been beaten to death at the hands of police officers before. But Tyre’s killing might be the most brutal we’ve seen captured on camera. To make it worse, there’s the question vexing many who’ve followed the tragedy: How could such a terrible act be conducted by Black officers?

The answer lies in both the tortured history of American race relations and the myriad dimensions of diversity. First, the history: The sad reality is that Blacks have betrayed, beaten and even killed other Blacks in this country for generations. It’s one of the ugly vestiges of slavery in America. The notion that Blacks can’t be racist is a misbegotten one. Desperate to find a place in a society that systematically denied and dehumanized them, some Blacks, who found their way from the plantation fields to the plantation house, adopted the attitudes and behaviors of their masters – a survival tactic, however abhorrent.

Film buffs will likely know the character Stephen Warren, the head house slave in Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained. Stephen is sneaky smart, but hateful and spurious. As an elder house slave, Stephen has a twisted sense of loyalty to racist slave owner Calvin Candie, played by Leonardo DiCaprio. Stephen’s closeness to Master Candie reinforces Stephen’s erroneous self-perception that he is superior to slaves working the fields.

Some house slaves, like Stephen, repeatedly beat field slaves, sometimes for violating plantation rules (however inequitable or evil the rules) and sometimes for no reason other than to make a point: I am boss and anyone in the field best not forget it. The five Black police officers who beat Tyre Nichols behaved like modern-day versions of virulent house slaves, Django’s Stephen Warren brought to life on the streets of Memphis.

The actions of the Memphis five reflect a troublesome culture that festers within our nation’s police departments. Tyre’s beating was less Black-on-Black crime than Blue-on-Black. Despite their race, the Black officers were part of a special unit charged with reducing the homicide rate in battle-scarred Black neighborhoods. The officers represent a distorted neighborhood version of Navy Seals – an elite unit, more exclusive than others, specially trained and empowered to patrol the streets with rigorous force.

Think Alonzo Harris, the villainous street detective played by Denzel Washington in Training Day. As leader of an elite anti-gang unit within the Los Angeles P.D., Denzel’s character administered brutally rough street justice. He and his gang of police colleagues were quintessential alpha dogs, using any level of force to control criminal activity. Like Alonzo and his fictional police partners, the Memphis five are Black but shaped by a perverse culture of blue that emboldened them to flex and bark their way through Memphis streets – wielding their muscle on anyone, regardless of race. How maddening it is that they didn’t see Tyre. They didn’t see that he was no rifle-toting thug. They didn’t see that he was a decent, law-abiding human being.

Finally, that brings us to the lesson in diversity. The appalling behavior of the Memphis officers (the merciless beating of an unarmed Black man) is a reminder that each police officer, like each human being, is different. In a tragic way, the actions of the five officers present an object lesson in the dimensions of diversity. The color of their skin is but one dimension of what makes them who they are. It links them to the social construct of race – yes they are African Americans, and as such, belong to a community of people who largely find themselves on the other side of a system of group privilege and power. But race doesn’t completely define them.

It’s clear we shouldn’t have expected race alone to predict the actions of the officers. Other dimensions of diversity can be just as defining a predictor: the schools they attended, the neighborhoods they live in, their family upbringing and status, their life experiences, where they work! 

The tragedy in Memphis reminds us that fair and just treatment of people in the streets of our communities – just like the fair and just treatment of those at the organizations where we work – is not entirely based on what the people we hire look like. Yes, let’s continue to instill equitable hiring practices that attract more people from underrepresented groups: Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, White women, LGBTQ individuals, and others. But we can’t stop there. Every organization should commit to really getting to know the people they hire and understanding what shapes them. Then, we need to properly train them to uphold the best of our American values – like respect and human decency.