It is likely that the last words Porter Burke heard were “We’re here to help you man. Whatever you want, we can help you with. We can get you home.” Then another voice says, “But right now we need you to drop the knife.” After these words, Mr. Burke moved quickly and shots rang out. In the space of 3 seconds 38 shots were fired by 5 police officers. At least 15 of them hit Mr. Burke. He was taken to Sinai Grace Hospital and pronounced dead.

Within a few days Detroit Police Chief James White held a press conference and showed body camera video of the encounter. Saying he wanted to be “transparent” Chief White  said that “The authorities had to stop the threat.”

From the video presented it is unclear what “threat” the Chief means. Here we have a young man, cared for by his family, experiencing a crisis.  He is clearly wandering about. His brother explained he had a pocketknife and had slashed the tires on his car. The brother would need a lift from the police to meet them at the hospital to make arrangements for proper care.

These press conferences are becoming predictable. The Chief acknowledges his concern. Selected video footage is shown. An investigation is announced. Names of officers involved are not released. News coverage starts to come out about the failings of the person killed. In the killing of Porter Burke, a Detroit News article did not mention his name until after it had established he had refused “commands to drop a knife” and had a “long history of mental illness and run-ins with Detroit police.” This included a description of a “June skirmish with cops while wearing a hospital gown following his escape from a psychiatric ward.”

This kind of reporting is one of the main reasons people in the city are so easily confused. Before even giving the victim of police violence a name, or describing the circumstances of his death, the reporter created an image of a knife wielding, escaped crazy person roaming the streets in a hospital gown.

But the reality of that last night is that the last words Mr. Burke heard were shouted from afar. The officer offering an outstretched hand is so far away that we can barely make out Mr. Burke’s body. Mr. Burke is being shouted at, ordered to drop the knife, to sit down, to not take another step. For anyone this would be a confusing and frightening situation in the early hours of a dark morning.  For a young man in the midst of a crisis, there would be no comfort in the shouted comment “we can get you home.”

Neither the mayor nor the City Council have responded to this latest killing. They have been silent about police violence and the excessive use of force. There are 128 officers reported to be especially at risk for excessive force, yet no public officials have demanded an accounting of what is being done about this situation. Nor has there been any effort to explore the hundreds of backlogged complaints against police.

Porter Burke’s family faced the dilemma that many of us face when dealing with social crises. How do we be responsible to protect our loved ones and our community? Repeatedly we are told by the police, they are “here to help.” But the extended hand turns quickly into a fist. The other too often holds a gun, quickly fired. Then families, like those of Porter Burke are left to bury their son and take cold comfort in suing the city.

We clearly need caring, thoughtful and effective ways to intervene with and for each other. There is nothing new in families experiencing mental health crises. What is new is how often these turn deadly at the hands of those who offer “help.”