On June 16, Jacob Frey stood on a stage at a news conference, flanked by federal officials who’d just told America what Black and Indigenous folks here already know: the sign flashed by the most problematic gang in Minneapolis is a badge.

He curled his right hand and pounded, percussively, on the dais as he looked into the audience and spoke with that plodding, measured tone he employs to convey the gravity of his delivery. He’s good at that politician stuff.

“I remember watching the video of George Floyd’s murder for the very first time and then heading into my office late at night and pacing with one thought in my mind, which is that ‘Now things have to be different. Now things have to change,'” he said. “And at every level of government and across our city, we understand that change is non-negotiable.”

But he didn’t apologize.

Not to the thousands of Black and Indigenous people in this community who’ve been subjected to “racist” — the word is used six times in the 89-page “Investigation of the City of Minneapolis and the Minneapolis Police Department” report by the U.S. Department of Justice — abuse by Minneapolis police officers. Not to the Black and Indigenous activists who’ve devoted their lives to the fight for righteousness. Not to the elder Black and Indigenous folks in this community who’ve endured police harassment and mistreatment for generations.

I understand the report also acknowledged the progress Minneapolis has made in recent years. And yes, Frey has apologized to the Black community for the city’s history of harm in the past.

But not then, on the national stage, perhaps the most influential in the wake of Floyd’s murder, following a federal, legally binding examination that called his Police Department a cesspool with a cultural deficiency rooted in violence.

I asked Frey about this and he offered this statement: “In the news conference with DOJ officials, I said this report reaffirms what Minneapolis Black and brown residents have been saying, seeing, and experiencing for years. And a huge share of those same residents have told me they don’t need me to apologize again — rather, they need government leaders to act. I’ve taken that message to heart and it was front and center in my remarks.”

To act as if the murder of George Floyd opened the eyes of a city to the harm marginalized folks had discussed for years was also an egregious revelation.

George Floyd’s murder wasn’t an announcement. It was the smoke from the burning embers of injustice, sparked by decades of malfeasance by those asked to serve and protect. Even the feds recognized as much.

“The patterns and practices of conduct the Justice Department observed during our investigation are deeply disturbing,” U.S. Attorney General Merrick Garland said at that momentous news conference in Minneapolis. “They erode the community’s trust in law enforcement. And they made what happened to George Floyd possible.”

But I’m not surprised Frey used that moment in the spotlight to play politician rather than human being.

Minnesota officials don’t listen to Black folks here. Not consistently. This is a place that only seems to believe us when an outside voice confirms the angst, complaints, concerns and pleas of its BIPOC residents. Frey’s address at the announcement of the federal consequences for police brutality demonstrated a lack of empathy for those impacted most by the behavior.

He cited the city’s commitment to moving forward. He mentioned new committees and liaisons and appointees as he stood near another group of powerbrokers who’d flown into Minneapolis with a mop and a bucket of water to help the city clean up its latest mess.

Frey approached that moment — with the world watching — like he’d just won an Oscar. He thanked federal officials. He thanked city leaders. He then credited current Minneapolis police officers who stayed. As he continued to talk, I wondered if he would soon thank Sony Pictures, his director and his supporting cast, too.

I don’t care to address the mayor. I’d like to talk to Jacob, who had an opportunity to briefly pause his perpetual campaign for another term — or an elevated office — and instead say sorry to those who’ve lived with the pain that comes from their encounters with a Police Department the federal government described as historically unsafe for Black and brown residents.

“We have reasonable cause to believe that MPD and the City engage in a pattern or practice of conduct that violates the Constitution and federal law,” the federal investigation report states. “First, MPD uses excessive force, including unjustified deadly force and excessive less-lethal force. Second, MPD unlawfully discriminates against Black and Native American people when enforcing the law. Third, MPD violates individuals’ First Amendment rights. Finally, MPD and the City discriminate when responding to people with behavioral health issues.”

For six minutes and 39 seconds on June 16, Frey stood on that stage.

He said he wants residents — not just the BIPOC folks the report says face the greatest daily threat — to feel safer during their interactions with the Minneapolis police. He admitted the federal report and consent decree that demand serious change are less significant than the tangible improvement that is needed. He also acknowledged the history of complaints.

“The data and the facts the DOJ has presented in these findings are aligned with what communities of color have been telling us now for many years — in fact, generations,” he said.

Then, he began to gesture with his hands again. The left thumb extended. The right hand clenched. The head nods. The pauses. The focused gaze.

He had rehearsed that address. He’s good at that. He’s a gifted orator.

But Black and Indigenous folks deserved more than a speech.

Frey should have said, “I’m sorry.”

I hope he includes himself in the change he hopes to see in the future.

Myron Medcalf is a local columnist for the Star Tribune and a national writer and radio host for ESPN. His column appears in print on Sundays twice a month and also online.