Let’s talk about what went down with Sonya Massey, because it matters—and not just on paper.
Early in the morning of July 6, 2024, Sonya, a 36-year-old Black woman from Springfield, Illinois, picked up the phone to call 911. She believed someone was prowling outside her home and asked for help. Responding to that call were two deputies from the Sangamon County Sheriff’s Office, including Sean Grayson. According to investigation records and body-camera footage, they found no immediate evidence of a threat in the yard or on the property.
Inside the house things shifted fast. Grayson noticed a large pan of hot water on the stove and told Sonya to remove it. The moment felt ordinary at first—she got the pan, he backed away a little, then she said: “I rebuke you in the name of Jesus.” That phrase—a spiritual invocation—was interpreted by Grayson as a threat. He yelled that he’d shoot her in the face, drew his gun, and then fired three shots. One struck her under the eye, and she died.
From the prosecution’s side, the case painted a picture of unnecessary escalation. Sonya had called for help; she was inside her home; she was not armed. The body-camera footage, as presented by prosecutors, showed her saying “Don’t hurt me,” and “Please God,” in a situation where she appeared disoriented and vulnerable. They argued that Grayson walked into the kitchen, confronted her, and when she raised the pot (as the defense claims), he opted for lethal force rather than de-escalation. The deputy’s partner at the scene testified he never felt threatened by Sonya—and that it was Grayson’s actions that heightened the tension.
On the defense side, Grayson claimed he believed Sonya was about to throw the boiling water at him. He testified that he considered using a Taser but opted for a handgun because he thought the Taser might fail. He argued that, from his perspective at that moment, he was reacting to what he believed was a threat.
The case was moved from Springfield to Peoria because of the intense publicity and the racial and justice questions surrounding it. The jury deliberated, and on October 29 2025, Grayson was found guilty—not of first-degree murder, which the prosecutors had sought, but of second-degree murder. That verdict means he faces a prison sentence that ranges up to 20 years, or possibly even probation.
For Sonya’s family and their supporters, the verdict was bittersweet. They felt a measure of accountability, but also disappointment that the highest charge wasn’t upheld. They emphasized that this wasn’t just about one individual incident—it speaks to the wider pattern of how Black people are treated in policing, especially in their own homes, when they call for help and the help becomes harm.
There’s no doubt this case stirred change. The incident prompted Illinois to review training, transparency in law enforcement hiring, and how mental health crises are responded to. Since Sonya’s death, police departments in the state have been urged to work on de-escalation, better oversight, and reform of internal systems that missed the mark before.
Sonya’s call for help was a moment that should’ve ended with peace. Instead, it ended with violence. But her story matters—her life, her words, the injustice she faced—and with this verdict, we have to ask: what will reform look like in real life? How will our communities, especially Black women in Chicago and beyond, be protected when we’re vulnerable and seeking help?
