During the recent inauguration of the commonwealth’s first woman governor, former Gov. Glenn A. Youngkin turned his back on his successor, Abigail Spanberger, and walked up stairs that led out of the ceremony. Casual observers thought perhaps this was a parting shot of indifference and disrespect as he exited the political stage. But anyone who has seen more than one inauguration in Virginia knows this was business as usual. 

Virginia’s tradition calls for the outgoing governor to depart the inaugural ceremony immediately after the new governor takes the oath of office, symbolizing the peaceful transfer of power as one administration and another begins. 

Looking back on his tenure and in particular, some of his final actions, the governor’s actions could also be seen another way. Perhaps you’re familiar with the film trope that shows a hero or villain casually walking away as an explosion or fire rages behind them, the result of their efforts. Think Heath Ledger as the Joker in “The Dark Knight,” or Angela Bassett as Bernadine Harris in “Waiting to Exhale.” Whether it’s a hero or villain, the message is clear to the audience — I meant to do that. 

Let’s look at a couple of our former leader’s final decisions, designed to detonate in his wake. Days before his term ended, on Jan. 15, he pardoned a police officer who was convicted in a fatal shooting in Fairfax County. Former Sgt. Wesley Shifflett shot and killed Timothy McCree Johnson on Feb. 22, 2023, after chasing him from Tysons Corner Center mall where Johnson was accused of shoplifting sunglasses. 

A jury acquitted him of manslaughter, but found him guilty of a lesser charge. He was sentenced to three years in prison, but we assume that the governor thought that was too long. 

“The deadly force used by Sgt. Wesley Gonzalez Shifflett on February 22, 2023, was both lawful and consistent with the department’s policy and training,” Youngkin stated in the pardon, referring to an independent auditor’s review that claimed Shifflett’s actions “objectively reasonable.” 

This pardon served a signal about whose side the governor chose to stand on. By overriding a jury’s verdict, Youngkin substituted his own judgment for the courts’, reinforcing a familiar deference to the police — even when it meant excusing the death of a Black man over an alleged property crime. 

On his last full day in office, Youngkin instructed the Virginia Department of General Services to proceed with selling the shuttered Augusta Correctional Center to Moxie Asset Group, a Florida-based private asset management company, for $3.25 million, according to a report in the Virginia Mercury. The timing wasn’t coincidental. ICE had been eyeing the facility as one of six potential locations nationwide for immigration detention centers, according to documents obtained by the ACLU. 

Youngkin’s memo made no mention of this context, no acknowledgment of what the buyer might do with a sprawling prison complex capable of holding over 1,200 people. Gov. Spanberger moved quickly to rescind the directive after taking office, halting the sale pending review. 

In the end, Youngkin didn’t just walk away from the inauguration — he walked away from accountability, leaving behind decisions that spoke louder than his farewell address. Pardoning a convicted officer. Fast-tracking the sale of a prison with potential ties to immigration detention. And like any character making a thematic exit, the former governor made clear what he intended to leave behind and who’ll have to clean it up.