Judge Peter Cahill, who presided over Chauvin case, speaks about the trial watched by millions

On his daily commute to one of the most consequential trials of the 21st century, Judge Peter Cahill blasted a “pump-up playlist” to psychologically prepare for another day on the bench that would be followed live by millions.

AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” often carried him from the western suburbs to downtown Minneapolis and underneath the heavily fortified Hennepin County courthouse. The cranked-up volume would signal his arrival to deputies on his security team, whom he’d quiz to name that song.

“It kind of became a tradition,” Cahill said. “It got us all pumped up. But also I thought it was part of my job to keep things a little light. I mean, everybody’s taking this job seriously, but I don’t want people stressing out.”

During the six-week murder trial of Derek Chauvin in 2021, Cahill emerged as a key figure in Minnesota’s most widely viewed and heavily scrutinized case, which sparked protests and riots across the world over the police killing of George Floyd. His decision to livestream the criminal trial, the first in state history, set a new precedent for cameras in the courtroom.

“I thought, no one will trust the result — from either end — if they don’t see what’s going on," Cahill told the Minnesota Star Tribune in his first media interview about the case. “All of us hate the spotlight, and we’d rather just do our jobs, but I certainly don’t regret it.”

In a wide-ranging conversation ahead of the five-year anniversary of Floyd’s murder, the newly retired judge talked about the trial from the perspective of the bench, balancing public access with unprecedented security threats, and his fear about how politicization of the courts — and facts — have degraded trust in the judiciary system.

There had never been a trial like this one, but the veteran judge, appointed in 2007 by Republican Gov. Tim Pawlenty, had plenty of experience in high-profile cases.

Cahill’s four-decade legal career involved working for both the prosecution and defense, including as top deputy to Amy Klobuchar during her tenure as Hennepin County Attorney. As a judge, Cahill developed a reputation for being decisive and direct, capable of going from calm to confrontational in seconds (Cahill admits he has “Judge Judy moments”).

In the interview, he recalled first seeing Chauvin pin Floyd to the ground, watching the viral video of the arrest at the same time as the public.

“‘He’s gonna get charged,’” Cahill remembered thinking on May 26, 2020.

Should that happen, Cahill suspected he might be on the short list for the case. He didn’t want it, he said, but knew if asked, he couldn’t say no.

“It’s duty, honor, country when it comes right down to it,” he said.

Days later, incoming Chief Judge Toddrick Barnette strolled past Cahill’s office in the Hennepin County Government Center, stopping to poke his head through the doorway.

Cahill knew his prediction had been accurate. Before Barnette could speak, Cahill expressed his gratitude by lobbing an expletive at his new boss.

“There is no Plan B,” Barnette replied.

In a recent interview, Barnette said he hand-picked Cahill because he had the experience, temperament and respect of his peers to handle a trial of that magnitude. “I knew that he wouldn’t fold under media pressure or community pressure.”

Leading up to jury selection, Cahill received a card from one of few people who understood the mental preparation required for a televised case complicated by global scrutiny — Lance Ito, the judge in the 1995 O.J. Simpson murder case.

The letter, penned on watercolor stationery, wished Cahill “peace and wisdom” in his upcoming trial.

The decision to allow the trial to be broadcast live was borne of extraordinary circumstances.

Minnesota law banned cameras in the courtroom in most cases. But the pandemic brought new variables that changed the legal analysis for Minnesota’s judicial system. Social distancing precautions allowed only six people to attend in person, and Cahill said he worried this would run afoul of the U.S. Constitution’s rules on a public trial.

“The six seats were designated for family members. So is that a public trial? I don’t think so.”

Millions of people watched the trial in real time each day. When the jury announced its guilty verdict, more than 23 million viewers tuned in.

Often at the center of proceedings, Cahill found himself the target of attention he said he never wanted. He received enough hate mail to fill two boxes, plus hundreds more voicemails, from people on opposite ends of public opinion on the case. To lighten the mood, he and his staff would sometimes hold dramatic readings in his chambers, he said.

“I hate extremists on both ends,” Cahill said. “Most of the hate mail was, ‘You should have given him life.’ You had pastors condemning me to hell for my ‘light sentence.’”

Others attacked him for being unfair to Chauvin, some calling on him to pardon the former officer, which a judge has no legal authority to do.

Some of the messages mentioned his family, seemingly meant to intimidate him. One, asking for an autograph from the trial participants, was sent to his home address.

Cahill credited the support from his wife, four kids and friends in getting through the unusual time. He said his neighbors routinely dropped off care packages that included a bottle of whiskey.

Local law enforcement ran a security audit on his house and sent squads by, sometimes three times per day. He bought a new home surveillance system, and police outfitted a neighbor’s tree with a camera to watch the street.

Like he had for years, Cahill slept with a steel pipe under his bed.

There were moments that no judge could predict or control — as when, in the midst of the trial, Brooklyn Center police officer Kimberly Potter shot and killed Daunte Wright, a 20-year-old Black man, during a traffic stop, reigniting protests and rioting and prompting the deployment of the National Guard, along with a fresh news cycle.

Politicians spoke publicly about the Chauvin case, including President Joe Biden, who said he hoped the jury reached the “right verdict,” and U.S. Rep. Maxine Waters, who told protestors to “get more confrontational.”

The city was also ramping up for a vote on whether to replace the police department with a new model. As the jury was being seated, the Minneapolis City Council announced a $27 million settlement to Floyd’s family.

Cahill’s annoyance at the time was palpable.

“It did not help that people were saying ‘defund the police’ — all these idiots on the Minneapolis City Council,” said Cahill. He wanted a “good, nice, clean trial” uninfluenced by elected officials.

He told the jury to actively avoid the news.

The defense called for a change of venue to a different county, but Cahill denied it, arguing that nowhere in the state would be immune to coverage of the case.

“What, are we going to change the venue to Mars?” he quipped.

Four years later, the case is still being critiqued, and so is Cahill’s handling of it.

Conservative commentators like Tucker Carlson have denounced the trial as “mob justice,” confidently asserting that the jury was intimidated into its verdict. A documentary called “The Fall of Minneapolis,” produced by Minnesota-based outlet Alpha News, claims the media and Democratic politicians prevented Chauvin and the other officers from receiving a fair trial, and casts Cahill as biased for limiting information admitted in court, including Floyd’s criminal history.

Cahill said he hasn’t watched these reports, but he defended the integrity of the trial.

He said his decisions on what to admit in the case were guided by basic rules of evidence, which don’t allow in “prior bad acts” except under rare circumstances. Floyd’s criminal history, which included convictions for robbery and drug possession, wasn’t relevant to either side’s legal theories presented in court, he said, and the case focused on what the officers knew at the time and how they acted in those moments.

“A lot of this stuff, the prior criminal history, had nothing to do with it,” said Cahill. “[Floyd’s] not on trial.”

Cahill said he spent hours talking to jurors after they reached their decision and has “no doubt whatsoever” that they convicted Chauvin based solely on the evidence presented and debated at trial. Some critics alleged the jurors could hear the chants of protestors outside the courthouse during deliberations. In reality, Cahill said, the jury was bused to the suburbs.

“They realized that there are crazies on both sides,” he said of jurors’ security concerns, noting that the trial began a few months after the Jan. 6 assault on the U.S. Capitol. “There wasn’t a verdict that was gonna please everybody.”

Cahill said the criticisms in this case are part of a troubling trend of attacks on the courts, which could be a sign that Americans are losing trust in the process.

“The far right, you know, their daily bread is revisionist history,” said Cahill. “But in this particular instance, it’s a lack of trust in the judicial system as a whole, and the jury system, and that’s concerning.

“I think what concerns me most about the revisionist history is the lack of confidence in the judicial process — not even the system or the judges, the judicial process. We had 12 jurors from a variety of backgrounds who gave it good consideration. And I bet if you interviewed them, they’d say they don’t regret their decision.”

Cahill does have one regret.

The initial gag order he put in place barring attorneys on both sides from publicly discussing the case — an unusual move decried as an overreach by the media and defense teams — was quickly vacated after Cahill realized how “ineffective” it was.

“It doesn’t work nowadays,” said Cahill, who noted that proxies are tapped to post prejudicial comments on social media. Even law enforcement spoke out of turn before the trial began, acting as an anonymous source for a New York Times story outlining the terms of a potential 10-year plea deal for Chauvin scuttled by then-Attorney General William Barr.

“That pissed me off,” Cahill recalled, fearing the revelation would “poison” his jury pool. Such plea negotiations are never admissible in court.

But overall, the retired judge, now 66, doesn’t spend much time lingering on the case — which he views as a highlight, but not the pinnacle, of his long career.

Floyd’s killing proved just how far society had to go on racial justice issues, Cahill reflected, and made him examine his own biases.

“Part of my training is to check my bias. And to be honest, I think I have a pro-police bias ... that I have to be careful not to act on,” he said, noting that his brother was once an officer in Wisconsin and another relative currently serves in law enforcement.

Earlier this year, Cahill donated a trove of artifacts from the Chauvin trial to the Minnesota Historical Society, including the distinctive COVID-19 mask he wore in court, his robes, personal notes and several boxes of hate mail. He even donated his dark metal-rim glasses, which he’s since traded in for a new style in hopes fewer people will recognize him on the street — or at the State Fair.

“I changed my look so I don’t look like that Chauvin judge,” he said.

Rochelle Olson of the Minnesota Star Tribune contributed to this story.