Yesterday was not a very good day. Since returning to work I have heard about at least 6 arrests that took place over the break at my school. I am sure there is more that I don't know about, caught or not. I could talk about how high school football in Texas (as 2 local high school quarterbacks face life-altering charges) panders to the already common invincibility complex that is often met without accountability. I could point to the local budget crisis caused by the rising prison population. I could talk about, how, in another part of town, the same offenses would disappear with the money to pay a good lawyer. I could analyze the national dis-proportionality of incarcerations according to race. But I am not going to delve into any of that. At the end of the day, I am not qualified. I would just be another resounding gong in the corridors of public policy, and today at least, I just don't have the energy.
I am just sad.
I would not be the only one to make this observation: Our community is broken, and nothing is changing.
When I first heard that two of my favorite students were facing felony charges, a visceral image immediately flooded my head. It was that of a mother weeping the loss of what was to be. That image was quick to come to the forefront of my mind because it was the same image being used by my conscious to picture a scene from the play I am cutting for the school's one-act play, To Be Young, Gifted and Black, a semi-autobiographical work of Lorraine Hansberry. In the script, there is a funeral for a young black man who was killed by the police, and the mother is weeping over his casket and says, "Until twenty million black people are completely interwoven into the fabric of our society, you see, they are under no obligation to behave as if they are." These words have haunted me since I read them, and I haven't dared try to unpack what this pre-Civil Rights Act of 1964 statement means today. But I do know this.
Be it 1863, 1963, or 2013, mothers are still weeping.
It is easy to look at this picture, read the accompanying article and think, "What a bunch of thugs." Can a I speak a little out of turn and say they were boys who wanted to be nurses. Boys who wanted to play college ball. Boys who said "Yes M'am." Now they are men who may disappear as only numbers. Men who are statistics. The comments below their pictures (KXXV) are already making sure of that objectification.
Tomorrow I will probably be mad at their stupidity, mad at the system, mad that I'm not making a difference, mad that it will happen again, but today I am just sad.