I read a news article over the Labor Day weekend titled “500 homicides. 9 months. 1 American city. ” All I could think was wow, I don’t even know 500 people. Now, I haven’t researched what percent of those homicide victims were African American men; however, history would tell me that at least 85% of them were black men.
If the past 8 months were any predictor of the last four months of the year, Chicago could estimate their homicide toll to reach approximately 700 victims.
I think too often we watch or read the news and we just gloss over the crime portion. It’s normal. Every news channel here in Saint Louis starts with the crime that has occurred since their last 24-hour broadcast. Sometimes it feels like I’m just watching a television show. Oh, somebody was killed on the north side, somebody was killed on the west side. Nothing new. Sometimes I pause when they say the victim was a 25-30 year old black male. I immediately think, shit shoot, I hope I don’t know him…
Then suddenly on the next broadcast, they give the name of the victim and I exhale and thank God when I don’t know who it was.
But shouldn’t I care more? Shouldn’t WE care more? That black man murdered was someone’s son, he was someone’s brother, boyfriend, daddy, husband, friend, co-worker, classmate. He was SOMEONE. His life mattered.
Two days later, I happened to be getting my hair braided by someone I was referred to. Her son was walking around eating Captain Crunch, and he was rapping a song. I asked her what he was rapping, she replied, “His daddy’s song, he’s dead though.” My heart dropped, she said it like it was no big deal. But having dealt with death before, I know sometimes, we become hardened to it. We’ve said it so many times, that it no longer hurts. I inquired what happened to him. She said he was murdered. When I asked when and where, I realized, it was me who received the radio assignment for a black male suffering from a gunshot wound, laying on his back behind a vacant apartment complex.
I remember his mom showing me a picture of him, pleading, begging, asking me if it was her son. I couldn’t tell her… but the picture she showed me, it was her son, he had on the same clothes and his outfit was still fresh.
Mother’s (and fathers) everywhere are home at night praying they don’t get a knock on the door, that their son makes it through the night, through the weekend, past 18, 21 then 30.
But sometimes, they don’t.
I cringe at every homicide scene, when I think of the officer that has to find our victim’s next of kin. How do you say it? How do you muster up the strength to tell someone that his or her son was MURDERED. He is gone, he wont be here to celebrate the next holiday, his birthday or be a part of his child’s life. He is literally, taken from this earth.
I think we should be more upset. I think there should be more of a push to figure out a way to end the violence in our communities.
We get so mad when an officer shoots of kills someone we love, well why don’t we get as mad when someone that looks like us kills someone we love? Why aren’t we burning buildings??
We are all so quick to chant “BLACK LIVES MATTER!” Sometimes I want to walk behind with a sign that asks, “TO WHO?” Black lives matter, to who?
What is the answer? We have spent so long waiting for someone or something to save us. We complain, we march, we protest.
How can we affect change in our communities? Do we know the major cause of homicides in our communities? Is it really still drugs? Or is it something else entirely different? Who commits homicides? Is the same person (people) responsible for a large amount of homicides in each community? Do we know who is doing the killing? Are we afraid to speak on it?
I think that now is the time that leaders come together and create solutions. In my humble opinion (inserts halo) BLACK PEOPLE TALK TOO MUCH!!! We need action. We need change, we need someone that can implement change.
I would love to hear your ideas on what can be done to save our sons. Please leave your comments and ideas below, I think maybe, I’m on to something…
astoldbymickb 