Our Kids Deserve Better
In two days, two black men, both fathers, were shot by the police at traffic stops, one in front of his girlfriend and her little daughter. The next night, during a peaceful protest, a group of snipers took out police officers escorting protesters. The policemen had taken off their body armor in a show of solidarity; they had not brought their riot gear. Five are dead, six injured.
It seems that we are supposed to only see one tragedy here- the deaths of the police officers or the deaths of black men. To champion the one, it’s implied, is to neglect the other. Even those condemning both equally are defensive about their choice to do so. Whenever I’m faced with a complicated situation like this, I ask a question. How would I explain this to children? How do I explain the Black Lives Matter movement to a child? What should we teach our children? Show them the videos? Certainly not. As much has you can, you protect your children from that sort of violence.
The most terrible thing, the most horrible thing about this situation, is that that sort of protection is a priviledge. Not every parent can afford to live in a neighborhood free from violence, or to send their children to safe schools. What should absolutely, positively, be a right for the most vulnerable among us is, in fact, a privilege. In this horrible recent example Philando Castile could not protect his little girl from witnessing such violence firsthand. Someone has to explain to the kids of those police officers why their parents are never coming home.
You can understand something and still condemn it. I think an overwhelming majority of Americans condemn the Dallas shootings. But I can understand, a little, what might have motivated them. There was a New York Times editorial today claiming that white people would never understand black anger. Maybe. But I think to get a taste of it all we have to ask ourselves is, what would we do to protect children? What would we have done to protect that little girl from witnessing her father's murder from the backseat? Anything. Everything. Some twisted people thought that murdering people wearing uniforms would help that little girl, and all the little girls like her. They were wrong. They were so, so wrong. Because of their actions more even children have lost their parents. But I can understand, a little, that anger and helplessness. How can you look into that little girl’s eyes and not feel desperate with shame?
My heart goes out to that little girl. My thoughts are with her and her mother. I have faith that she will overcome this. I am rooting for her. But oh, how I wish she did not have to.
So that's the tragedy I see here. The kids of those murdered black men, crying themselves to sleep, dreaming their fathers alive again, waking in tears when they remember the truth. The kids of those policemen, gripping their mothers' hands too tightly because in the wake of murder no one's life feels certain. Those kids, black and white, being fitted into their uncles' outgrown suits, putting on dark clothes too grown up to hang comfortably on their small frames. Those kids, being buttoned into favorite black dresses they will never be able to wear again without remembering death. Their cousins repurposing black tuxedos from prom. The white flowers arriving at their doors, flowers upon flowers. The cards, the surreptitious gifts of money and food from relatives and neighbors and strangers.
And most of all, the silence of the house after the funeral party has gone. That heavy cottony silence that will coat so much of their lives afterward, because such a loss never becomes comfortable enough to put into words that are not painful. That new pause before answering questions that were once innocent. The calculation of how much truth is socially appropriate.
"And your father? What does he do?"
That silence.
This the education we give our children. Silence.
They deserve better.
