The tremendous waste of life being played out on our streets is a tragedy on several levels. Anytime a young life is cut short by senseless violence, it robs the community of potential, robs a family of a loved one, robs that individual of a chance to ful
The tremendous waste of life being played out on our streets is a tragedy on several levels. Anytime a young life is cut short by senseless violence, it robs the community of potential, robs a family of a loved one, robs that individual of a chance to fulfill dreams.
That the perpetrator of that violence is usually another young life compounds the problem because that person has forfeited their dreams as well, pushed to the outside of society as a violent criminal, destined to either waste their life away in a prison cell or lose their life in a similar manner.
But the worst thing about this violence, this killing spree, this genocide, is that we know who they are.
Yes, we know who is terrorizing our communities. We know who is slinging drugs, carrying weapons, targeting our children. We have always known, yet we do nothing.
We know which of our sons, nephews, cousins, even fathers, are engaged in criminal activity. We know, and we look the other way. We know that our kids are involved in gang activity, we see them flashing gang signs or hanging out with other young people who we know are unsavory. We know who they are.
But we do nothing because, after all, they are our children. But funeral after funeral, vigil after vigil, we know the dearly departed were our children as well.
We allow ourselves to be stymied by some insane code that looks down on “snitches.” We act like it is a badge of honor to refuse to cooperate with the police because we rationalize that “the man” isn’t trying to help and just wants to put another brother (and increasingly, a sister) in jail.
There is no honor in withholding information that might save a life, the life of your son or daughter. There is no honor in protecting those who would terrorize your community, keep you locked behind ornate wrought-iron gates or cowering in your bathtub when the shooting starts.
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