Saturday afternoon I spent most of the day lying beside a pool, holding a pina colada and desperately wishing I was near a beach.
Fortification Street seemed about as close as I could get. I drove from my home in Madison to a friend's house in a lovely little Belhaven apartment complex situated behind a very large black gate. Behind this very large black gate lay a very small blue pool and all the rum I could drink in one afternoon.
After the trek, I lay down, oiled myself, and proceeded to allow four full hours for the pursuit of skin cancer and reading trashy celebrity magazines. Several hours into these activities, the three of us heard four sharp pops reverberate off the brick walls of the complex. We all looked up from our drinks, surprised.
One of my friends asked, "Is that …?"
"Yes," the other two of us answered in unison, "it's gunshots."
"How am I supposed to react to that?" she inquired.
I stayed silent, too unsure of my own reaction to manage hers. Her boyfriend finally answered, "Nonchalantly." Then we all relaxed and went back to tanning.
It wasn't until the next day after seeing the news I realized that while I was nonchalantly reacting to gunshots, a young man lay dying in his mother's arms 10 blocks away.
The entire situation caused by a lost pack of Newports and a hundred-dollar bill. How life has cheapened in these last few years. I usually only become homicidal over several thousand dollars and at least a carton of Marlboro Lights. Shooting a friend in the head over a pack of menthols will never make sense to me. The idea is horrifying.
I happen to love bad horror movies. Bad zombie movies are my favorite. I find that most of life can be explained using the plots of bad zombie movies. This specific instance reminded me of "Land of the Dead."
This is a zombie movie where the uninfected humans have all moved into a large gated community and are letting the poor and those infected as zombies duke it out beyond the safe gates of the city. I often thought this movie theme was a thinly veiled allegory for our inner cities and suburbs. Of course, I find conspiracy theories in certain Oprah episodes as well. But, this makes sense to me. In this movie, the "safe" people lived in a "safe" glass building protected from harm, while they allow the "rest" to fight it out beyond the gates of their city.
I think one of the main reasons violent crime is never effectively addressed is because people perpetuate the belief that it only happens to the "rest." It doesn't happen to us. It doesn't happen to those of us who run or lock ourselves away.
I live my life as one of the "safe" ones. I do everything in my power to protect myself from harm. I lock doors, I carry mace, and I stay aware of my surroundings. I drive through gates to lie in chairs behind brick walls. I do all of this while hearing the "rest" of them fighting for life 10 blocks away.
How do we process the violence happening around us while we perceive that we are safe?
I thought my friend's question was a natural response to this situation. In fact, I think most people are too afraid to even ask the question. How can I have an appropriate response hiding behind a gate and wrapped safe in the knowledge that this is not supposed to touch me—physically or emotionally?
All these actions only provide a sense of false comfort. Because, when I truly ask myself, "How am I supposed to react to that?" the answer is always, "I am scared."
I am scared of it. I am scared of what those sounds mean for another family. I am scared of what those "pops" hold for a mother, a father and a young life. I am scared that if I acknowledge them—if I hold space for them—they will touch me and my life. My safe life. My safe life is not meant to be lived as part of the "rest."
I hope I always experience violence while sitting safely behind a gate. But, I hope that I never believe that a gate, or my place in this world, protects me. It is a problem we all must face. A problem we must all look in the eye and say "What can I do to help stop this?" Because one day it won't be the "rest" of them we nonchalantly forget as we go about our daily tasks. We will realize we are all the "rest" simply by virtue of shared humanity.
While I lie safely in a chair grasping my frozen daiquiri, a young man lies on the ground somewhere nearby, grasping tightly to his life. So, what did I do? I sipped my drink. I lay back down in my chair and tried to forget about it. I talked about celebrities, my hair and what I was going to eat for dinner. Soon, I forgot all about hearing the "pops."
Two hours later, I got in my car, drove through the big black gate back onto the streets of Jackson, locked my doors and nonchalantly made my way home.
I am no different than most.
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