Guns, gun violence, and the rights of communities versus the individual were the bookends of our national discourse in 2012. As we closed the year reeling from the horror of Sandy Hook, a peephole opened in our conversation that allowed us to thread together the violence in an Aurora theater with the Chicago street corner and an idyllic Connecticut town. For the first time I can remember, the rhetoric of "urban versus suburban problems" was briefly interrupted and we were allowed to collectively mourn the lives we’ve lost.
In 2013, we should continue thinking and speaking of all our communities burdened by violence as tragedies deserving of public outcry. We should also continue telling this distinctly American storyline in narrative form even as we tabulate skyrocketing statistics. Numbers give us the scale of the problem—people illuminate its depth.
On November 23, 2012, Jordan Davis, 17, was shot and killed by accused shooter Michael Dunn, 45, at a gas station in Jacksonville, Florida.
When Melissa Harris-Perry, in an open letter to viewers reflecting on the case of Jordan Davis, said that America is “no country for young black men,” there was a hard kernel of truth in the literary finesse of her analysis. It is true that American life is hostile to black men—one need only look at incarceration rates, school disciplinary statistics, or the criminal justice system to note that life for black boys in America is turbulent.
Those of us who parent, love, or teach young black men attempt to inoculate them early and often. We give them unwritten rules about who to approach on a street corner and what to do if they’re ever stopped by the police. We prepare them, not solely for adult life, but for that moment when society no longer sees them as innocent children but as potential aggressors.
The case of Jordan Davis is still developing. We don’t know everything that transpired and the outcome is far from clear. Aside from the legal issues at stake here, there are more fundamental questions about whom we value as a society and our collective response to the loss of life.
What follows is a reflection on the Jordan Davis case from Joshua Elligan, a former student of mine. I’ve known Josh since he was a fiercely hard-working seventh grader. In Joshua’s reflection, he is not speaking for all black men; he’s speaking his own story. In reading Josh’s words it’s my hope that we can be compassionate. His perspective is at once unique but in many ways deeply identifiable to those who share his background.
The thoughts and feelings of black men are often obscured by our societal gaze upon them. I am proud that we can include Josh’s voice against the noise that often shapes our national consciousness.
—Jenee Henry
Photo provided by Joshua Elligan