I went to the funeral of a former student today in a very modest storefront church on the east side of Detroit--a neighborhood that needs more than God and gospel. The atmosphere was so different than at white folks funerals--kids ran around in t-shirts emblazoned with the picture of the deceased on the front and the music, save the lyrics, would have been great to dance to. People got up and spoke as the spirit moved them and told tales about Katrina, and there was laughter and poetry and tears. I saw many of my former students, grown up, some with babies in arms. As we wandered outside, I hugged them each and said, "Did you get the message?" They looked at me curiously. "What message?"
Katrina was shot because she was in an after hours club--a place she had no business being with too many desperate people with nothing to lose. This community just accepts that violence and early deaths are a natural part of life. But we failed her--we all failed to pull hard enough to jerk her back from the brink. I saw too much celebration today and not enough anger. . .
2 comments:
Was her name really Katrina? If so, the irony is almost too much to take in.
The funeral of George, who I spoke about in an earlier post, was just like the one you described. The t-shirts with airbrushed pictures, the upbeat music, the secret gang symbols and another thing that was present but not as obvious—the undercover police. I knew they were there becaus contacts I had in the department told me.
Your "did you get the message?" question was brilliant.
It really was Katrina...
Post a Comment