What if you were the Brown family? What if your son, who was preparing to leave home and start his college career, was approached by police for either jay walking or stealing cigars from a store (we don’t actually know why he was approached but these are the possibilities out there)? A simple, granted stupid act, that normally wouldn’t be a big deal. Not that I’m justifying stealing, but let’s be honest, white kids do some of these same stupid things. The difference is, they don’t end up dead because of them. In fact, very few of them are even arrested or brought to court because of them. The Brown’s son ended up dead and laying in the street for more than 4 hours, as a result of his SUPPOSED stupid act.
If it was your son shot and lying dead in the street like an animal, how calm and contained would you be? How law abiding would you remain? What kind of feelings would you have towards the police? My heart sinks to even think about it.
What if you were a young man in Ferguson and sat looking at your friend lying there dead for 4 hours or more. Would you not be enraged? Would there be screaming? Would you insist on justice? Would you at least ask for some dignity on his behalf?
What if your child happened to be on his or her way home from school, and saw a police officer shoot at a man with his hands in the air six times? What happens to the spirit of that innocent child just walking by that day?
What if you have black sons in college and hear this story? Do you lament? Do you ask for prayer? Do you call all of your friends black, white, Latino, Native, Asian and ask them to speak out with you?
What if you are a Christian? You hear all of this and wonder what to do. Do you pray? Do you blame the victim? Do you ignore, and simply chalk it up as another black man dead? Do you cry for justice? Are you silent? Why? Are your politics more important? Does your theology justify your silence?
I have so many questions as I head to Ferguson. I don’t have many answers, but the questions drive me to be present. The Brown family screaming in the streets moves my heart. My tears well up at the thought of seeing my own child dead and laying in the streets. My anger rises up, as I think about a ”public servant” feeling justified to shoot a defenseless black man, six times.
I am crying. I am angry. I am hurt. I am unsure. I am prayerful. I need community. I can lead. I need to march, and march I will. I need to speak up, and speak up I will.