They were
just boys. Old enough to know right from
wrong, but young enough that one choice changed the course of their entire lives. One action committed and the identity of their
being, if not their worth in society, was completely altered. Monsters is what they are called…because they
were children who became criminals. And
yet, I wonder did it have to be like this?
Were they so predisposed that this had to be and has to be their
purpose? I don’t mean to deny the intention of justice. Any crime committed must have its pay
due. However, are we determined on
payment that we forgo mercy on one’s soul?
How do we reconcile the criminal and the victim; how do we redeem those
lost among prison bars and cuffs?
I know of a boy. Thirty-five years ago, he was just five years
old. Abused and mistreated by a man who they
should’ve trust. Fast forward 10 years,
he and his brother sought to avenge themselves and kill him who was called a
father. Anger fueled their intentions as
they sought the internal justice they didn’t receive. But…they never went through with it. But what if they had? Would this boy have
been given the chance to become the man who is now named my brother? A boy set
on course to become another statistic now is a man whom I trust and is acting
as a father to a fatherless generation.
One can see it in the inter-cities, or in
the rural areas. In the North and South,
East and West. Race plays a slight role,
because historically, when racism was legalized, it shifted those of nonwhite
color to be placed in areas that wouldn’t support the needs of the
communities. This happened with blacks
after being freed from slavery but were given the option to work for their
former masters or take a poor piece of land.
We see the same with immigrants. Natives
were ripped from their own homes and forced onto reservations with limited if
not poor supplies. When a people are not
able to thrive, it begins a cycle of despair.
Give me a list of characteristics, and I can give you a realistic vision
for that kid’s life. Poverty…hopelessness…drugs
and alcohol tempting a generation that “has nothing else to do” …fathers nowhere
to be seen, and maybe the mothers too…violent ends to youth too young….it
happened in the last generation, and the generation before. A cycle of hurt continues its way, and the
question must be asked. “Where does it
stop?”
I dare that we challenge it to stop here. Now.
Not content with its presence, neither are we complacent to allow
destruction to wage its war on our future.
I know how the reservations are seen.
I know the stereotypes that perpetuate, because, yes, the struggles
heard are the struggles we live with. At
this moment, I have students I work with who have lost mothers to drugs, who
have family members addicted, have fathers absent (and one who I know is in
prison) and some of them find violent, if not other self-destructive, ways to
cope with pain. Even students say, “It will always be like this.” There are kids who have had their own
monsters to deal with.
But call me a dreamer. Call me an idealist. Call me naïve. Or call me someone who has faith. I believe that things can change. I believe that things will change. Restorative
programs developed in the schools, and also on the Reservation, can enable
individuals to not only deal with addictive symptoms, and skills in dealing
with destructive behaviors, but also the issues that led up to those decisions. They
could learn how to deal with situations and pain in a healthier way for the
future. At an adult level, programs
(including in prisons) could also include counseling and skill training, so
that individuals among society know how to avoid the temptations that would
drive them back to old cycles of poverty.
What if I an archeologist and sought to find
the hidden golden worth among the muck of a person’s surroundings? If only I can point to the diamond so easily
overlooked. I have students who believe
there is nothing good about them. What
if I told them the good I saw; would this encourage them to know there is more
for them? I know I am a teacher, and
only required for their education, but if I went the extra mile and showed them
unconditional love, would they realize they are worth more than what words
could describe? If only my students could
just catch a glimpse of who they really are, maybe they can hope for the sun to
come at dawn!
What if the schools learned to restore a child’s
ability to become whole, even in the moments when anger consumes their mind,
reason is all but lost, and optimism seems to be impossible? What if in correction, we taught them how to
correct themselves, so that they grow as individuals? What if we allowed mistakes to become lessons
rather than life-defining decisions?
What if we, as a community, fought on a
deeper level? Because, here on the Rez, we realize that this
battle is more than financial, physical, emotional, or psychological. I know the pain is deep, and the offenses are
real. I do not deny the actions that led
to the anguish of the people I love. However,
I hope to deny shame of its power. It
does not have to define us; thus, it does not have to hold its influence in becoming
destructive. I know this can be, because
I know individuals who, despite the past circumstances chose to make sure it
did not define them, and to rise above.
My brother; my Native coworkers; my Native friends who are actively
fighting to make a difference.
Yes, there is still a reality of a loss,
but there is hope for the future. Slowly,
but surely, the tide will change.
Movie site: (They Call Us Monsters) M. (2017, November 09). Retrieved March 03, 2018, from
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FIk-YEXaAxg
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