“The American judicial system is bankrupt. In so far as black people are concerned, it has proven itself to be one more arm of a system carrying out the systematic oppression of our people. We are the victims, not the recipients of justice (Angela Davis, 1970).”

I witnessed a young person break down in court about a month ago. It was devastating. I am still shaken by the experience and I can’t write about it because it isn’t my story to tell. In addition, I try as much as I can to avoid too many posts about the connections between my vocation and my emotions. Today’s post, then, will be exceptional.

I’ve decided to take a break from going to court. It became clear that it was time to step away when I found myself fantasizing last week about standing on my seat and screaming at the top of my lungs: “We Accuse, We Accuse, We Accuse.” I became concerned when I realized that I was actually in the process of standing up during court proceedings before I caught myself and abruptly sat back down. My fantasies threatened to get the best of me. I knew that it was time for a hiatus. Sometimes, things fall apart…

I talked to a friend yesterday. Ze is a youth worker and we spoke about burning out. Ze said that this past week had been difficult. It wasn’t the day-to-day trials and tribulations of working with youth in real crisis that put ze over the edge. It was a few words expressed by one young person that did it: “You know a lot of these kids aren’t going to make it, don’t you?” That was it. It was the last straw in a week with an accumulation of small and big stresses. Sometimes, things fall apart…

I’ve been thinking a lot about the young person’s words and I’ve been thinking about self-delusion. In order to do the work that my friend and I do, we have to override the voices that sometimes tell us that all may be lost for a particular young person. We have to fight against despair and more importantly against giving up hope. It is difficult when we know what the odds are for some of the youth with whom we work. Structural oppression combines with their sometimes unhealthy responses to it to make survival uncertain, precarious. Sometimes, things fall apart…

Some young people are in the process of committing slow-motion suicide. I am a witness to it. There, I said it. It’s hard for me to write the words. It feels like giving in. Sometimes it’s difficult to find the right words to make a difference. I conjure Gwendolyn’s spirit and ask her to transfer some of her strength into me. What would she say to these young people?

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.
The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.” –
(From: To The Young Who Want To Die by Gwendolyn Brooks)

Sometimes, things fall apart…

I can’t find the words for that young woman who has no sense of herself but insists (with false bravado) that she is the most beautiful person on the planet. It’s clear to anyone with eyes and ears and a heart that she doesn’t believe a word that is coming out of her mouth. I don’t have any more words right now. What would Lucille say to this young woman?

listen,
woman,
you not a no place
anonymous
girl;
mister with his hands on you
he got his hands on
some
damn
body!
(From: what the mirror said by Lucille Clifton)

Sometimes, I fall apart…

When I was much, much younger, I used to love fairytales. All of them. I loved a happy ending. Now as a grown woman, I’ve retired my love of fairytales. But I still love happy endings (however rare they are). I cling to the idea that transformation is possible. I believe that structural change is possible. If I didn’t, I couldn’t get up in the morning to do the work that I do every day. But today is hard for me so I ask Michelle for help:

And tomorrow when there are people to comfort you,
or you find those damned keys,
Return to the same well versed competent woman you are.
Hold your head up.
Breathe deeply.
Return to your life unmarred, recovered and complete.

As though none of it ever happened.
As though none of it could ever happen.
Ever.
(From: For Strong Women by Michelle T. Clinton)

I’m tired. It will pass. Tomorrow I will glue the pieces back together…