This story starts with my friend "Keisha". Keisha lived down the street from where I and my flat-mates lived in Chicago. Over the course a several months many of us were very close to her and her family. Keisha was a five-foot-two 38 year-old woman with enough energy and life to light up the entire block. She was feisty and she had a lot of street smarts. She wasn't scared of many things, though she'd seen and encountered plenty. Guns didn't scare her, but butterflies sent her running the opposite direction.
Keisha had a few brothers, 3 that shared a home with her, her daughter, and her grandmother (her mother had passed away many years before). Her grandmother had raised her and her brothers. In her 70s, she was still working a full-time job, despite her deteriorating health. She was a determined woman with incredible strength, but with enough love that my flat-mates and I were welcomed as a part of her family, and were immediately told to call her Grandma.
Of Keisha's siblings, two of her younger brothers were arrested in the year that we knew them. One of them was in for a longer-haul, but the other tended to be in-and-out with minor offenses. Her youngest brother, "Jared", was a good friend of mine. He was just a year younger than me and he might well be one of the most upbeat, fun people to be around that I know. He had such a natural charisma and positive demeanor. Everyone loved to be around him.
But things started to spiral. After some time had passed, Jared was also arrested on multiple offenses. My flat-mates and I visited him in jail a few times. It tore me apart to see him in there for the first time. His front two teeth were missing; he told us the cop bashed them in with a flashlight when he was arrested. Despite his missing teeth, Jared still had a warming smile that offered hope.
More and more time passed. My flat-mates and I went to all of his trials at court that we could make. His public defender almost never showed up to the trials, which led to continuance after continuance. Each time we saw him, his eyes seemed dimmer. He no longer seemed comforted by our presence at the trials. His letters to us became more desperate. When we visited him in jail, he tried to keep the conversation light by talking about the last Bulls vs Heat game, but his eyes told us of things that he kept from us, probably thinking we shouldn't waste our time worrying about him.
On one particular trial, we went with Keisha up to the courthouse. She wasn't doing well. By this point, all three of her brothers were in jail, Grandma was very sick and Keisha was struggling just to maintain her way of life. My friends and I had watched the previous 3 trials and the judge was coming down hard on each of the offenders. The judge was sick and in a horrendous mood - and she didn't seem to try to keep that from affecting her judgements.
Finally it was time for Jared's trial. He shuffled out in his jumper. The judge called Keisha to the front and asked her some questions. I don't remember exactly how it went down, but Keisha seemed nervous. She tried to interact cordially with the judge, but the judge was put off by it and told her to stop talking. The judge then asked her a question which confused Keisha. She tried to answer but she was having difficulty comprehending what was being asked. In response, the judge said something to insult Keisha's intelligence.
From my bench looking on, I was very upset. Who was this judge to treat this incredible, strong, beautiful woman in such a way? The judge was casting judgment not just on Jared, but on his family, on his friends, on anyone who rubbed her the wrong way, and on anyone with less power than her, which happened to be everyone in that courtroom. The trial was postponed yet again, and as Keisha returned to our bench, I was compelled to hug her.
I'm not typically one to initiate physical affection. I know people feel very differently about physical contact and I am cautious not to transgress any boundaries. For Keisha and I, hugging just wasn't something we did. Until that moment. I can't explain it, but for a second I felt what she was experiencing and it was devastating. So I hugged her. And she cried - something I had never seen her do before or since, even though she had more reason to than many.
Suddenly, she pulled back, apologizing profusely. I was confused for a second, until I regained awareness outside of that moment. I heard the judge's voice and I turned to her seat. She was yelling, "No, I'm talking to that young lady!" And she was pointing at me. I was so confused. I said, "What?" She replied hotly (and just as loudly), "You do not hug in my courtroom! You do that at home! You don't do that in my courtroom!"
I was taken aback. My face flushed with rage. I have only been that angry maybe a total of 5 times in my life. Stunned and angry, I said, "Sorry." But I clearly didn't mean it. My heart beat faster, I was shaking with adrenaline, and I could feel the blood pumping in my ears. Two thoughts ran through my head of what to do. In the best wisdom I could muster in my anger, I opted to storm out of the courtroom rather than to turn and flip her off. Clearly that was the better way to go, though I suppose she could have held me in contempt for storming out too.
The whole ride back to our place, about an hour to an hour and half commute, I was shaken. My friends who were there asked me if I was okay. They know I cry at a moment's notice and tend to be sensitive. But I was just livid.
Yet Keisha didn't seem phased at all.
I realize that because of my position in the story, because of white privilege, because of my class, because of a flurry of factors, this story was significant to me. Anger was the only natural reaction to have. I felt like I could storm out of the courtroom. I didn't feel the need to make a heartfelt apology to the judge. Whereas Keisha, who is much stronger than me, does not have white privilege, comes from a rough socioeconomic background had been submissive to the powers that be. Not out of acquiescence, but out of wisdom. For little old me, this was one of my first big realizations that justice doesn't necessarily always have a place in the courtroom. Keisha knew. It's the life that she's seen and the life that she's lived. I learned a lot that day.
I am glad I was open to loving her shamelessly. If I regret anything, it is that I apologized to the judge and stormed out. Though I have played out the other option I considered in my mind multiple times, I think I wish I would have calmly nodded and said "Ok." Not apologizing, but not allowing my anger to fight against the beauty of what I felt happened there.
I am so grateful for Keisha. And I am grateful for the ways this story changed me. I wish I could put it into words. But for now, this will have to do.
I'll close with a poem I encountered a few years later, which seemed to resonate with me after this experience (and others like it).
Justice by: Langston Hughes
That Justice is a blind goddessIs a thing to which we black are wise:
Her bandage hides two festering sores
That once perhaps were eyes.
No comments:
Post a Comment