November 11, 2008 - Birmingham, Alabama
November 12, 2008 - Birmingham, Alabama
7:47 PM November 12, 2008 - Bells, Tennessee
The Birmingham News Editorial Page said:We Need Community Watches
I am the father of two beautiful daughters, and I fear that they are no longer safe playing in our neighborhood.
Recent events across Birmingham have convinced me that black people are under attack. Ever since Jackson there have been assaults, robberies, vandalism of black property, and a few even worse crimes all over the evening news. We can’t let ourselves and our children go out unprotected.
I have read other writers to this paper worried that more guns in the streets will drive up crime even further. I reject such thinking: how else are we to protect ourselves from outsiders who would do us harm?
It is not enough, however, to simply purchase a firearm. We in the black community must organize in order to weather this storm of violence. I propose that community leaders look into armed night watches by members of the community.
This, I feel, will keep my daughters safe.
-- Trey G., Birmingham
November 12, 2008 - Birmingham, Alabama
The Birmingham News Editorial Page said:Unaccountable Gangs Will Make Things Worse
I, like many of my friends and neighbors, read Trey G.’s letter yesterday with horror.
The letter writer proposes that in order to solve our crime problem we should let armed vigilantes roam the streets.
What about accountability, Trey? What happens if an accident occurs? What if a gang is formed with impure intentions and they use their weapons to rob a house?
Instead of empowering untrained, unaccountable men from the streets to police us, why don’t we strengthen our existing police department?
Authority and training trump amateurism any day in my book.
-- Melinda D., Birmingham
7:47 PM November 12, 2008 - Bells, Tennessee
Her heart fell as she saw a purple cross appear in the small window of the test. Brandy Stoakes had no illusions as to who the father was, and this disgusted her. She rested her pale, sickly face into her palms, curling up against the shower lip on the cracked tile bathroom floor.
The signs had begun to show in the past two days. On Monday she had made a mess in the McDonald’s restroom after taking a single bite of a hamburger. She sheepishly returned to her station that afternoon and brushed the incident off, but she could not ignore the soreness in her breasts and the constant trips to the bathroom. Tuesday had brought her a missed period. Twenty-four hours of panic delayed her from purchasing a home exam, but now the truth lay exposed on the sink counter.
Exhaling to control her emotions, Brandy considered her options. As far as she knew, Brandy could keep the child to term and work from there or end it. Her initial and visceral reaction was that she did not want this child. Her life was too fucked over, she thought, and she couldn’t hope to support the kid on the two fast food jobs she held. She was twenty-two with only her alcoholic father who lived two hours away for support: she’d had plenty of luck finding men to sleep with, but a steady relationship had never been in the cards for her. Having a kid seemed impossible.
And what good would bringing Daniel Cowart’s kid into the world do anyway? Daniel would never come back to take care of the thing, she thought angrily. He’d always been the type to think that “the cause” trumped all other considerations. Daniel had only used Brandy as an occasional night off from his responsibilities. She had had no qualms about that then, Brandy conceded, but she began to wish that she’d been more careful about screwing such guys.
Daniel’s convictions about domestic affairs were beside the point, though. He was a fugitive fleeing to God-knows-where, and if he ever was caught he would surely be killed for what he did. Brandy wouldn’t mind him riding the lightning, come to think of it. She’d seen the pictures from that high school of the blood-soaked floors and the walls pocked by holes. Despite her bluster to the contrary, Brandy had never thought negro kids should be killed. She’d just wanted them away from her. Daniel’s actions were monstrous.
What kind of life would a kid with Daniel Cowart for a father live? She would never tell it who its father was, but Brandy would live in fear of the day when the child found out. When the kid did, would it think itself a monster? Would others find out? Would the kid become an outcast and turn out even messier than its mother?
Brandy slowly rose to her feet, leaning on the sink to keep her balance. She stared into grimy mirror at her face. Under the dull orange-yellow light of the old bulb in the room, the aesthetic flaws in Brandy’s appearance seemed to melt away. She could fool herself into thinking she was pretty: Her proportions weren’t bad; her cheeks were a bit narrow, but her nose was button-like; her hair may have been thin and slightly patchy, but there was a luster to the auburn color; the bags under eyes were shallow in perspective; the curve of her chin was soft; the scars of many years of incurable acne were only barely visible.
“Am I cut out to be a murderer?” she whispered. An abortion would not be too unreasonable to pursue. She had friends in Memphis and Nashville she could stay with for a night, and she could always guilt her father into helping to pay for it. But what would that make her if she went through it? Brandy may not have shot children having lunch, but if she ended her pregnancy, would she be all that better than Daniel? She would have taken a life for selfish reasons. Worrying about how the kid would live was idiotic. As long as someone loved the child and raised it right, it would not be a problem who its father was.
A sudden calm determination washed over Brandy. She considered her face once more in the mirror. “This is not the face of a murderer.” she spoke resolutely. She lowered her eyes to her stomach where she planted a hand. “I won’t kill you. I’ll be better than Daniel. I’ll take care of you.” A smile began to play across Brandy’s face.