This book made me sob. John Hubner, the author, began researching juvenile delinquency programs for work he was doing as a journalist when he repeatedly was told to check out a facility in Texas that was pushing the envelope in terms of prisoner treatment and psychological development of it's juvenile population. The Giddings State School is located in Giddings, Texas, a small town in a state known for an extreme "tough on crime" attitude and culture. Every year, it is handed the cases of juvenile offenders who have raped, murdered, tortured, abused, and defiled victims in unimaginable ways. And every year, it returns a large number of graduating offenders back to the world, 90% of whom will never see the inside of a prison cell again.
While reading this book, the first thing I had to do was to get myself to a place of radical empathy. The stories of the horrors that were inflicted on innocent people by the children, and they are children, at Giddings are sometimes hard to stomach. They beat younger siblings almost to death, they killed elderly grandparents, they raped significant others, they tortured rival gang members with knives and fire. Mentally allowing yourself to see these kids as anything other than evil and deviant people is almost impossible at first. When you learn of their equally tragic pasts, childhoods full of rape, beatings, homelessness, unspeakable abuse and psychological degradation, it becomes easier to understand them as children who have been conditioned to behave negatively toward absolutely everyone around them, simply because they have never had the opportunity to do anything else or behave in any other manner. They are the disadvantaged, the abused, the powerless. And when their time to exert power over someone else arrives, they jump at the chance, because that is what life is to them at its core. A literal kill or be killed, regardless of their victim's innocence or guilt.
What allowed me to empathize completely with these young offenders were their reactions to the psychological treatment used at Giddings, which in and of itself is a radical experiment in empathy. In their final year at Giddings, offenders are placed in group classes consisting of 10-12 other students. This group, their final Giddings stepping stone, requires them to re-live their abuse as well as their criminal acts through live role-play and live narrative. As the students describe their lives and then watch them play out, they are entirely engulfed in the fear and the pain that they were forced to endure as children. Similarly, when their crimes are acted out in front of them, and they are forced to sit face to face with their role-play "victim," the guilt physically throws most of them to the floor, and they sob and scream and cry out for it to stop. They understand their victims' pain because they have just described their own pain, and they do not want it to continue.
This book changed the way I look at some of my students at MERC. It reminded me to let their trauma of past incidents through my educational blinders when I'm talking to them, to recognize that their anger and hostility almost never has anything to do with me. They are children, my students. They may be forced to live the lives of adults but they are children. Being more informed about ways to assist them through their difficulties is immensely helpful, and this book and the stories it told were enough to make me want to continue this work for a long time to come.
Immediately after it was announced that Darren Wilson would not be indicted for the killing of Mike Brown, writer Ta-Nehisi Coates’ son Samori got up and said “I have to go.” Coates wrote this book for him. The Michael Brown case was the first big blow to Samori, his first witness to what racial inequality can imply. Between the World and Me is a very personal novel about Coates’ own experience as a black American, growing up in Baltimore, attending Howard university, and becoming a Journalist. Addressed as a letter to Samori, He tries to say everything he can to his son, not to comfort him, but to prepare him for his own struggle as a black american.
Rather than approaching systematic racism with heavy theory (which, of course, is still there), Coates is offering something more poetic. He’s not concerned about empirical evidence. He’s writing to his son. Every word he puts down is from his personal experience. He speaks of influential black writers by their first names not only to highlight their importance to him but also their allegiance in struggle, e.g. Malcolm, Stokely. He labels Howard University as “The Mecca,” the place where he was educated and exposed to the diversity within his diaspora (and others). While this extremely personal form of writing is sweet and endearing at times, it can also be heart-breaking. For example he recounts a time when Samori was 5 (or 6) and an adult woman pushed him out of the way for not walking faster. Coates blew up at this woman, looking for an apology. He never got one. In fact, a crowd gathered in support of the woman. Someone even threatened to call the police on Coates. Coates recounts this as an example of how survival can mean swallowing your pride and/or self respect. As a parent, he regrets his reaction because of what it could have been done to Samori.
While reading this book, I was often reminded of what political theorist Jodi Dean said at a recent UMN symposium, “Instead of looking at the whole, we must look for a hole.” By showing what it is like to be a black father, Coates is simply embracing the personal experience of race; as apposed to arguing facts and figures. Though I did feel as though I was invading their space, reading this personal letter between father and son, Coates knows there is an audience of all shapes, colors, and experiences. He knows the importance of this side, to illustrate the pain of discrimination and bodily violence. He offers not a solution necessarily but a mission. He tells his son that he must struggle, but only for himself and his people. He must not struggle for the “people who believe themselves white.” We must learn to struggle for ourselves, to understand what our dream (i.e. the fantasy that opposes the “world”) is founded on.
I don’t often get emotionally invested in books, but this one left me with serious chills. It really burrowed its way into my mind and won’t leave anytime soon. To read this book is to practice extreme empathy. It walks you through a lifetime of struggle and, most importantly, doesn’t wrap it all up in nice box with a bow. There is nothing “feel good” about this book. We are only told we must struggle. We cannot claim not-racist and move on. We must constantly work against racism, i.e. to be anti-racist