I met a young man, a teen boy named Zion, under terrible circumstances in May of 2020. We were in Franklin Park and near the zoo, not too far from where I live in Roxbury, Boston.
A couple of weeks ago, I took my dog out for one of our longer walks and ran into some Parks Dept. people making fairy nests for an event. It was there that I saw, for the first time, a plaque titled Baby Zion with the date 12/07/2014. I did some superficial research on it and yielded nothing. It struck a chord with me though, like most things of this nature do.
Instantly, I assumed it was a gesture to commemorate the life of a child who died in December nearly 8 years ago. I wondered about the circumstances of Baby Zion's death and who placed the plaque there at that particular spot. It was a nice spot, surrounded by trees on a bit of a hill. It's a place I could sit and contemplate life and death for a bit and I wanted to in that moment, but I had my dog and people were around so I couldn't do much. Still, I took a moment to close my eyes and say a silent prayer for Baby Zion and his family.
I wonder if any of what I imagined is true, but the fact that I immediately went to assume the tragic and untimely death of a baby says a lot about me and society; doesn't it? Babies are born and still die a lot more than they should in this first world country. And death is the only other constant besides the constant of change and it's clear we're terribly afraid of both. Who knows though, maybe there's some other reason the plaque was there that's less morbid. Either way, I took it as another opportunity to face death, which keeps showing up for me. I know it's because I need to learn to accept the nature of death as a part of life and what it represents; what death means to me.
Ever since my friend Purcell died in February of 2020 and the several deaths in my family that followed during COVID, which included the death of my grandfather who got the virus, the big D means so much more to me now than it ever did before. Prior to Purcell, I'd never experienced the death of someone beloved that broke my heart and pierced my soul. His death changed me in ways I'm still processing and I'm grateful for the change as much as it pains me.
One of my good friends, Elizabeth, is a mom of two beautiful kids. She has a miracle child also known as a rainbow baby. I didn't know this before but in preemie circles, they call a child born after the death of a premature sibling, a rainbow baby. I met Eliana, my friend's first daughter, shortly after she had passed when I went to see Elizabeth at the hospital. I saw her tiny body wrapped up; she looked like she was sleeping, but eerily still. My friend was crushed! She and her husband, Will, had wanted this baby so much.
I like to imagine that Eliana's little soul was eager to get here, but when she did, she was like, "nevermind, I changed my mind; we'll try again next time." I figure everybody has the right to change their mind. After all, her little body had been through too much and she was probably like, "I'm not ready for this messy world; I'm not here to struggle," so she bounced.
The truth is, of course, that Eliana and my friend didn't have much of a choice at all; they simply trusted that the medical team would do their job and serve their oath. And, sure, doctors aren't Gods, but there are protocols and sometimes those protocols are flawed. Eliana died because of the abysmal maternal healthcare my friend received.
We became aware of how terrible it had been for her after history was about to repeat itself with her second child. But this time, my friend advocated for herself and left the subpar RI hospital to one with a better reputation, Brigham and Women's Hospital. Elizabeth and Will, did not accept what they were being told by the so-called experts in her state; so, they fled to Boston for a second opinion and their experience there made clear that not all hospitals are created equal. Xena-Faye was born very premature, but ALIVE and with access to the best medical care. At the very least she had a shot; one that Eliana never got. And now Xena is thriving. Why? Because her mom and dad decided to go with their gut and DID NOT allow the doctors to bully them into submission and into believing there was little to be done. They weren't willing to do everything possible for her baby because their statistics and biased training kept them from seeing hope and possibility.
Through Elizabeth I learned just how much of a maternal health crisis there is in America, in general, and how racism and implicit bias impacts the care of Black women and Black birthing people in particular. Her experience was another example of how Black women, Black children, and Black families are perceived and treated by the medical community and hospital systems at large. There are studies that prove how criminal it all truly is. We know more now and people, like my friend, are educating folx about it and raising funds for organizations like the March of Dimes to support communities that are routinely unsupported.
Elizabeth is one of way too many Black parents who lose their children in unnecessary ways because much of what they experience is preventable if we, all of society, could own up to the realities of disparate treatment due to prejudice and racism. What Black women, in particular, have to go through in this supposed first world country to LITERALLY survive, let alone thrive, is more than most of us who are not Black women will ever fully understand.
Elizabeth, like countless other Black women in this world carry their pain close to their heart and mourn the death of their loved ones without much fuss because, sadly, they know that very little compassion and understanding awaits them in their spaces. Yes, there's no denying that the Black women in my life are among the strongest, most courageous people I know. Sure, I know warrior princesses, like Xena-Faye, who I'm sure will grow up to be fierce in her own right; you see it in her now.
But being fearless and ready to fight injustice is not a natural state for anyone and we consistently forget that we believe stereotypes about Black women's stoicism and tolerance because of the messaging we get. It's always been part of the programming and the expectations we set as a society. These stereotypes of our Black sisters needs to change so that we bring forth the day when everyone will openly and naturally hold space for their full experience because they deserve to be held and told to take a load off. They deserve to know they're not out here all alone fighting for themselves all on their own.
I want Xena-Faye to grow up and learn that ALL her feelings are valid. I want her to know that vulnerability is a gift and that sharing her truth is not only allowed; it's encouraged. Sadly, that's not where our country or world is right now, but because of the growing mental health awareness and anti-racist practices that some among us are embracing, there's hope for us to move forward in solidarity.
Purcell died unjustly and I wasn't there to stop it; not that I think I could have actually done anything to keep it from taking place. Don't forget that gun violence is part of our American culture and heritage. We are number one in the world for gun purchasing and possession with off-the-charts statistics of homicide and suicide by way of a gun. We know a lot of stuff now but we refuse to do anything about anything because so many people react very unreasonably when there's talk of more regulation of our precious second amendment.
Guns! Guns! Guns! Are we ever gonna admit why we are so obsessed with guns and invest in finding out WHY we're killing each other? I've used guns before while in basic training and to maintain my marksmanship credentialing over the years I was in service. It was minimal really and I was grateful that it was. I was never a fan of guns as I was very clear that guns are weapons designed to kill sentient beings; they take life and bring forth death.
Now, I was never anti-guns necessarily, but I didn't get the fascination with hunting and using guns for sport. Plus, the people I knew who were most vocal about their guns were NOT people I wanted to be around much; I find the fixation with guns quite scary. Still, for the most part, I was very c'est la vie about it. But now, I feel the rage bubbling up in me every time I hear people quote NRA talking points, especially when they say things like "guns, don't kill people; people kill people." No shit, Sherlock!
But OUR PEOPLE are clearly unwell in case you haven't noticed. Many among us are unbalanced and disconnected. We're barely holding on to reality and we're stressed the fuck out. People are on edge; growing more divided and vengeful because that's what we shove down everyone's throat with a constant bombardment of terrible images and ideas about who we are. We, Americans, have a poor image of ourselves; it's obvi! We pretend we're tough to cover up just how terrified we are of ourselves and each other.
Yes, people kill people we know this to be true, but are we doing anything to help OUR PEOPLE; yes or no? Are we as Americans leading in any measure of wellness? The answer is NO. So, even though we know people need help, we refuse it and call any efforts that can offer a social safety net, SOCIALISM or COMMUNISM and use the same old buzz words to stir more fear. And so we fight with each other instead of actually confronting the facts. People couldn't kill people if they can't access guns. PERIOD. We wouldn't have mass shooters going to clubs, movie theaters, music arenas, centers of worship, or schools if we didn't glorify guns the way that we do.
No matter how you slice it, our AMERICAN GUN CULTURE is the problem and that means it's on us - all of us - to change it. Especially, since when you go digging a bit into the history of guns and gun laws in America, you see how the whole thing is also set up to be quite racist. Gun violence disproportionately affects Black and Brown and poor people. GUNS are literally killing us and while GUNS are everywhere and we've seen a rise of White Supremacist groups and militias and proof of white people breaking laws and killing innocent people all the time, we're told we should ignore all of that violence coming from Whites and focus our fear on "armed" Black people.
That day in May of 2020, my partner and I were out walking our dogs in Franklin Park minding our own business. It was a sunny day and a lot of people were out and about. While we were taking a break sitting on some nearby steps, a white middle aged man and his two dogs passed by asking to borrow our phones. We declined his request.
You see, he approached us to tell us a couple of kids on bikes had pulled out a gun on him. Given his rather calm demeanor for a man who supposedly just had a gun puled on him, what he said sounded very odd. So, I went ahead to investigate and walked in the direction that the man said his "assailants" were and I found them. They were two young Black men on dirt bikes standing beside their bikes just talking. There were also a bunch of people in the field where they were. This did not look like the scene that man was describing.
Since we noticed that the man had asked other people for a phone and saw that they gave it to him, I told the boys what he had said. They knew exactly who I was talking about and they denied vehemently his accusations. They said that all they did was tell him off because the guy was harassing them about their bikes that they'd been riding around. They boys even asked some nearby people to corroborate as if to convince me; I said, "I believe you. But at this point I'm just worried something could happen since he's calling the cops as we speak."
I encouraged them to leave the park for their own safety. These were the days when Karens were popping up everywhere and Amy Fisher, the Central Park Karen, had just hit the news and George Floyd's death had also taken place, but we hadn't yet heard about it. Thankfully, the boys had left the park; I was glad about that. But I called 911 to report a false report and told them to please call off the cops who were on their way. Within minutes the Boston Police and State Troopers arrived in mass.
And that's when I saw Zion. I didn't know his name at that point; he was just a random kid in the neighborhood who'd come to the park to ride his bike like many do in the Spring. Upon seeing the cops, he had the good sense to want to leave and tried to do just that. He wasn't doing anything wrong, he just correctly assessed that he should go home. While on the phone with the 911 operator, I begged them to radio the cops to call it off and told them that I didn't want anyone to get hurt. The operator told me I should go tell the cops myself, but she couldn't do it, which made no sense. So I ran down the hill screaming trying to get someone's attention; trying to stop them from doing anything stupid. I could see Zion about to leave and I was scared of what might come next.
Precisely what I was trying to prevent from happening happened; an innocent Black young man just minding his own business experienced a terrible trauma at the hands of police simply because he "matched the description" which was completely bogus. He did not match the description at all but for him being a Black young man.
The way the cops handled that situation was atrocious. A pro-bono lawyer is on the case to try to get some justice for Zion now and I'm a witness so I can't share the rest of the details, but I can definitively say that our Boston Police Department is as corrupt as all the rest we hear about on the national news. The abuse of power and the cover-ups they engage in are blatant but well protected by the entire system.
I get so tired talking about these realities with people who don't experience them and getting back some lukewarm response. It's usually feigned outrage; not genuine concern.
I get that we're all overwhelmed by the problems in the world and that most of us feel quite powerless, but there is something we can each do to make things better and it starts with simply becoming MORE AWARE. But I see just how much people resist facing the truth because the truth hurts; lies are easier to swallow. Pretending that we're not in different ways complicit in perpetuating the lies is absurd when we consider how much we hold stock on the myths about our American history. Erasing and sanitizing the truth is what we always seem to do.
I mean, we lie to ourselves all the time; we try to save face and avoid at all costs being called out for the frauds that we are. And when money or power are part of a larger scheme, then lying is what we do to protect the home team. It is how it is; right? That's what we say over and over until we just accept as something that we cannot change and so we lose motivation to stay in the change-making game.
We've been trained to believe that the worst thing we can be is WRONG and this starts very young. And we wonder why we never seem to learn from our mistakes. I mean, how can we when our energy is spent on appearances rather than how things really are. We learn how to compromise our values, our morals, and sell out our souls to not rock the boat and keep the status quo. Of course, this is not what many of us want; real change is overdue but fighting the systems with rage in my heart hasn't proven to be effective. So, I'm trying other ways to stay grounded and agile and receptive.
That's why I'm out here in my little corner of the world actively working every day to grow a thicker skin and soften my heart because my version of Zion (you know that utopia various religions claim as being theirs and for their chosen people) is a brilliant place that's for all of us. Like most people, it's way easier for me to believe in an impending apocalypse than it is to believe that WE CAN create a zen haven on earth, but I try to push past my limited imagination as much as I can. I tell myself I'm a soul having a human experience in this particular lifetime for a reason. I've decided I'm part of the research and design team trying to figure out how we can take charge of our own fate and co-create a future without any hate.
After all I've lived, it's clear to me that whatever change I want to see out there in the world starts with me. It starts with self-reflection and learning how to process my thoughts and feelings in healthier ways so that I, too, become a healthier person and more able to contribute. It means being cognizant of how I interact with people, unpacking my privileges and biases that get in the way of my understanding, accepting that all life experiences are part of the journey and every person I meet or moment I live can offer up a really good lesson. It means learning how to be a bridge and I'm not alone in that endeavor. Zion is there with me.
Zion is a sweet, faithful, and musical young Black man; he's on a higher vibe or so it seems. He experienced a trauma that he didn't deserve to go through. He was badly hurt at the hands of people entrusted to serve our communities and somehow he stays grateful. He is looking ahead with hope rather than fear; something I very much respect.
Our youth today are struggling with the same things many of us have struggled with before AND in some ways they're dealing with things we never had to worry about. It's maddening how easily we forget about the journey as we get older; how far away we get from our more innocent, more hopeful, more joyous younger selves. I can't stand hearing people who are of my generation or older denigrate our younger siblings. That's why when someone younger calls me out on my ol'head ways, I listen. And I think about my defensiveness and process the feelings attached to the impulse to prove them wrong. I can't deny that I want to be right, but I can accept when I'm wrong even if sometimes I need a little more time.
From where I stand and from what I see, our young people are a million times smarter than we ever were at their age. I don't say that with jealousy; I say that with pride and hope that they'll help get us to a place that's way better than where we are now. That's why I put my money on young people! The Gen Z kids who are now adults and Gen Alphas that are coming up too are the answer to our current woes. They WILL replace us eventually and I look forward to when they're in charge. I can't wait until those of us who scream bloody murder at the mere thought of progressive legislation are mostly all gone.
Because, you see, there will always be opposition and different positions and any one issue, but WE ARE EVOLVING. And although it won't be a straight easy line to a better tomorrow, I'm willing to zig-zag if I must because, for me, it's Zion or bust!
Listen to: To Zion by Lauryn Hill
