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Ferguson Today, Tomorrow Where?
8-27-2014
I’m fixated on the situation in Ferguson, Missouri. For over two weeks, residents of this unknown suburb of St. Louis have captivated the world’s attention due to their outrage regarding the shooting of a black teen by a white policeman. Although the initial riots mellowed into peaceful protests, the police consistently reacted in military mode, firing tear gas and rubber bullets into the crowd of fellow citizens. Photos of the chaos make it easy to imagine that war had clandestinely crossed the invisible chasm that previously protected North America and set up camp in the seemingly benign heartland.
The Midwest is dotted with Ferguson clones. Metropolitan areas with urban blight and decaying suburbs are ripe for eruption: from Omaha, Wichita, Minneapolis, Indianapolis, Detroit, to Cincinnati. During my childhood in the Midwest, when the economy was strong, communities could address, or at least mask, the simmering tension brought on by feelings of historical mistrust and treating people as ‘others.’ Now financial stress and decreased hope have eroded the sense of unity in the wider community and have narrowed battle lines of ‘one of us’ versus ‘not one of us’.
I’m hesitant to write about Ferguson. It is marked by strong feelings not only from the people embroiled in the situation, but it also opens up anyone who dares to write about the turmoil to cutting criticism. Nevertheless, writing helps me to make sense of situations that I don’t understand. I know that I do not have all the facts. At this point, no one does. The initial catalyst was the shooting of eighteen year old Mike Brown by Officer Darren Wilson. What really happened? What was going through their minds at the time? How did events turn deadly so quickly? I don’t know.
But, I do know that Mike Brown was someone’s son, someone’s sibling, someone’s friend, someone’s classmate. And now he’s dead. He has become a symbol for all the senseless deaths plaguing the black community. Records show that in America during 2010, an average of thirteen black youth died daily from homicide. Everyday thirteen mothers crying into their child's pillow, breathing in the lingering scent knowing it too will fade leaving one less tangible reminder of the son or daughter she bore and raised. Thirteen fathers scattering the first handful of dirt on the casket the child he who used to fling overhead in glee. Thirteen sets of grandparents beseeching God to allow them to face their deaths now instead of this precious grandchild cut down in the prime of life. Each day, thirteen families and communities changed forever by the random death of a still maturing youth. Every day, parents and relatives worrying, "Is today my child's turn?"
Social Planner, Horst Rittel, would term the situation symbolized by Ferguson as a ‘wicked problem’. He is not speaking in moral terms, although it is hard to separate out ethics from such intimate issues. He uses the qualifier 'wicked' to indicate a problem that is multifaceted, not easily solved, and varies according to personal perspective.
Protestors are not mincing words. Racism. Police brutality. Systematic social injustice. Slavery. Poverty. Inferior education. Gang violence. These are all embedded wicked problems. There are no easy solutions. No kiss-and-make-up quick fix. In typical style, the media will soon abandon Ferguson and swarm to the next drama. It will be up to the residents to decide what to do next. Wicked problems resist change. Bred by ignorance and mistrust. Fed by stagnation and denial. Masquerading as isolating flash points of unrelated violence leaving people reluctant to examine the underlying grid of grievances.
Some Muslims appear almost jealous of the attention Ferguson has commandeered. It has diverted media coverage away from the 'real' tragedies of Gaza, Iraq, and Syria. For me, Ferguson represents the first iteration of the immensely wicked problems raging in far too many Muslim lands. It shows us how treating people as 'others' and being immune to their pain, hardens our hearts and leads to gross acts of inhumanity.
I am the mother of an eighteen year old son staring college in a few days. Just like Mike Brown, he is big and strong and overconfident in his youthful immortality. When he goes out, I pray for his safety, but I know the odds are in his favour. I do not fixate on a fear that today he may be one of many youth randomly slain. I gratefully acknowledge that I do not live the reality of the mothers of black youth in America. This is all the more reason for me to have empathy for them and a desire to understand this wicked problem in all of its permeations in order to kill the problem and safeguard all youth no matter their skin colour.
Zainab Dhanani can be reached at z_dhanani@yahoo.ca
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