The Realest Thing I Ever Wrote
“We suffer primarily not from our vices or our weaknesses, but from our illusions. We are haunted, not by reality, but by those images we have put in their place.” - Daniel J. Boorstin
The tragic shooting of my young Spelman Sister, Freshman Jasmine Lynn, of Kansas City, MO has my mind in a whirlwind of reflection. The incident, the violence that erupted late last night strikes me dearly because it hits far too close to home, or in this case, "The House." For anyone who has attended or visited a historically Black College knows that most of these schools are situated in the rougher parts of the city. Ideally, the cultural and educational disparities would mix in together creating 1) service opportunities for those fortunate enough to go to college 2) benefits for the underprivileged residents that permeate the perimeter of these institutions. It is an experiment, that has in many cases, such as last nights shooting, failed.
It has happened in instances such as a "random" shooting like in last nights case, or the inverse scenario to option 2 happening, whereby African-American students who are from middle-higher income families become engulfed in the idea that their life experiences are not "real enough" for the their new surroundings, and set off in the sole purpose of authenticating their "blackness." Blackness, to them, is associated with pain, perseverance, hunger, and all too often violence. This is how they see what being Black means, "if you ain't ready to bust your gun then you ain't real." We've seen it all too often, it starts the first week of school when folks claim 8 Mile, Detroit when they really are from the 8th mile of inward Southfield, Michigan. Or my favorite is the suburban Crete-Monee guy who claims the southside of Chicago. After failing this initial test of his mettle, you start to notice a change in that students attire, then a lack of interest in studies, and ultimately the inevitable drug addiction. In attempting to claim their mark, they overreach and head down a disastrous trail. Some are salvaged by a mentor, a girlfriend, a fellow classmate or a Greek organization, all those manifested by Gods omenous hand that guides all of our lives.
However, in some cases, cases that have severely affected my life, there are those who haven't been saved. This week, the AUC saw the tragic end of another violent story. A former student of Morehouse College was sentenced for the killing of one of his classmates in 2005. Before the year is out, three more of his classmates will be tried for their involvement with the murder. At first glance, the reaction is "thats a damn shame" and to move on. But I opened up this essay with a quote about being haunted, and I assure you it will be addressed.
What if you knew the guys who were involved in that situation? What if they so happened to be in your house everyday? What if one of the guys was your former roommate? If you're interested in hearing from someone who can answer yes to all those questions then read on...
My Senior year of college I came back to Atlanta with a car full of stuff and nowhere to put it, let alone a place to rest my head. I had friends who let me crash until I found a home. I did that until about two weeks in I came across a flyer that offered housing in a "clean, smoke-free environment." My answering this specious advertisement was my first mistake. I visited the aforementioned residence and immediately was turned off by the potential renter, but as they say, "desperate times calls for desperate measures." The living arrangements were not ideal but I did not fear for my life. On the one hand, my roommate and his guests could get very rowdy as they discussed "hustling" and "Scarface" but for some reason I was given respect simply due to my being able to validate being from the rough-and-tumble southside of Chicago. At times, I was approached for war stories of growing up to which I declined. I tried to talk some sense into the gentlemen, to no avail. As time went on, things got worse to the point I spent little time at home because there was no peace there.
Not to mention, the housing complex was being overrun with vermin, an increasing number of unfamiliar guests, and because I had no car the long walk from campus, up the unsafe Fair Street was always unsettling. I literally prayed to God everytime I had to walk home and lowly humbled "Walk with me Lord" until my key hit the knob.
I can't go into detail about how exactly my living situation ended with my "roommates" but it wasn't amicable. They were gone when I moved out and I didn't hear from them until one fateful day that following October. The discrepancy we had could have easily been resolved with a conversation, which was was had with one of the younger brothers. Thankfully it was not with the roommate as I believe the confrontation would have been a less smooth confrontation. A sigh of relief was lifted off my chest until a fateful day in October when I read the news about the murder of a Morehouse student. My heart raced uncontrollably, begging for the offenders to not be my old roommates, but my mind knew that it was. When I saw the names, I literally froze in my chair. The fear had set in. What if they wanted to do that to me? What if they planned to? Whats going to happen?
I had become fearful to return to the campus of my alma mater. Even typing this I am tempted to hang my head in shame. For weeks, months, years, I would have nightmares every so often of those very scenarios taking place. I prayed, I worried (the opposite of prayer) and I told very few people. Unfortunately, this wasn't the only case in which the very same fear had haunted me. I kept it inward, hoping by not acknowledging this very real thing, it would go away. But by keeping the pain and distress deeply hidden I was doing the very thing I didn't want to happen. I was killing myself. Stress will kill you. Its suicide.
The recent shooting attacks on Brawley Avenue at 12:30 AM in Atlanta, GA have made me realize that its time to tell my storm "you've got to go." Jasmine Lynn didn't have the pleasure of bewaring her murderers. She was free. She hadn't spent restlessness nights in fear as I had. My point is, what did my worrying get me? My older brother, who was shot at this past October didn't know his assailant beforehand and it still happened. In her honor, I have written this as a semi-eulogy and a testimony that I lay down this burden forever. Every day I am here on this earth is purposeful and I should live it as such.
We serve an amazing God who understands our failings despite his many blessings. The Bible has hundreds of verses dealings with fear because he knows it is a tool the enemy stridently uses to haunt our existence and distract us from his work. How many neighborhoods have we feared not to do good works because of fear? This is not of Him. Though he should only have to say it once, the Bible repeatedly addresses the subject of fear because He knows we wrestle with it on a daily, hourly, second-ly.
Whats foolish is thinking you know what life has in store for you. The many nights we waste wondering what "could be" are ones that I can not have back. But I have learned from them. So this is my soul on ice. By putting this on the internet, I expose a darkness and at the same time defeat the enemies purpose to bondage me to it. Also, I hope it speaks to at least one who currently wears those ropes of fear and let them know they too must free themselves. Too many times we tell God how big are problems are and not tell our problems how big our God is.
Thank you for reading. May God bless you. Amen
Clark L. Jones
(Proud) Morehouse College graduate c/o 2005
The tragic shooting of my young Spelman Sister, Freshman Jasmine Lynn, of Kansas City, MO has my mind in a whirlwind of reflection. The incident, the violence that erupted late last night strikes me dearly because it hits far too close to home, or in this case, "The House." For anyone who has attended or visited a historically Black College knows that most of these schools are situated in the rougher parts of the city. Ideally, the cultural and educational disparities would mix in together creating 1) service opportunities for those fortunate enough to go to college 2) benefits for the underprivileged residents that permeate the perimeter of these institutions. It is an experiment, that has in many cases, such as last nights shooting, failed.
It has happened in instances such as a "random" shooting like in last nights case, or the inverse scenario to option 2 happening, whereby African-American students who are from middle-higher income families become engulfed in the idea that their life experiences are not "real enough" for the their new surroundings, and set off in the sole purpose of authenticating their "blackness." Blackness, to them, is associated with pain, perseverance, hunger, and all too often violence. This is how they see what being Black means, "if you ain't ready to bust your gun then you ain't real." We've seen it all too often, it starts the first week of school when folks claim 8 Mile, Detroit when they really are from the 8th mile of inward Southfield, Michigan. Or my favorite is the suburban Crete-Monee guy who claims the southside of Chicago. After failing this initial test of his mettle, you start to notice a change in that students attire, then a lack of interest in studies, and ultimately the inevitable drug addiction. In attempting to claim their mark, they overreach and head down a disastrous trail. Some are salvaged by a mentor, a girlfriend, a fellow classmate or a Greek organization, all those manifested by Gods omenous hand that guides all of our lives.
However, in some cases, cases that have severely affected my life, there are those who haven't been saved. This week, the AUC saw the tragic end of another violent story. A former student of Morehouse College was sentenced for the killing of one of his classmates in 2005. Before the year is out, three more of his classmates will be tried for their involvement with the murder. At first glance, the reaction is "thats a damn shame" and to move on. But I opened up this essay with a quote about being haunted, and I assure you it will be addressed.
What if you knew the guys who were involved in that situation? What if they so happened to be in your house everyday? What if one of the guys was your former roommate? If you're interested in hearing from someone who can answer yes to all those questions then read on...
My Senior year of college I came back to Atlanta with a car full of stuff and nowhere to put it, let alone a place to rest my head. I had friends who let me crash until I found a home. I did that until about two weeks in I came across a flyer that offered housing in a "clean, smoke-free environment." My answering this specious advertisement was my first mistake. I visited the aforementioned residence and immediately was turned off by the potential renter, but as they say, "desperate times calls for desperate measures." The living arrangements were not ideal but I did not fear for my life. On the one hand, my roommate and his guests could get very rowdy as they discussed "hustling" and "Scarface" but for some reason I was given respect simply due to my being able to validate being from the rough-and-tumble southside of Chicago. At times, I was approached for war stories of growing up to which I declined. I tried to talk some sense into the gentlemen, to no avail. As time went on, things got worse to the point I spent little time at home because there was no peace there.
Not to mention, the housing complex was being overrun with vermin, an increasing number of unfamiliar guests, and because I had no car the long walk from campus, up the unsafe Fair Street was always unsettling. I literally prayed to God everytime I had to walk home and lowly humbled "Walk with me Lord" until my key hit the knob.
I can't go into detail about how exactly my living situation ended with my "roommates" but it wasn't amicable. They were gone when I moved out and I didn't hear from them until one fateful day that following October. The discrepancy we had could have easily been resolved with a conversation, which was was had with one of the younger brothers. Thankfully it was not with the roommate as I believe the confrontation would have been a less smooth confrontation. A sigh of relief was lifted off my chest until a fateful day in October when I read the news about the murder of a Morehouse student. My heart raced uncontrollably, begging for the offenders to not be my old roommates, but my mind knew that it was. When I saw the names, I literally froze in my chair. The fear had set in. What if they wanted to do that to me? What if they planned to? Whats going to happen?
I had become fearful to return to the campus of my alma mater. Even typing this I am tempted to hang my head in shame. For weeks, months, years, I would have nightmares every so often of those very scenarios taking place. I prayed, I worried (the opposite of prayer) and I told very few people. Unfortunately, this wasn't the only case in which the very same fear had haunted me. I kept it inward, hoping by not acknowledging this very real thing, it would go away. But by keeping the pain and distress deeply hidden I was doing the very thing I didn't want to happen. I was killing myself. Stress will kill you. Its suicide.
The recent shooting attacks on Brawley Avenue at 12:30 AM in Atlanta, GA have made me realize that its time to tell my storm "you've got to go." Jasmine Lynn didn't have the pleasure of bewaring her murderers. She was free. She hadn't spent restlessness nights in fear as I had. My point is, what did my worrying get me? My older brother, who was shot at this past October didn't know his assailant beforehand and it still happened. In her honor, I have written this as a semi-eulogy and a testimony that I lay down this burden forever. Every day I am here on this earth is purposeful and I should live it as such.
We serve an amazing God who understands our failings despite his many blessings. The Bible has hundreds of verses dealings with fear because he knows it is a tool the enemy stridently uses to haunt our existence and distract us from his work. How many neighborhoods have we feared not to do good works because of fear? This is not of Him. Though he should only have to say it once, the Bible repeatedly addresses the subject of fear because He knows we wrestle with it on a daily, hourly, second-ly.
Whats foolish is thinking you know what life has in store for you. The many nights we waste wondering what "could be" are ones that I can not have back. But I have learned from them. So this is my soul on ice. By putting this on the internet, I expose a darkness and at the same time defeat the enemies purpose to bondage me to it. Also, I hope it speaks to at least one who currently wears those ropes of fear and let them know they too must free themselves. Too many times we tell God how big are problems are and not tell our problems how big our God is.
Thank you for reading. May God bless you. Amen
Clark L. Jones
(Proud) Morehouse College graduate c/o 2005
posted by clarknyss at
10:07 AM
4 Comments:
The unfulfilled and fearful life is only real and I appreciate you taking the time in mourning and awareness to make yourself vulnerable.
"Stress will kill you. It's suicide" Profoundly stated, and coupled with that quote puts more texture to the reality that most stress is over the unreal. Stress is a product of our regretting the past and worrying about the future, always squandering the present. And it sounds like you've made a decision to let parts of your past stand still. Become less fluid. A critical decision, for the past cannot make us stronger until it turns into stone.
I'll also share thoughts about HBCU geography as a social experiment with my father. As you know Morehouse is expanding further into the SWATs (SouthWestATlanta) and one major question here is how do we develop a nurturing environment without encouraging the displacement of the land's original people? There's a certain arrogance in the relationship between HBCU's and their "origin" environments, and some of the violence may come not from feelings of losing their land, but of losing their dignity in the process.
Then again, it could just be sheer opportunity. The unfortunate combination of people who need to sell drugs with people who need to buy them, for reasons you aptly stated earlier.
Either way, Jasmine's death is a sobering reminder that we are indeed not working hard enough to be "Lights" in our environments of darkness. We need to do more, and we need to do more together. We'll honor her with words, but if we act then she won't have died in vain.
I am so glad that God placed it on your heart to share this! You went through all of this for a reason. You were able to share your testimony and I know it will be an inspiration to others as it was for me!! When God has a plan for your life, no one can get in the way.
Thanks for sharing that story Clark. I felt like I was there and you shared lots of wisdom.
RIP to Jasmine Lynn
Wow...
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