The Death of a Model Citizen

When I saw the photo of Philandro Castile, slain on July 6, 2016  by a  police officer after a traffic stop due to broken tail light (!!!) I grieved and said, "This could have been my son!"

When I saw this photo of Patrick Zamampa, one of the five policemen slain during an (up-to-then) peaceful demonstration in Dallas to protest Philandro's senseless killing, I grieved and said, "This could have been my son!"

When I saw the photo of Micah Johnson, the man who, along with some others, murdered five police officers and wounded several others, I grieved, for he, too, could have been my son.

You see, I have a large family, you and I, animals, insects, Earth, stars and galaxies are in it as well.

I want to stop grieving. My relatives are killing each other!  It has got to stop.  I have a solution.  I know what has to be done--and, regarding race if not class,  it is being done, but far too slowly.

First a few words about the conditions that made the death of Philandro Castile an all-too-common event.  The officer who shot him did not set out to kill a black man.  If you had asked the officer if black lives matter, he might even have agreed.  I believe what poisoned the encounter from the outset was, you guessed it, racism.  His car is probably full of drugs.  If I don't watch out, he will shoot me.  He's violent.  He's black.  Some variation of this most likely went through the officer's mind.  Never mind that nothing in Mr. Castile's demeanor indicated a penchant for violence.  Never mind that Mr. Castile apparently complied with the officer's demands like a model citizen.

The result: the model citizen is dead.  (Reports indicate that Mr. Castile lived up to his name: Phil, Greek for love.  Andro, Italian (once the accent is placed over the "o") means I shall go.  Philandro--"I love wherever I go."  He will never be a role model for kids again.  Why?

The best actions of human beings reflect, whether consciously or not, the commandment that we should love our neighbor as ourselves.  Not only the neighbor who looks like you.  Not only the neighbor who is of the same social class as you.  Whether smarter or simpler; richer or poorer; black or white--your neighbor is your neighbor.  No exceptions.

This brings me to the solution--it won't be easy to realize, but I see no other way.  We must integrate our neighborhoods.  Both class-wise and race-wise!  If the officer who killed Philandro had had a African-American neighbor who lived a life as exemplary as Philandro did, he most likely would not have been able to make the assumptions that he did. Mr. Castile, Mr. Zamampa, and Mr. Johnson would all be alive! (With the help of people like Mr. Castile, and Mr. Zamampa--and all of us-- there is a good chance that Mr. Johnson could have been helped to walk in the right direction.  Even if that goal proved elusive, we must judge behavior and not the person.!)

Location, location, location.  Dear neighbor, do you want your location to be a grave?  The commandment is not that you must have a big house.  If you believe that your house is worth more than your humanity, you have no idea who you really are.

I know who I am.  Philandro Castile.  Patrick Zamampa.  The police officers.  All the black lives shattered.  I know who I am. You.