'I shouldn't know your name'

The unrest in Ferguson, Mo., continued last night, with two men shot and 31 people arrested in the ninth day of demonstrations following the death of Michael Brown. Kate Murphy, pastor at Hickory Grove Presbyterian Church in Charlotte, offers a different, compelling perspective on the victim. It's worth a read. 

An Elegy for Michael Brown

I shouldn’t know your name.
And now there are so many people telling me who you were
Voices sorrynotsorry to show me
you’d robbed a convenience store
Stolen a box of cigars (they were very expensive cigars)
And other voices, shaking with rage
Telling me that you were a good kid
A gentle giant
Headed off for college
but all I need to know
is that I shouldn’t know your name
whether you were a great saint
or deeply troubled
or like every teenager
a maddening glorious mixture of the two
I still
shouldn’t know your name

here’s the first thing I do know
if your mother had tried to walk into an abortion clinic
18 years and some months ago
She would have been surrounded by Christians
White, middle class Christians
Some weeping with compassion for your life cut short
Some shaking with rage, calling her a murderer
All begging her to give you a chance at life
And the first thing I want to know is
Where is the weeping now?
Where is the rage now?
Where are the prophets crying out against the injustice
Of the one who played God & chose to end your life?

15 years ago I sat in a courtroom
Bearing witness to the sacred worth
of another teenage boy
Who was a brilliant beloved battlefield
And as we waited for his case to be called
We watched white boy after white boy
Walk up from the gallery
In suit and tie
And listen to the charges read against them
Assault and battery, possession with intent to distribute, driving while intoxicated
And nod respectfully as their lawyers got them probation
And sent them back to class
At their expensive private university just up the street

And black man after brown man entered the same courtroom
From the rear
In shackles and orange suit
And stood before the same judge
And heard the charges read against them
Possession, assault, possession
And one man—I kid you not, was there because he stole pampers, formula & baby food
And they were all were sent back to jail
To wait their trial
That day, every white boy (raping, dealing drugs, driving drunk)
That day, every black and brown boy (fighting, taking drugs, stealing diapers)
Returned from whence he came
And every time I tell that story it makes everyone mad
for different reasons
And I can’t get it out of my head this week
And you know why

Because I tell my daughters
If they get in trouble
To look for a police officer to help them
And your mother must have told you something so very different
And still, there you were, unarmed
Hands outstretched
Head bowed
Blown apart in the street
By the one who swore to protect you
Whether you were a good kid
Whether you were a thief
It doesn’t make your death more or less tragic
Your life was sacred
We all betrayed you
Like another young man
Whose body was broken for our sins

I wish I’d known you.
I wish I didn’t know your name.