by Christiaan Hart-Nibbrig
The shooting death of 15 year-old Hadiya Pendleton on the southside of Chicago is not a tragedy. It is a national catastrophe. It is a senseless murder of a promising and, by all accounts, remarkable young girl.
A week after performing for President Obama’s second inaugural celebration, a highlight anyone’s life, Hadiya took cover in a public park during a rainstorm. That’s when the bullets rained down on her and ended her life.
We are so numbed to gun violence in America that Hadiya’s death, like the Newtown kids, a month ago, or the Aurora victims before that, or the Virginia Tech students, or the Nickel Mines girls, will be yesterday’s news and quickly forgotten.
And after each pointless death, we must endure the handwringing from our lawmakers. “We can’t let this happen again.” “We must protect our children.” And they will hold hearings and press conferences. And another Hadiya will be killed. And another.
Several years ago, I was a public school teacher in central Harlem, New York City. I taught fifth and sixth grades. It took no time for my students to burrow their way into my heart and my life. Those kids were no different than the ones I grew up with on the beaches in Southern California. There were smart ones, dim ones, funny ones, mean ones, athletic ones, dorky ones. They were just kids.
There was one difference between these kids and the ones from my suburban childhood. My students, like Hadiya, lived in a the war zone. Most lived in the projects of New York City. Each day they passed a gauntlet of thugs and drug dealers.
But that environment didn’t smash their spirits. Those kids taught me far more than I could have possibly taught them. They taught me that kids can be crapped on by their families, their school, their society, and still look forward to living life out loud. That’s what Hadiya was doing.
My students were lucky. They survived until their early twenties. Some went to college. Some got pregnant and had kids. They still contact their old teacher.
But Hadiya’s teachers – and she must’ve been a pleasure to teach – will not be able to follow the achievements she was sure to have. Her friends won’t be able to hang out with the charming girl. And her family won’t have her to hug anymore.
The bullets that took Hadiya’s life took parts of the lives of others. I know they took a part of mine.
