No matter where we are or where we find ourselves, there are cries for justice. The sound cannot be avoided. Unable to be confused with background noise or elevator music, these cries will go on record, disproving that our lives are as comfortable as the sounds we surround ourselves with.
The cries for justice do not harmonize well with the voices of capitalism, materialism or racism. No quartet there. No possibility of a record deal or a breakout hit.
The sound wraps around us like yellow crime scene tape, screams like sirens rushing to the scene, like family members given the news no one wants to hear, news that is then reported at 6 p.m. and again at 10 p.m. and again at 6 a.m. It captures our attention and becomes our cycle, our pattern as the news is covered with violence.
It is one long, mass shooting, one burial after another. And between each commercial break, we find we are burying something of ourselves too.
We are covered with violence, ensnared by it. Yes, we are all in this net together.
Knots and strings, we are pulled on and rendered immobile at the same time. Trapped by violence, we cry out for justice— to make it stop, to still the hands pinning ours down. “Let my fingers go!”
Whether raised or thought reaching, they are taken down. No more protesting there. Another voice lost so justice must scream louder.
So, no matter the sounds that would crowd our ears, there is one sound that climbs through the clamor, that pushes its way through the noises that would distract us, that keeps coming to the forefront of the conversation. It will rise no matter how often it is pushed back, shouted down, ignored and dismissed.
It is the cry for justice.
Not to be confused with whining, it is a lament, a familiar composition of grunt and sigh, a consistent moan that causes the head to sway and the earth to tremble. It is a mix of grief and guts, pride and passion, loss and the need to live freely, unencumbered, unsupervised and without the disruption of flashing lights.
It is a wail, somber yet strong, like the marching of feet on city streets, blocking traffic and interrupting commerce. She will not be pushed aside. She will be heard.
She will have her say and so she says it over and over again. “Justice! Justice! Justice!”
She says her name and it bears repeating for persons will assume that because she is present, her practice of fairness and equity is too. But it is not enough to say, “Justice.”
Justice doesn’t look good on paper; it is not her best side. Instead, she prefers natural settings like institutions, organizations, governments and personal relationships. She prefers group pictures— not posed with good lighting. If accountability and fairness are there, she smiles and says, “Justice.”
The word only causes anxiety for those who do not seek it. They don’t want to hear it for it is a reminder of their hollowness, their hubris, their hypocrisy.
They like the word “justice,” but prefer the benefits of injustice. They put it on their resume without reference and speak of it with limited experience.
Thomas Watson, a 17th century Puritan minister wrote, “Injustice lies in two things: either not to punish where there is fault or to punish where there is no fault.” His words are fitting considering the murder of Sonya Massey.
Massey called the police because she believed there was a prowler near her home, only to be shot by the now former Deputy Sean Grayson. He has been fired from the Sangamon County Sheriff’s Office. The Sangamon County State’s Attorney John Milhiser said that body camera footage “does not support a finding that Deputy Sean Grayson was justified in his use of deadly force.”
Massey has been punished “where there is no fault.” Now, will the justice system “punish where there is fault?”
If it doesn’t, then we know where injustice lies.
Director of The Raceless Gospel Initiative, an associate editor, host of the Good Faith Media podcast, “The Raceless Gospel” and author of Take Me to the Water: The Raceless Gospel as Baptismal Pedagogy for a Desegregated Church.
