The Two Justins
- written in February 2020
Recently, I’ve been touched by two fatal police shootings. I know, of course, that these happen all the time in the world…but to me, in my safe peer support community in rural Alaska, they only really seem to happen in a virtual world: Some of the facts are brought to me in a clipped manner via Facebook or the news, about people I don’t know much about, and will never connect with in a human way. It's almost seems as if the news anchors have made up these happenings to keep their jobs. I have learned to tune out this kind of news, hyped up and endless as it seems. But recently, two fatal police shootings came near to me: with real blood, the sounds of shots, with hearts of those whose hearts are connected to mine.
The first was a man in his thirties, an unknown neighbor who ran from police into our woods after a “domestic disturbance”. The police showed up in our yard in full force, shining flood lights into my grown son’s face as he walked across the path, asking him to put up his hands, - just as one sees in the movies. Then, when my son’s innocence was determined, they warned us all to stay inside and close our curtains, because a potentially dangerous man was on our property. We passed the word across the ten homes on the campus then huddled inside, various shades of frightened, holding onto the children, listening for a very long hour to the sounds of police radios, dogs… then quick burst of gunfire, then a helicopter… peeking outside at the searchlights and troopers walking back and forth. Finally, after several hours, we were told it was safe and, just as quickly as they had arrived, everyone left us alone to ponder the outcome and significance of such a disturbed night. The next morning, the details started seeping in: the man had been shot after pulling a gun on troopers, the man grew up in Kasilof, a few roads down from us, the man had a mental illness, the man had a gun and ran away from police, he had a family. He had been killed, nearby, outside. We walked out to the site, and witnessed the stream of blood seeping into the snow. We tried to bury it. We wished him well on his journey toward whatever is next, this stranger who suddenly had shared one of his most vulnerable and profound moments with the trees outside our homes. Justin was his name, we were told; and it was hard to describe the sorrow and shock we felt that Justin had lived and died in such a scary world, so close to our sledding hill, where the kids play every day and where the Spruce trees grow thick. It must have been a cold wet scary run, away from the police dogs and search lights, for Justin.
Even though I hadn’t known him in life, Justin deeply touched me. When the police told us to stay inside, I had been instantly very scared of this unknown “dangerous person at large”- what if he tried to come into our cabin? We don’t have a weapon. Would he shoot my husband or the children? Would he take us hostage? Was he deranged and violent? Why were there so many police outside? My imagination went wild. Was he looking in at us, trying to hide from the police helicopters? All my cultural fears of violent strangers fell down into the slots waiting for them, just like a movie script. My partner Ted perhaps holds more wisdom: he joked about how our family cats will protect us, giving our more dramatic fears less power. I smiled at his professed cowardice and marveled at his calmness. Then, when we heard only quiet outside for long enough, I grabbed my flashlight and walked down the blackness of our road to call out into the dark: “Officers? Did you find who you were looking for? Sir?” My voice cracked, in fear and confusion. It was at that moment that I realized that I actually had mixed feelings about their reply, whatever it was. Later, when I learned more about Justin, I just felt overwhelming sadness and repulsion at his death, that this young man lived in such a scary internal and external place that he had pulled a gun on armed policemen. What was he thinking would happen? How could he have become so desperate? The death force was strong in him. Why couldn’t we have somehow positively calmed him down, just with our presence and good vibrations? I felt shame that I had given in to my worst stereotypes and movie script nightmares. What was I thinking? Why had I been so scared, when I had so few facts? I sat by the sledding hill, and tried to communicate with the energy of Justin, to wish him speed on his next journey, to say I am sorry that this life had to end this way, but this part is all over now, so be well.
A second Justin came to die through police fire a few weeks later. This time, the blood shed on the streets of Boston, yet this young man was a family friend. A person, that my sister had dated, a real man with partnerships and skills and a lifelong relationship to the macrobiotic community. Justin had visited us, as a boy, many years ago, with his sister and father. He played on the sledding hill. I remember the day he had been born, the expression of joy and pride on his parent’s faces in his first baby photos. I remember Justin as a 12 year old, his blonde straight hair, wide eyed smile with big white teeth, and sly laugh. Justin the boy was carefree, and adventurous, and kind hearted. And I also remember Justin all grown up, a big lanky man, with many tatoos, talking about his script, with the same sly smile. Justin made music. He wrote scripts. He cooked. He largely lived in a world that others couldn’t join - a world of his own mind’s making.
When I learned of his death, I felt such overwhelming sorrow: how is it that Justin, the trusting little boy, had become Justin, the man who has supposedly pulled a water gun on police? What was he thinking would happen? How can his family let him go, peacefully, when he had left them in such a violent and reckless manner? And who had been more violent or reckless - Justin, or the police who confronted him? Couldn’t they just have been a little more patient, a bit more calm, less afraid….knowing little about the circumstances, I just kept thinking, what if they had known him as a boy? Would they have shot him then?
I can’t truly blame the police. Yes, they are responding to a nightmare of guns and violence. Violent thoughts beget violent actions beget more violent thoughts and actions. But many police are attracted to this profession as a way to give back to their communities, or to survive in their communities. They were confused and afraid, of being shot at by unknown strangers with wild weapons, they are doing their job “to defend the public.” They have the prejudices that they inherited from their culture.
I can’t blame either Justin. Yes, they seemingly threatened others in ways that led to their own demise. Yet, they lived in a scary, scary internal world in which they needed guns to protect themselves. They may also have lived in neighborhoods or homes where they did indeed need guns to protect themselves. They were confused and in an extremely altered, heightened state, perhaps fueled by the policemen’s barked challenges and pointed guns.
I read all the opinions on Facebook - the police are bullies, the police are heroes, these criminals are scumbags, no they are ill people in need of support not threats. In my studies, I was taught that ingesting animal products derived from violence creates a mind that thrives on violence. Following this theory, does it follow, then, that if the entire world becomes vegan, and chews their brown rice, eats kale and drinks their miso soup, will we then see no more fatal police shootings? Because, I’ve seen enough now. I’m touched by enough police guns killing others holding guns and blood draining into the ground and families left grieving.
But, I'm not sure its that simple…We just change our eating habits and all will be well? I don’t know…that seems dogmatic rather than brilliant. I see that our human cultures have been built upon collective traumas, or stories, or nightmares; and they must be released and replaced by tellings about the gentle, wise families possible on the green fields of earth. Perhaps food changes are one of many human changes - in energy technology, in physical abundance, in social and family structures, in emotional healing, in spiritual and scientific understandings, that intertwine together to become one peaceful world.
I envision that the policeman of the future will melt their bullets into tools, and hold power lightly in the palm of their hand, understanding a few basic human laws like we understand day and night - alongside everyone else in the global village. The young man who feels forlorn and alone, in the future, who hears voices no-one else hears, will not turn toward violent nightmares but rather stoke his imagination and keep himself company by speaking with the tree spirits. But how long will that take? And will the planet have patience to sustain us as we tire of our fear-based stories and insane weaponry?
Wisdom must grow in the people. What we feed, grows. I am writing this story not to spread sadness or shock, but rather to inspire myself and hopefully others to continue to create a world of trust and solidarity; sauerkraut and kale; and to continue to feed our dream of one peaceful world, in which the word policeman becomes antiquated and no longer needed nor relied upon for safety.
My deepest belief is that safety comes from belonging. When humans are in touch with their food source, and their energy source, and their human connections, and their deepest source of nature and spirit, that’s safety. Anything less than that, and we will still need policemen to protect us from the internal and external demons we are creating in our minds and societal institutions. Thank you, Justin, and Justin, for reminding me where my true sense of safety springs from, and, about our collected dream of one peaceful world. I’ll work on releasing more of my fears and culturally instilled traumas. And I’ll enjoy my miso soup. And I’ll smile more, and be grateful for all the people who are still alive, and even for the police who try, however sadly, to give us safety through guns. And I will try to remember every day why we are all here…. to play, with our friends.
In remembrance,
Eliza