I finished The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas about a week ago, but I can't get it out of my mind. The events of the novel and the events of the world around me collided in a magical but brutal way, and it influenced me in a pretty drastic way.
This book is one of many YA novels that have recently been published, or soon will be, on the topic of police brutality. Thomas was moved to write it after the death of Michael Ferguson three years ago, and as I finished the last pages, St. Louis erupted in more massive protests over the shooting of a black man by a white police officer.
The story is told from the perspective of Starr, a black teenager living in a poor neighborhood. Her father is a former gangster turned convenience store owner; her mother is a nurse who drives Starr and her brother 45 minutes each way to a fancy private school so that they can pursue their dreams and find a safe, happy life far away from the poverty and violence they grew up around.
Starr finds herself at a party one night and reunites with a childhood friend, Khalil. They leave the party together, get pulled over, and Khalil is shot by the police officer. He is unarmed.
The reader is taken through Starr's trauma as a witness and the aftermath of Khalil's death--the grand jury trial, the press, the protests. Starr emerges strong, powerful, and determined to fight for justice for her community.
One detail that really struck me was that Khalil was a drug dealer. He wasn't dealing, or even carrying drugs, on the night he was killed. But in the aftermath, the media focused on that detail, as if it was enough to justify his death. When some friends at school ask Starr if she knew the "drug dealer" in the news, she thinks, "The drug dealer. That's how they see him. It doesn't matter that he's suspected of doing it. 'Drug dealer' is louder than 'suspected' ever will be" (113).
Thomas included this detail, no doubt, because things like it are used all the time to "convict" the dead for their own murders. Regarding the Jason Stockley verdict, many people will be quick to point out that Anthony Lamar Smith was a heroin dealer. Perhaps if I hadn't read this book, I would be one of them. But to Starr's point, it shouldn't matter. I have had students in the past who were drug dealers, car thieves, vandals. They're all white, and they're all alive today, because none of them deserved to die for their crimes. I wish we as a society had the same reverence for black and brown lives.
One of the most moving moments of the novel for me was when Starr's father is roughed up by police outside their convenience store. Starr and her brothers watch, terrified that he will meet the same fate as Khalil, and shocked to see their strong father in such a vulnerable position. Later, she sees him break down for the first time and tells us, "Daddy once told me there's a rage passed down to every black man from his ancestors, born the moment they couldn't stop the slave masters from hurting their families. Daddy also said there's nothing more dangerous than when this rage is activated" (196). The rage is certainly activated, and the neighborhood erupts into violent protest after Khalil's killer is exonerated.
One of the most moving moments of the novel for me was when Starr's father is roughed up by police outside their convenience store. Starr and her brothers watch, terrified that he will meet the same fate as Khalil, and shocked to see their strong father in such a vulnerable position. Later, she sees him break down for the first time and tells us, "Daddy once told me there's a rage passed down to every black man from his ancestors, born the moment they couldn't stop the slave masters from hurting their families. Daddy also said there's nothing more dangerous than when this rage is activated" (196). The rage is certainly activated, and the neighborhood erupts into violent protest after Khalil's killer is exonerated.
After the first weekend of protests following the Stockley verdict, I was nervous to return to my classroom on Monday. Should I say anything? What should I say? I work in a very-white, mostly-conservative district. How could I talk to my students in a respectful, reasoned, but also "woke" way?
I eventually asked myself--What Would a Librarian Do? With that question in mind, I went to the school library first thing in the morning and found four additional novels on race and police brutality. For each class, I began by saying, "You may feel empathy and understanding for the protesters. You may wish you could join them. You may be wondering, what's the big deal? Why are they so angry? Or you may be unsure. No matter where you fall, these books can give you a glimpse into the mind of someone who has lived through this experience. Reading novels allow you to be someone else for a little while. Even if it doesn't change your mind, it might deepen your understanding, help you see the common ground that might exist."
I then did book talks on each one, lingering the longest on The Hate U Give, and ending with, "These will be in my class library for the next month or so. If you want to read them during our independent reading time, you can. If not, then don't. It's your choice."
A few students read the books I suggested during our independent reading time. One student's mother called and thanked me for addressing the issue. I'm sure others were silently grateful to know that I am an ally. It would be naive to think that anything I say could change the hearts and minds of all my students, and really that's not my job. My job, I believe, is to encourage them to think for themselves and expose them to literature that helps them think in new ways about new topics. And I'm pretty confident I accomplished at least that much.
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