Wes Moore and the question of ‘the other’
Another of the books I picked up at bargain prices in the waning hours of Borders’ existence was The Other Wes Moore: One Name, Two Fates. I first saw the book last winter on the front display table at the massive Barnes & Noble in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. It’s a bestseller, so you may already know about it, but in case you’re unacquainted it’s the story of two guys with the same name, both from Baltimore, both raised by single mothers, both African-American. But their lives have turned out drastically differently, and it’s essentially an exploration of the whys behind that. Rather than summarize the story, which really deserves to be read all the way through, I’ll just make a couple of comments about the thoughts that have stuck with me since reading it.
The title intrigues me. The Other Wes Moore is written by Wes Moore, the businessman, Army veteran, TV commentator, White House Fellow, and Rhodes Scholar. So maybe the title refers to the other Wes Moore, who is currently serving a life sentence for murder. But I’m not sure. Could Wes Moore the author be saying that he himself is really the other, the exception to the rule? Perhaps; the ambiguity may be intentional.
The book also brings to mind the tired right-left debates over whether one’s social environment or one's family upbringing is to blame for such ills as poverty and violent crime in America's cities. There are those who’d contend that the environment of the inner city serves to condition (condemn?) children like these Wes Moores to become criminals and unproductive members of society. Meanwhile others argue that it’s the breakdown of the nuclear family that’s to blame; the lack of a father figure in the lives of both Wes Moores and so many others is the defining factor in their lives. I happen to think it’s more of a both/and -- the crushing environment of the inner city and the lack of family cohesiveness mutually enforce each other (for what it’s worth, John Perkins, whose words matter a great deal more than mine, shares this integrated view). More than anything, I think the either/or, right/left approach to these questions may get plenty of people fired up, but in the end it leaves the situation in inner cities mostly unchanged.
So what conclusion does he come to at the end of the book? Why did his story turn out so much differently than that of the other Wes Moore? He knows better than to boil it down to a formula, to a few simple steps. Real life doesn’t work that way. But what he does show is that when given a second chance, and maybe a third and a fourth and a fifth, boys like him might just become men who make their mothers proud. And he shows that for others, sometimes all it takes is a moment to derail things forever.
I think the book is important for his honest, first-person portrayal of the kind of life so many of us haven’t experienced but are quick to diagnose. And more than anything, it’s important for the empathy and compassion with which Wes Moore writes, reminding me and all of us that there, but for the grace of God, go I.
Singing with murderers in Argentina
Yesterday I stumbled upon a video segment from Artscape, an Al Jazeera English television show dedicated to "[giving] expression to the creative forces behind many of the world's headline stories." This particular segment focused on a hellish prison in Argentina, where the country's worst criminals are being rehabilitated through music. Apparently, recidivism rates are being drastically reduced as these men are discovering life beyond the cycles of violence that have defined their lives. I like this quote from Juan Pablo, the psychologist who leads the choir:
If you want to get rid of crime, you can’t just make the criminal disappear. You have to give him another chance. I feel responsible. You can’t just moan about crime and do nothing.
The segment is below. It's 25 minutes long and worth every minute.
Redemption in Juarez
News of drug violence from Mexico, Colombia, Central America and elsewhere can be pretty depressing, and it's easy to think of the narco-traffickers themselves as lost causes, beyond redemption. But AFP has a piece on a former gangster in Ciudad Juarez named Pedro Martin Nunez, who has been in and out of jail since he was a kid. His story of redemption is worth quoting at length:
But his cycle of violence stopped during a 14-year jail term, when he met evangelist groups visiting the jail and found redemption in religion.
He now works to convince other gangsters and drug addicts to follow his example in a city where more than 3,100 people died in attacks blamed on drug violence last year alone.
Nunez has set up "Former Prisoners Transformed to Transform," a refuge in the center of Ciudad Juarez which houses around one dozen families.
The group also built a church in a dusty neighborhood on the outskirts of the city, with a few plastic chairs and musical instruments inside a large hall.
They have their work cut out for them as they try to extract criminals from gangs, Nunez said.
"You risk a lot. At the first attempt, they'll break your hand. Then it'll be a foot. Then they'll kill you. It's not something to take lightly."
As well as prayers for former criminals, Nunez helps to negotiate jobs for them.
They receive half the salary and the other half is paid to their wives to look after their families -- a necessary measure, according to Nunez.
"Some fathers have spent all their lives stealing money from their spouses or their families," he said. "Ciudad Juarez is in such a mess because most of its problems start inside the home."
The priest still attracts police surveillance with his green tattoos of skulls suggesting gang ties, but he says he can usually turn them away these days.
"I tell them: 'That life is over, Christ is in my heart. You also need Christ in your heart.' The officers usually stop the conversation at that point and we can leave," he said, laughing.
It's an encouraging reminder that there's a lot more happening in Juarez than just the bloody headlines.
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