Well, they finally did it. This time, the person aiming to kill Timothy Oliver, 18, got his man instead of a little girl doing homework in her living room. The paper didn't say what many readers probably thought about the South Minneapolis shooting: "Oh‹a gangster. Someone who doesn't matter."Certainly Brian Keith Edwards‹the man who allegedly shot Oliver‹believed he didn't matter; so did Myon Burrell, the first man who tried to shoot him. In fact, Burrell thought both Oliver and Tyesha Edwards, the 11-year-old girl he shot and killed more than a year ago, were throwaway people. Even if he didn't mean to shoot her specifically, he certainly didn't care that his inexpertly aimed bullets might go astray.
At least one person doesn't think Oliver is a throwaway: Tyesha's stepfather, Leonard Winborn. "There's another family that's grieving," he said, following the shooting. "There's another family that's going through the same things we did."
I wish more people could think that way without having to experience a terrible loss themselves‹including me. Although I was saddened by Oliver's death, my reaction was nothing compared to my grief over Tyesha. And even though I knew neither of them personally, I immediately, instinctively ranked their importance. I call Tyesha by her first name. I call Oliver by his last.
Admittedly, Tyesha was more sympathetic, and the media told her story. We saw her house, and the signs and flowers on the gate. We saw her grieving family. We saw her sister, who had been sitting with her at the dining room table when she was shot. In contrast, we got Oliver's name, age and the fact that he was a member of the Gangster Disciples. Not even a photo. I don't fault the Star Tribune for reporting it this way, either.
Tyesha's death also hits closer to home for me because I live in her neighborhood. I drive past her house all the time. Each time I do, I think of her and her family. However, in the 11 years I have lived in Minneapolis, stray bullets have killed several children in North Minneapolis. But I don't remember their faces. I don't remember their names.
Much of this can be attributed to basic emotional self-protection. If I gave in to anguish over every single sad story I heard, I would be unable to function. It is impossible for me to care as much about complete strangers as I do for my own toddler, and I don't believe I should.
However, there is an uglier and more dangerous aspect to turning a blind eye‹a side that has recently begun to surface in Minnesota politics. It's a cold self-centeredness that manifests itself in suburban legislators and a suburban governor who believe that the most important issue in our state is keeping taxes low. Implicit in this attitude: I want to keep my money. I don't want it to go to those people. The undeserving people. The inner-city people. Only people like me matter.
This callous disregard for others isn't limited to legislators. For instance, I recently explained to a new acquaintance the havoc that a group of drug dealers has recently made at the end of my otherwise terrific block.
He looked sympathetic until I told him where I lived. Then he actually snorted. "I'll bet they're not the only drug dealers on the block," he said. "You just have to expect that sort of thing over there." The tone in his voice said: "Oh. That place. The place where the people don't matter."
Last night, a political pundit on the radio explained that the only way the war will hurt Bush in the election would be if we had a "significant loss of life in Iraq." Setting aside the fact that the loss of 500 American lives seems significant to me, I don't think any Iraqi would agree that losses have been insignificant. They've lost‹by conservative estimates‹thousands of lives.
We need to change this attitude that some people are throwaways. There has to be a way to honor each other without staggering around with a constantly open emotional wound. We might start by imagining that every Tyesha Edwards is our neighbor. Or we might start by rooting this attitude out of ourselves. I don't think I'm the only one whose grief over the death of a little girl in her living room was in stark contrast to their fleeting sorrow for an 18-year old gang member. It is a very human reaction.
But is it defensible? Isn't he worth my grief, too?
Copley-Woods is a writer and graphic designer who lives and works in Minneapolis's Powderhorn Park neighborhood.
