WHO KILLED THE CHILDREN**
Ina Kontvainyte-Thomas
1995
**In 1995, 5,285 youths under 19 died as result of gunshot wounds in the United States,
compared to 153 in Canada, 109 in France, 19 in Britain and none in Japan, according to
statistics on ABC's "Nightline." (And now once more the world is stunned the families numbed,
communities stand shocked.)
"Who killed the children?"
People asked, "Who drew the deadly gun?"
And witnesses to terror spoke
As if they were benumbed
"The killer was another child!
Not even grown enough to vote,
This child of loving parents, or of those
Who didn't care, was of our school, our street,
And our community. An ordinary kid he was,
Who laughed and cried, and played at games
Like normal children." (But who studied rage
At home, knew hate as friend.
From infancy had lessons drilled that
Guns meant power, weapons were a right.
"Guns don't shoot people," he was told,
"Bad people do!" and daddy wouldn't lie,
He liked his weapons as did Uncle too.
And though their guns were hidden, he knew where
To get the armory if he had need
To solve a problem in heroic style.
This kid learned well and did his best to please
All the adults who taught him guns were cool.
"Who saw the children die?" detectives asked,
"Who heard the threats, who saw the glaze
Of hatred or despair in those young eyes?"
(Who still appear too innocent
to do this heinous crime)
A group of youngsters stood by solemnly
Struck by the hideous smell of guts and blood
And cruel reality, no, not cartoons these were,
Nor video games. Dying was real,
And 'reset' didn't work. Oh, yes, some knew
And heard the threatening words, they'd seen
Torment and pain in their young friend
Heard secrets too, but didn't comprehend, didn't believe.
"Friends just don't rat on friends, do they?" they softly asked,
"His silly threats?
He often talked like that,
He was my friend. He was real nice.
But when we saw the other children fall, shot dead,
We thought it was a play."
"Who made eternal rest their shroud?"
The mourners sobbed in earnest loss.
"It wasn't us!" the movies wept, "Nor me," howled the t.v.
"Nor us!" the music makers rapped, "We just reflect a sick society,
We fill a need to blow off steam, it's just pretend.
We can't command or teach. One must be twisted
At the start, genetically, emotionally. The parents
Are accountable, they were neglectful, didn't care
They just weren't there for him, they should've
Supervised the junk he watched, our garbage music and
Our gruesome shows. Our mindless killing
Airing day by day, has no aim to affect
Nor power to change the child who's whole and loved.
You really can't blame us. Besides there is no proof!"
"Who'll dig their grave?"
The parents cried in terror and in tears,
"Who'll bury their small bones?"
"Not I, "the judge replied,
"I'm swamped with technicalities
Of trials and appeals.
Killings are little crimes,
And given a few years the meanest criminal
Can join society again,
And learn to function amiably as the best.
While rehabilitation fails, prisons fill up.
We have more murderers than cells.
What can I do? I'm just a civil servant like the rest.
All evil deeds must wait
For the apocalypse and a more righteous judge.
And if you grieve, let me explain that
Laws are made for criminals who must provide us work.
I and the lawyers and our kin
Will see that jails are fun
And punishments are but a joke,
This takes much money, energy and time,
Excuse me, now I've got to run and try
An interesting case of inmates wanting
Playboy channel on t.v."
"Who'll bring them flowers?"
Asked psychiatrists. "We're sure that
Violent death has some adverse effects.
And if there are no lilies at their tomb
It would be more grave cause for maladjusted acts.
Impulsive children can't be traumatized by facts!
We can't have certainties like black and white
Like right and wrong, like good and evil acts!
For, well, we can't be sure, and everything
Is relative, obscure.
Morality can be interpreted too many ways. And so
Why teach the child accountability?
And why should blame or dull responsibility ensue
To pander to society's civil needs. For
When the child does violence, experts agree
That generally it is the mother's fault
Rarely the father's too.
And we're the only cure. Trust in authorities
Like us, you can't go wrong that way, we're sure."
"Who'll be the parson?"
Wailed the waiting crowd.
"Who'll give a eulogy of heartfelt grief?"
"Well, why not me?" our culture asked,
"Some families teach no great respect
For the Creator nor give thanks to God.
While I've been childhood's moral guide for years
I served them like a priest and gave
'Communion' too, through playthings, saw they had no lack
But were raised greedy, never satisfied
Of need for newer objects, toys for every whim.
Deep empathy and tolerance can't compare
To new seductive games for youthful minds
Things teach to disconnect! People don't care.
Possessions take the place of families
Who aren't there, or barely there,
Who cannot hug a child except on quality time.
To buy that giant t.v. both parents work.
Each child must be amused and entertained,
Taught immorality by jaded minds.
From earliest cartoons to horror tales
Culture shapes masses, and the children learn
The lessons that we're teaching now. They'll see
You have a problem... violence on t.v.
Can vent that angry need! We'll show you how
To do the deed with step by step instructions!
(Ask your friends. Now everybody knows you have
The right to have things your own way). No need to wait
For things you want, you have the right... right now.
Just act. Just do it. Now!"
"Who'll be the mourners?"
Asked the city's poor, "Who'll cry?
We might've done it, but get someone else.
We're behind rent. It's sad and all
But we have problems too. So don't you see we can't
Do anything. We're poor, unschooled, and unemployed
And though we may attempt to end this violence, we're powerless.
Hey, we're all victims too. We need our arsenals of guns
For self-defense. Our streets blaze up in war
Riots, and crime, so though we'd like to help
Cry for us too. It's all your fault, you know
Now that you've doomed us all to drugs to failure and despair.
Don't be surprised if gunshots fill the air
And children hide. If you were poor you'd understand.
Look at these houses, windows broke, and who's gonna fix that?
It's not my fault, I didn't break 'em.
And it's noon, my soaps are on, I gotta go."
"Who'll be the pallbearers?"
Snarled the sullen gang decked in bandannas and in baggy garb,
Their concealed weapons over hardened hearts.
"Yeah, streets are violent," they casually remarked,
"But, that's the way it is.
Don't dis me, man, or else I'll chill on ya!
Our gang is family, you're the enemy.
Oh, yeah sure, we do drugs, and steal and deal.
But hey, that's not our fault.
We need the hip-hop clothes, the fancy cars
To be in style, be young and cool and tough,
And money's short, and schools are dumb,
And, like, work sucks, you know. My uncle says
That crime pays better, brings more fame. It's cool!
After we pay respects, we'll do what we all gotta do,
We'll get revenge!"
"Who'll sing the hymns?"
The teachers asked. The neighbors answered back,
"We could, but we have yards to mow, grass to keep green,
Yeah, it's too bad, today there's rotten kids,
What can we do? Why can't the parents or society take charge?
It's not our business to teach tolerance, schools do that.
Give cheerful words of friendship to a child
That's not our own? Why should we care? (I mind my own kids,
And you should mind yours.) Besides, you're not our kind,
Your kids are trouble. I can tell. They're not like mine.
My kids would never do a crime. I taught them that, for heaven's sake,
Not like you other folk. And that's a shame.
I did my best. If you and all the rest weren't here
No violence could happen in my school, or neighborhood, or home.
And that's the truth!"
The crowds were quiet now
They'd had their say.
And everything was like before,
Except the loss and pain.
When will the killing stop?
When will we learn?
Get used to grief, America,
There will be many more
Young lives cut short
Before they understand
What common miracle existence is,
The wondrous possibilities
Inside a span of sacred, mortal life.
Though guns proliferate and
Politicians drift to doubtful theories that
Will prompt review, and further studies; spawning
'Til minds numb, the endless talk-show trivia on radio,
While statesmen tend to discourse, children die.
Like cattle slaughtered in the streets, they fall.
In schools, and homes, by guns in small soft hands
They fall... in epidemic bloody death, they fall. The cause?
Not one.
Who'll toll the bells for them... for us ?
"We'll toll the bells "
The angels said, "for every innocent who dies."
Since all who grieve will ask 'What can I do?'
Words now can wait, while action makes amends.
We're charged, each one of us, to stop
These acts of senseless death!
To rear each human child as future's heir
First...you must deeply care to mentor, and to aid
And for each hurt your constant love's the cure;
The monitor and help for any lack in this society.
Wise parenting will call for effort from us ALL in kind.
We MUST aid those who raise posterity!
Who'll raise the headstone? Take the blame?
Who killed the children?
Maybe you and I. |
