I went to Balch Springs last night. There was a candlelight vigil for Jordan Edwards, the 15-year-old killed by a police officer named Roy Oliver on Saturday night. It was at Virgil T. Irwin Park on Shepherd Lane, not far from where Jordan died. I went to Balch Springs last night, but I didn’t go as a reporter. I didn’t take notes. If you want a recap, here’s a good one by Marc Ramirez from the Morning News.
I can tell you that all of the speakers were eloquent and powerful, especially Rev. Dr. Michael Waters of Joy Tabernacle A.M.E. Church in South Dallas and Sara Mokuria of Mothers Against Police Brutality. The latter spoke about how it takes some species of butterflies 14 generations to migrate from Canada to Mexico, each moving a little bit further down the path, and that is how we have to treat this situation — each successive generation pushing further, demanding more justice.
I went to Balch Springs last night because Jordan Edwards was 15, a well-liked athlete and hard-working student, a good kid, and all of that sounds like my own son. But what I seized on at the park last night was this: it’s not that Jordan could have been my son, or that of anyone else there, but that he already was. We have to remember — or maybe start by realizing — that we are in this together and that Jordan Edwards was ours. As Imam Omar Suleiman said, “This happened on our watch.”
We have to treat each of these senseless deaths like they happened to us, regardless or race or creed or whatever else, have to feel the hurt as though it was one of our own, have to never stop pushing further until we arrive at justice. I can’t ever know what his parents are going through, what his brothers — who were with him that night — will go through for the rest of their lives. But we all have to try. We all have to grab hold of this and pull it close and never forget.
I went to Balch Springs last night, and part of me will never leave. And I don’t want it to.
