A Good Neighborhood

by Therese Anne Fowler

We’ll say no one can be known by only what’s visible. We’ll say most of us hide what troubles and confuses us, displaying instead the facets we hope others will approve of, the parts we hope others will like.

The stories we as a culture love best almost always have a villain.

What we do know is this: Some force that for all practical purposes is as real as those that can be observed and measured by science draws people together even when they rationally understand that this kind of together is not in their apparent best interests. They are helpless before it. Oh, sure, they can resist acting on it, but they can’t prevent themselves from feeling what’s true.

How unfair that the past was irretrievable and yet impossible to leave behind.

Black men (and if you, biracial boy, aren’t totally white, you are for every intent and purpose Black) were more likely to be wrongly convicted and to serve longer sentences than whites. Separate those stats into North versus South and the numbers were grimmer still. People could debate the causes and conclusions all day long; the numbers, though, didn’t lie.