Retribution: Giving Life Where It Was Taken.

October 13, 2011

I woke up this morning with a heavy heart. I couldn’t put my finger on why. Was it the rain? Had I dreamt something disturbing? Was it the full moon? Was it just “one of those days”? It took a few minutes, and some coffee, before I realized today is Clinton‘s birthday. He would have turned 18, had his life not been taken in May of this year. I miss him so, so much.

I’ve done a lot of wrestling within my heart, mind, and soul about Clinton’s death. I’ve tortured myself with the “what ifs” and the “if onlys”. I’ve wished for a time machine to go back and change things. None of that helps, but I guess it’s part of grieving. The untimely death of a young person is never easy, especially when that person’s life is taken by another angry, confused young person. God knows I saw my fair share of those in my ten years of living in Cape Town. It never becomes easier to see.

It’s convenient to direct our anger towards the young, emotional girl who stabbed Clinton in an act of rage, especially knowing that she is currently serving no time for the murder. I think it’s human nature to crave vengeance, to want retribution. We want people to feel what we feel, lose like we have lost. In my most emotional moments, when it comes to those who I care the most about, I might succumb to the quick fix of thinking I desire retaliation, but my logic usually comes to my rescue and tells me otherwise. I realize (at least in this situation) the problem is systemic, and even the young girl who took Clinton’s life is a victim herself.

Don’t get me wrong! I’m not letting her off the hook. I never believe killing is justified, ever! I definitely believe people should be held accountable for their actions, and taking someone else’s life is a colossal deal. But knowing the complexity surrounding the youth growing up in the communities of Cape Town, it is important for me to remember where to direct my anger. The lack of support structures, the drug and alcohol use, the prevalence of abuse and violence, the mistreatment of women and children, gangsterism, unemployment, poverty, lack of social services, a failing education system…all of these things, and more, creating a big, bad, ugly monster called “the system”, holding our children hostage, and raising them.

It is therefore immature of me to be angry at a young girl who grew up in an environment, governed by this corrupt “system”, where violence is the answer to many problems. It is human to seek retaliation, but not fair. The warped part of me, telling me that, “Clinton would want me to want vengeance,” is a voice that comes out of ten years of living within that very system, and a depraved part of myself. At times, even Clinton himself succumbed to pressures of the system he found himself in, but for the most part he was a loving, tender, caring, kind-hearted, wonderful young man, who brought life, love and laughter to those given the pleasure of knowing him.

So, when I meditate on his life and death, and what it might mean to truly honor him today, I can’t help but think the most productive form of retribution is not to allow emotion to take control, and wish ill-harm on anyone else. Misdirected anger or sadness won’t bring back lost lives, and will only contribute to more. The most life-bringing memorial we can have for Clinton, and others like him whose lives have been taken, is to direct our vengeance towards the corrupt system that surrounded them; use the emotion we feel, whether it be heartbreak or anger, as fuel for positive action in battling the system itself, seeking change. Positive retribution is not taking another life, or wishing harm to the one who took it, but rather giving life where it was taken.

Though I’m thousands of miles from Cape Town, and feel even further, I choose to honor Clinton on his birthday today, with positive, hopeful, life-giving thoughts and wishes to the millions of children living in the cracks of the corrupt system of Cape Town, and similar communities throughout the world. We cannot bring back those already lost, but we can put our effort and energy into protecting the young people who are currently living within the system. We can give life where it was taken, offer hope and restoration where there is devastation. I think Clinton would want that.


Inspiration. Breathing.

October 10, 2011

I’ve been thinking about the concept of “inspiration” a lot lately. The other day I looked up the definition, out of curiosity, and I was pleasantly surprised at the second definition of the word.

Inspiration (noun):  1) the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, esp. to do something creative. 2) the drawing in of breath; inhalation.

I had never known the word inspiration could also mean to take in breath, or to breathe. This was exciting to me on several levels. For one, I love the fact that many older languages have words with deep, multiple meanings. English, being a very young language, often lacks this maturity, but in this case it came through for me. Beyond that, I just think it is extremely fitting that inspiration can mean the process of being mentally stimulated and the drawing in of breath. This makes perfect sense to me.

I have experienced how inspiration literally comes as a breath of fresh air, especially in times when the metaphorical “air” around me is stuffy, and polluted. Likewise, I have also seen how people living in ways where they do not seek out inspiration in any way, shape or form begin to die a slow death, like someone being suffocated or strangled; working that nine-to-five that they hate, in order to put food on the table for their unhappy family, convinced that that is what life is about. They are uninspired. They are not breathing.

I think we often see inspiration as a side-benefit to life, or an extra added bonus, but when thinking of it in this way, it is way more important than that. Inspiration is vital. In the same way a person cannot live without breath, someone cannot live without inspiration. The death is different, as the person remains physically alive, but they are dead on the inside; more like zombies, the walking dead. Believe me, there are times when I have felt this way, in a stuffy, oppressive season of life where I felt like I was under water with cement boots on. But when I remembered to fight, and come up to take that breath of metaphorical fresh air, I felt completely rejuvenated again. I felt alive again.

This has reminded me that inspiration is as important as breathing. And though I may not have to consciously remember how to breathe, there are times when I need to be more intentional about taking in that metaphorical breath, my inspiration. I need not forget to take in breath. I need not forget to the importance of inspiration.