OAKLAND, Calif.—At
a busy intersection, here in East Oakland, horns blare in the Saturday morning air
as a band of faithful soldiers stand and chant.
“Some-bo-dy di--i-ied
here,” intones a woman.
“Some-bo-dy di-i-i-ied
here,” the group yells back.
Nearby, a
mourning mother whose two teenage sons were murdered in separate incidents—less
than a month apart—carries poster portraits.
“Honk for Guns
Down,” reads a sign. “Honk for Peace,” reads another. In response, motorists sound
their horns, smile and wave as they pass.
Among those marching this warm winter’s day are children and also the elderly, black and white, men and women, Baptists and Episcopalians. Some finger the “peace” sign. Others wave colorful placards. Their mission—begun three years ago—remains incomplete.
Among those marching this warm winter’s day are children and also the elderly, black and white, men and women, Baptists and Episcopalians. Some finger the “peace” sign. Others wave colorful placards. Their mission—begun three years ago—remains incomplete.
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"The faith community can win where government policies and even laws fail.
The church can reach hearts and souls and help transform lives."
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Paula Hawthorn holds up the peace sign while toting a sign
Saturday (Feb. 15, 2014) at a rally in East Oakland, Calif., to
bring awareness and a stop to murder and gun violence.
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“I said, ‘somebody died here.’ Der-rick
died here. La-mar died here…” the leader continues, her half-sung chorus blasting
over a bullhorn.
“I am outraged,” she
chants. “I am irritated…”
The battle cry of
several dozen protestors resounds far beyond this intersection at 98th
and Bancroft Avenues. Their presence alone speaks volumes.
The group is
mostly True Vine Ministries, a non-denominational congregation, whose pastor, Reverend
Zachary E. Carey, fed up with gun violence in his city, founded SAVE, or
Soldiers Against Violence Everywhere. Their mantra: “Gun violence isn’t just a
public health concern, it’s the number-one concern.”
Since 2011, the
group has held hour-long, weekly “stand-ins,” assembling at a street where
someone was slain. So they stood this past Saturday—fighting, hoping, praying
for change, casting light on this darkness, and in recent years have seen a
notable decline in violent crime here, Carey said, but not enough.
“You can hear
mothers wailing in the streets all over America,” Carey told the group.
I am moved by
their plight, by the commitment and vision of their pastor whom I met about
seven years ago on a trip to South Africa. Like me, Carey, 53, believes in the power of the church to
impact society in ways government cannot. That the church has a critical role
to play in the creation and also the healing of community.
That the faith
community can win where government policies and even laws fail. That the church
can reach hearts and souls and help transform lives.
And like Carey, I believe that
some enemies and issues must be confronted not only in the natural sense but also
spiritually. That the murder and gun violence that plague black and brown
communities across this nation are among these.
And that there is no more
critical an issue of our time than the scourge called homicide. This is a human
rights issue and no greater injustice than the unjustified taking of human
life.
I stood with
Carey and True Vine last Saturday in Oakland. But it could have been a street
corner on Chicago’s West or South Side, or a corner in many other urban
American cities plagued by gun violence and murder.
And while I am
aware that there are others in the faith community who also have taken up this
cause, it would hardly be a stretch to say that most haven’t.
And why not?
Especially since so many of them can also say about their neighborhood streets:
“Some-bo-dy di-i-i-ied here.”
Editor's Note: This story originally ran as a column in the Chicago Sun-Times Feb. 20, 2014.
Email: Author@John W. Fountain.com
Website: Johnwfountain.com
Email: Author@John W. Fountain.com
Website: Johnwfountain.com