I can't breathe

“I Can't Breathe!”

The first time I heard that comment was from my older brother's room. He had asthma and on this particular morning, he could not breathe. Mom called the ambulance, he went to the hospital emergency room and returned later in the day.

“I can't breathe!” is a natural ejaculation when one is being smothered. It has been uttered by too many black men in the custody of police. For many of them, it resulted in their death. “Black Lives Matter!” has picked up that sobering statement in their arsenal of themes for their marches.

The statement “Blacks Lives Matter,” reminds me of how John spoke of himself in the book of John. He called himself the “discipled Jesus loved”(John 13:23;19:26;21:7). I never heard a preacher/professor/teacher say John meant he was the only one Jesus loved or Jesus loved him more than others. No, John, son of Zebedee was transformed by realizing the love of Christ for him. “Black Lives Matter” is like that.

I try to keep up, read widely, occasionally think about things, and I have never ever thought “Black Lives Matter” discounted all or any other racial groups. The thrust of the slogan to me is that “Black Lives matter as much as any other life.” I am sadly not sure across this country, we believe that.

However, there is more(to me) in that statement “I can't breathe!” There are many ways to smother the life out of someone. The stifling stench of poverty makes people unable to breathe in hope. Cycles within poverty almost seem unbreakable. Poverty creates less opportunity, provides inferior education, keeps parents working to make ends meet which means some of the structure and guidance which children need is missing. It is also about food insecurity. I honestly have never been without the resources of putting food on the table for my family nor did I grow up in a home where there was concern about getting enough to eat. These recent months of shelter in place meant that grocery shopping was a bit unusual because early on, lots of shelves were empty, selections were few—so I had to pick up something else. We never missed a meal.

“I can't breathe” is also about the crushing lack of opportunity for many in our society. My work at the prison immersed me in the stark realities of what happens when people are poor. While we have public schools, they cannot do everything that needs to be done for each child. Over the last 40 years or so more and more has been put on our public school teachers and administrators. The school provides breakfast, and lunch. They try to teach reading and writing but some children struggle from the beginning. I was not surprised how many offenders were unable to read or write. While I was at Polunsky, several offenders were bold enough to ask for help writing and reading letters. I was pleased to see that some of our staff would help in that way. What can you do if you can't read or write? What kind of a job can you get? What kind of opportunity is there for moving up when you marry and have children.

“I can't breathe” is also about the lack of adequate medical/behavioral health care for those who are poor. I did one and only one home study for an adoption agency that was trying to do a kinship fostering. CPS reached out to a distant poor relative to see if they would take the child. I went out to do the home study. This was after the Affordable Care Act was set up. Texas, though, chose not to expand medicaid although most of the cost would be born by the federal government. So this family who lived in a beat up old trailer house agreed to take in the child. When CPS does a kinship placement, there is no subsidy which comes to the family. So this poor family made just enough to be excluded from the Affordable Care Act but not enough to pay for health insurance. As big hearted as this family was, they had no business trying to raise another child when they could barely take care of their own. Both husband and wife had some chronic issues that needed treatment or surgery but they could not afford to have it done. It is for that reason the mortality rates for COVID-19 impact people of color at higher rates than whites. People of color as a group receive less medical care, have more underlying and poorly treated health issues, and are more likely to die from that lack of medical care. The same is true for behavioral health care for the poor. I remember one of the last offenders I spoke with before I left the prison. He was new to Death Row but asked if he could speak to me. He told me he heard voices. He went on to say that I might not believe him because he had never talked about it to anyone before. This black offender said for as long as he could remember even back to childhood heard these voices and no one told him that was not “normal.” The Black/poor community is shamefully served with behavioral health services. And sadly in Texas, our Legislature chooses to not address the needs of the poor. I have often told folks, “The Legislature has provided medical and behavioral health services for you. We will send you to prison.” Tragically, Texas will spend $30,000 a year to house, feed, clothe, provide medical/behavioral health care for one offender. Community medical and behavioral services could be done for far less.

“I can't breath,” is also about the absence of hope when you are poor. I have been a part of criticizing the way the poor spend their money, on what they spend their money, and how poorly they budget. Sadly, that is my middle class privilege condescendingly critiquing from my life and experience which is nothing like the world of the poor. Poverty extinguishes personal pride because one is always trying to get to the next day. More times than not that means asking for help because you cannot get to tomorrow without it. I have never really had to do that growing up or raising a family.

However, there were two times in my adult life when I realized my life was not like the poor. When my father was sick and dying I had to make some trips from Mineral Wells to see him and mom outside of Midland. I would spend a couple of days, help where I could, and then come home. With two young children at home, money was tight. At that time, Mineral Wells did not have an organized way of helping transients. So it was not unusual for folks to stop by the church asking for money or gas to get somewhere down the road. My self righteous attitude thought but did not say, “Didn't you realize when you started out on your trip you didn't have money or gas enough? Why on earth would you do that?” Then it happened to me, my dad was dying. I had to go help just for a couple of days, and I would leave with no money in my pocket. I asked myself the question, “So what if your car breaks down or you have a flat and ruin a tire?” Well, I did not need cash because I had credit cards. I never asked that question in my head again. The other time was more embarrassing. The boys were sick perhaps even Anna, and after I paid out at the doctor's office, there was nothing left to pay for the prescriptions the doctor had written. I told Anna I did not know what to do. However, we had a pharmacy in town that was at the back of a small department store with a coffee area where folks were always gathered drinking coffee. I knew the pharmacist and knew he was a kind Christian man. Fortunately, he came out to the cashier station and smiled. Asking me if I needed the prescriptions I had in my hand, I said I did. Then I said the hardest thing I ever had to say. It was honestly humiliating. I told the pharmacist, “I spend all I have at the doctor's office so I have nothing to pay for these prescriptions.” He looked at me, smiled, and said, “So you want to open a charge account.” That man will never know how much that simple act of kindness and unblinking enthusiasm meant to me. All of that is to say, the poor don't have those resources or that hope.

If the reality of your life is focused on just getting to tomorrow, looking beyond tomorrow can be overwhelming.

Wash your hand, mind the gap, and be kind.