By Kenneth L. Hardin

Several years ago, I was speaking by invitation for the second consecutive year to a class of social work students at Winston-Salem State University, when I made a statement that left the students’ mouths agape. Unless you’ve just been introduced to me today while reading this column, you know if I’m asked a question, I’ll provide an honest, unfiltered and uncensored response.

People are so used to being caressed with a lie while doing just little enough in life to qualify for a participation trophy, they mistake direct, assertive communication as malicious and angry. I often remind people, who feel froggy enough to jump into a pseudo-intellectual discussion with me, that I will offer you unabashed and unapologetic responses. It will be nothing like the insincere watered-down conversation most people engage in that’s akin to giving you a cough drop to mask the symptoms of a sore throat or cream to dilute the strength of your coffee. I don’t offer fat-free or less filling discussions; you get full strength. So, if you’re ill prepared to accept my honesty, then please don’t bring your toys onto my verbal playground.

As I sauntered around the room answering ideological questions lodged at me by collegiate minds not yet jaded by real life, a bright female student asked if we should try to save every young Black person regardless of whether they act outside of the law. I hesitated for a millisecond wondering if I should provide them with the full breadth and weight of how I truly felt or pacify them so they could maintain their innocent worldview. In that one thousandth of a second I took to ponder my decision, I knew I had to stay true to myself. I said, “If you’re safely in a boat with the ones who want to be rescued, and a few, that are unwilling to do what’s necessary to be part of the saved group, are hanging on to the side of the boat nearly causing it to tip over, you kick them in the face until they let go. Those, you don’t worry about.” There was a quiet hush that temporarily took over the class and I could see the students were processing what I had just shared. At the conclusion of my remarks, they gave me hearty applause and the instructor thanked me for coming. Evidently, I didn’t do any harm as I was invited back the next semester to talk to a new group of students.

Although that college student encounter was a few years ago, that’s not the last time I’ve shared that position. I did so on two separate telephone calls last week with residents who discussed being weary of the continual gun violence and drug dealing that’s occurring with regularity in this city. Every time there’s a shooting, murder or heavy police presence, my phone and computer come to life. People who live near the scene will call, text or inbox me details, pictures and videos. I typically share the information on my social media page and urge caution to residents who live in or around the area. In the wake of the mass of local and federal law enforcement officers that descended on a West End home last week, the two residents reached out and shared their disdain for the continued crime activity. They agreed with my position that when it comes to young people of color opting to sell poison to their own people or terrorize the residents of the community where they live, I have little to no sympathy or concern about the outcomes they face or the disposition of their lives with the legal system.

That sentiment doesn’t just extend to the names I read in the police blotter, but to my own offspring too. Fortunately, my three now-adult sons followed in my footsteps and never traveled down a path that would lead them into a world of crime, drugs and eventually into the belly of the beast. I recall having a discussion with them back in middle school about how I would react and respond if they were ever arrested. We were sitting in our den talking about avoiding trouble with the law when their mother assured them that if they ever got arrested we would get them out one time only. I quickly replied, “Oh no the hell we won’t. It’s not that hard to stay out of trouble, so if you get arrested, you’ll sit in there. Don’t waste a phone call to this house.”

The familiar refrain I often hear that leans more towards excuses and rationalizations is that drugs, gun violence and murders occur everywhere and are not unique to just our city. This doesn’t absolve us from our responsibility to our young folks or make us somehow immune to criticism for our failure. Besides, I don’t live “everywhere” so I’m more concerned about being a crime victim where I do actually live. I’ve been accused of only focusing on crime involving youth of color. Since I’ve never had the opportunity to live as anything other than an African in America and I’m more often contacted by people who look like me, I speak about what I’m more familiar with. Crime and violence have no color designation and there’s a false belief that one ethnic demographic commits more than another. People commit crimes where they live and against who they live closest to. Instead of engaging in racial Olympics and rooting for your home team, how about we collectively root for the cessation of all the crime, period.

  Kenneth L. (Kenny) Hardin is a member of the National Association of Black Journalists.