Tookie’s Fate Revisited

Students wore colors to school and talked about gangs and redemption with the Independent’s teacher/ diarist after the execution of Crips leader Stanley ​“Tookie” Williams (pictured).

Dec. 13, 2005

Stanley Tookie Williams has been on my mind all day. News of his execution this morning sparked an extended conversation about the death penalty and what it means to ​“do the time” for a crime.
Most of my students this morning felt the true punishment for Williams’ crime should have been to suffer with the knowledge he’d done terrible things — ​“that suffering also meant to live out one’s days in penitentiaries with little, if any, comfort. None of my 9th graders openly supported Williams’ connection to the Crips, but they didn’t openly oppose it, either. They really just questioned the idea of punishment and whether it’s right to follow Hammurabi’s Code and punish ​“eye for an eye.”
I hadn’t noticed it, but some of the students wore blue bandanas to show their support for — ​“or in memory of — ​“Williams. (Blue is for Crips; red is for Bloods.) The newest addition to our staff here, our in-school suspension officer who also happens to be a corrections officer, alerted me to the fact that several kids wore colors today. I told him I’d keep my eye out.
At lunch, I saw one of my 9th graders, Ramon. Ramon has alluded several times to his involvement with gangs. Today he wore his normal clothes but hung a blue bandana out of his left chest pocket.
I pulled him to the side.
​“Ramon,” I said. ​“I understand your motivation to honor someone who has just died. But I would feel more comfortable if you wore your bandana closer to your heart, not on the outside of your shirt.”
​“Okay, Miss,” and he took it off.
​“Thank you.”
I saw him later and he still wore no bandana. And I’m glad for that. I thanked him again.

Meanwhile, I can’t help thinking about my advisory discussion a month or so ago about gangs. We talked about whether or not it’s possible to remove yourself from a gang. We’re also watching scenes from the movie American History X to grapple with the complexity of this question.
Today’s execution adds another layer on. In the 23 years he was in prison, Williams managed to change himself — ​“from the leader of the Crips to a children’s book author who wrote about not getting involved with gangs. Even if a person considers him/herself removed from gang activities — ​“if someone even goes so far as to teach anti-gang lessons — ​“it doesn’t matter. Today’s execution teaches us that rehabilitation doesn’t matter / doesn’t count. No matter how ​“recovered” a person considers himself, it’s always outsiders’ opinions that matter most. Other people won’t allow that ​“criminal” to lead a life free from the ​“gangster” label. No matter what. I personally don’t believe Williams should have been executed, though I didn’t share my opinions with my students — ​“nor did they ask. I think there is something to be said, though, for using these convicted criminals as teachers. Last year, we read the play ​“The Laramie Project.” ​“The Laramie Project” is the play by Moises Kaufman about the murder of Matthew Shepard, a young and homosexual college student. (In October, 1998, Shepard was tied to a fence in Laramie, Wyoming, beaten unconscious, and left to die in the freezing night by two other young men: Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson.) The priest in the play says the same thing about the killers of Matthew Shepard. He said McKinney and Henderson are the best teachers we have because they can show us where we went wrong in society. To give those killers the death penalty would mean we are eliminating two valuable teachers from the world. In a way, I share the priest’s sentiment when applied to Williams. Students involved with gangs aren’t going to listen to me. What intimate experiences have I had with gangs? I haven’t been out there and I have no idea what it’s like. You want to preach the anti-gang message, you gotta hear it from someone who’s seen both sides — ¬¶.Otherwise it’s too After-School-Special. Williams could have been a real resource for the students I have who are like Ramon. Do I idolize Williams? No. Do I think he was a ​“hero”? No. Do I think he could have been valuable in a more positive way? Yes. I think one of the most valuable lessons I can help teach my students is that we can learn just as much from the ​“bad” people as we can from the ​“good” people. I’ve never seen students more engaged in discussion than when we talk about these people whom society has labeled ​“bad.” I am aware of the fine line we walk, though, when we bring discussions like this into the classroom. I’m totally aware of how real these conversations are; that’s one reason I like teaching high school so much: most of the conversations we have in the classroom are about real, important issues. If I can be there with my kids to help guide them toward an effective, respectful, and honest conversation about real issues while being mindful of the turns discussions like these can take, then I’m doing what I need to do as a teacher. There is a place for real talk in a classroom.

Dec. 5, 2005

I went to the Board of Aldermen meeting tonight when my editor asked if I could do some ​“hard reporting.” I don’t know what that means, but I had free time and didn’t want to spend any of it in front of the TV like I knew I would, so I volunteered to pop my head in the building. Tonight only proved to me how very little I know about writing, talking to people, New Haven, and politics.
​“Don’t be afraid to ask questions,” my editor told me while he had me on the phone. ​“The first rule of journalism is there’s no such thing as a dumb question.” (That’s also a rule in my classroom, so I figured I’d be okay.)
He wanted me to go to the caucus of Democrats, a meeting that would take place at 6:30, a half-hour before the real meeting. He told me that the caucus was where all the good stuff would take place, so I showed up ready to take notes and get dirty with the questions.
What I walked in on was this:
​“It’s supposed to snow tonight. Three inches here. Five inches on Long Island. And East of here, even more.”
There were five people seated around the table. One person was eating Subway. Was I in the right place?
I opened up my book to take notes just as a man, who I would later learn was the president (Jorge Perez), asked the five-person group, ​“Shall we get this started?”
I uncapped my pen.
​“Does anyone have anything to say that they haven’t said before?” he continued.
​“No” one voice muttered.
​“Okay; we’re done.”
I looked up. The five members were standing up, popping food in their mouths, walking out the door.
Were they kidding? I guess I had expected something more serious. I expected to see people in business suits and arguments. I wanted to see someone slam his fist down and say, ​“We’re not going to budge on this issue! This is where we stand and we have to be prepared!” So maybe I’ve been watching too much TV.

In the main room, across from the intense meeting of Democrats, I found a seat. As I walked in, I noticed three cameras set up and a disproportionate number of people wandering around wearing stickers that said, ​“I Support YNHH Cancer Center.” Some people carried big yellow posters with things like, ​“Hope Needs A Home” and ​“Don’t Play Politics With Cancer” and ​“Cancer Can’t Wait” written in big block letters on them. What was going on? What was the YNHH Cancer Center?

Cancer has been like a family member to me — ​“one that no one likes and who stays for a long time. It is an issue that is near and dear to my heart, one that makes me overly sensitive and irrational. It runs in my family, mostly on my father’s side. Not only that, but with my recent experiences with Brinn, cancer has been a word I’ve said all too often.
I had to know what was going on with all the pins and t‑shirts and posters, so, like my editor said, I started asking questions.
I turned to the row behind me.
​“Excuse me. What’s the deal with all of the Cancer Center stickers? Why are there so many people who are supporting it right now? Does that mean that there’s some opposition to it?”
I’d probably made the first major mistake of journalism which probably is, ​“Don’t pound your interviewees with questions. Let them speak.”
​“Yeah,” he said. ​“They’re probably opposed to parking, I guess.”
There had to be more than just parking, though.
I started getting embarrassed because I didn’t know what questions to ask next, nor did I think he was invested in trying to help me find the answers, so as I was about to turn around, one woman pointed me in the direction of a person she thought would be able to help.
I met Mark D’Antonio, Robert Hutchinson, and Vin Petrini, three men connected to the Yale New Haven Hospital Cancer Center project. I introduced myself and told them flat-out about my ignorance of the project and any controversy surrounding the project, and they broke it down for me.

The project was approved by the state eight months ago and it’s in a holding pattern for the city at the moment. The hang-up — ​“debating union contracts for foodservice employees — seems to have nothing to do with the building and the goal of the project, and I was instantly in support of YNHHCC. Then again, I was hearing only one side of it and it was a side that appealed directly to my own personal struggles with the disease. (Click here and here for other articles on this subject.)
Why hesitate to construct a building that will do so much good? (Creating jobs, helping people and families with the disease, bring more focus and attention to the city — ¬¶)
What seemed to be even more frustrating is the fact that YNHHCC can’t even get on the agenda and the Board of Aldermen’s meeting is not a place for citizens to voice their concerns. Apparently the last time anyone could address the board was back in September. How is it possible to move forward on this project if their voices can’t even be heard?

The most interesting part of the evening was a period of about three minutes, when the board approved Item 15 on the agenda, which was the decision to move forward in the process of having New Haven’s mayoral campaigns funded by the public. One alderman rose to say a few words about how happy and thankful he was that the board was moving forward with this. He said that this project started three years ago and that tonight was a big step in moving New Haven toward this public funding.

As he was speaking, I looked around the room at all of the faces who were there to support a separate issue — ​“one that wasn’t even on the agenda. I saw the nurses, doctors, administrators, and community members and I wondered if they felt any hope or frustration in the moment. Here they all were in this room — ​“and while one group of people felt the glow of progress and success, another group still had to wait.
That was my primary concern for the rest of the evening, especially when I saw the posters reading, ​“Diagnosis: Delay.” So at the end, when I spoke to the alderman who had addressed the board, I raised the question. Did he give any thought to how these YNHHCC-associated people felt about having to wait on their project, especially in light of his success?
And his reply, with undertones of frustration or anger, was this: ​“They’ve got the worst public relations team — ¬¶No one comes up to me to talk to me—¬¶I want to hear a person say to me, —ÀúI’ve got cancer — ¬¶’”
And then I caught Vin Petrini on his way out. How did he feel about tonight’s resolution passing while his project is still on the back burner? YNHHCC ​“was introduced eight months ago. The issues the aldermen are passing here are important; but there — Àús got to be time for this, too.”

My gut says that we shouldn’t be waiting on building a cancer center in this city. We’ve got a great hospital here with amazing resources. Why hesitate? It seems absurd. And true, I don’t know all of the details about the opposition. I don’t even pretend to know. But the frustration in the alderman’s voice when he spoke to me about Yale clued me in to some tension between the university and the people who live here in New Haven. He said, with a kind of apathy in his voice as he looked around the room, ​“Yale’s got a big group of people here. I don’t know if all of them live in New Haven.” His statement alluded to the kind of grip that Yale seems to have on the city — ​“lots of power in the hands of few who don’t make an effort to know the many. It seemed to me this alderman was lacking sympathy for YNHHCC because he didn’t have any personal connection with any of those involved.
I’m new to New Haven, so I don’t know much about the city’s relationship with Yale. I do know that Yale brings a lot of business and culture to an already culturally-rich New Haven. I know Yale offers local teachers numerous opportunities to enrich their teaching and their practice each year by participating in lectures, professional development series, performances, etc. I know that YNHH is one of the best hospitals in the country.
So I wonder why, when talking to New Haven locals, they say Yale’s name not with appreciation or with reverence but instead with a roll of the eyes.
A few months ago, Yale touted its endowment. Billions of dollars. Three streets over from the main campus of Yale is where some of my students live, hovering at or just below the poverty line. I see how close my students are to one of the best universities on the planet and I see how inaccessible it is to them — ”-how foreign a place it is to them.
To my students, Yale is a place where they sometimes get to see Shakespeare performances. To my students, Yale is a place from which, sometimes, ​“smart kids” come to tutor them. To my students, Yale is a place with iron gates and stone walls that seem impenetrable — ​“until our school forces our kids to go inside and look around and see for themselves. It is like a city of its own. As much as the doors seem open to the city, they’re selectively open. And not for most of the city’s population. And maybe that’s where the tension lies.
On our school’s recent visit to Yale, we paired up each of our 9th graders to a Yale undergrad who would take our kids around to classes for half a day. At the end of the day back at our school, I spoke with one of my girls. She told me that she’d been paired with an undergrad who took her to a chemistry class. This undergrad fell asleep and my 9th grade student took notes for him. ​“Miss,” she said, ​“those kids are worse than we are. They listen to iPods and play games on their computers during class.” (I can’t imagine being the professor for that class — I think my head would spin off.) I was floored by this undergrad’s audacity. Here he was, taking time out of his day to spend time with one of my students (for which I am very grateful) but who falls asleep during class. What kind of message does that send to my student about Yale? From Yale? ​“Fine, come into our school. Come into a class. But we won’t engage you. And in fact, we’ll fall asleep.”
(So my point is a bit exaggerated, and I certainly remember what it was like to be in chemistry class in college — ​“very bored. And I certainly don’t think all of the Yale undergrad hosts were that blatantly out of it. But I question the kind of lesson my student learned about Yale from that experience.)
Maybe Yale gets what it wants nine times out of ten. Maybe Yale gets things done quickly — ​“or maybe it’s able to get things done faster than most other companies. I have no idea. Maybe the frustration they’re feeling about the cancer center is a result of having to wait when they’ve been used to red carpet treatment. The aldermen waited three years. Yale’s waited eight months. Is someone trying to teach Yale a lesson?