Poetry: The Price of Equality

The Price of Equality

The men were so different
Or opposite they thought.
One Black.
One White.
Hatred or fear
Fated this meeting.

And now they are equal
Both slumped dead on the ground
One red
One red
Both dead
Clenching cold steel

And now they are equal
And now they are equal

A Fletcher, 1990

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I found this poem of mine stashed away in our garage. I originally wrote it during my senior year of college when I was finishing my bachelor’s degree in English at the University of the Pacific in Stockton, CA.

In the early 90’s, there seemed to be a fascination everywhere with inner-city gang warfare. Hollywood and many of the early rap artists capitalized on this by producing films and songs that followed these same themes. The evening news, talk shows and radio personalities seemed to report regularly about gangs that functioned smoothly both inside and outside of the prison system. They often described a network of organized leadership that separated themselves by race and skin color.

Many of the stories were often sensationalized. We heard often about turf wars and how drugs brought shootouts into our neighborhoods and schools. I can remember thinking that if you lived on the wrong side of town, you were at risk for a potential “drive-by shooting.”

Politicians promised to solve the gang crisis as well as the overwhelming “gun problem.” With initiatives like California’s “Three Strikes” law and an ever increasing police force, every election cycle had newer initiatives and newer guarantees.

At the community level, leaders and educators analyzed the issues of racial inequality, lack of opportunity, poor education, an abandonment of financial investment and the breakdown of the family unit in urban communities. These facts, combined with the recognition that the “war on drugs” was not working, did not put a dent in the senseless deaths that seemed to happen regularly.

At some point I realized that violent crimes seemed to focus more and more on colors. The color of someone’s clothing. The color of someone’s skin. The solution was always that we needed more education. We need to learn to understand each other better and to celebrate our differences. Civic leaders and educators encouraged us to not allow hatred or fear drive our behavior.

The poem started there. I still like it. I hope you do too.

Quietly making noise,
Fletch