“Okay, this is the last question for our candidates. Mr. Davenport. What is your stance on police shootings as they relate to black lives?”
I perked up and attempted to hide a smile. Keith and I hadn’t discussed this subject. After the recent shooting of a young black man within the district, racial profiling had skyrocketed into a hot topic. I reclined in my seat and, for the first time, willingly looked at my opponent.
Keith cleared his throat and steepled his hands. “As a black male, the shooting of Devon Jordan in my district particularly hit home for me.”
Right. I mentally rolled my eyes. Keith grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood and could count his black friends on one hand—his pinkie and his thumb. Not that his neighborhood had any bearing on race relations, but the man had no desire to connect with his community.
“I’ve had many conversations with citizens and leaders of this fine city. As much as I’d love to push the issue, this type of thing, making a real effort at police training and reform, would have to come from the mayor. It’s truly out of my hands.” He lifted his hand in a “don’t shoot” gesture, the absolute wrong movement, given the topic.
Just keep digging, Keith. I rubbed my hands together like a greedy miser collecting a debt.
“Also, we have to own up to our mistakes. I can’t help but think if the young man had stayed at home, refrained from smoking an illegal drug, this incident could’ve been avoided.”
People shot from their seats. “What in the world?”
“Are you kidding me?” a young black woman yelled from the crowd.
“Everyone, please, settle down,” Martha yelled over the crowd. “Mr. Davenport, are you finished with your points?”
“I want to wrap this up by stating that I am on your side. I will meet with the mayor and the police force to come up with a viable solution.”
“Ms. Njeri, can you please give us your opinion?”
“Absolutely.” I leaned into the mic. “As a public defender, I have a front-row view of the justice system. My clients are lucky enough to be alive but unlucky in that they were arrested. Many of my clients have expressed that when approached by the police, they were often told that they fit the profile of a criminal. This is just another way to criminalize blacks and widen the gap of economic disparity. Jail time, fines, the impact on employment and other opportunities can ruin people’s lives. I am so damn tired of our young men and women being targeted. We have to take steps to end inequalities in Atlanta’s criminal justice system, and I am committed to pushing this through. The way we solve this issue is on a state and on a local level. It’s not just up to the mayor to act.” I looked at Keith, narrowed my eyes. “We have to stop criminalizing petty things like panhandling and drinking alcohol in public, or sending people to jail for parking tickets. And for goodness sake, we have to take care of those who have mental issues and struggle with substance abuse. They deserve help, not jail time. These are just a few ideas, but not all-encompassing. We, the city council, and you, the citizens, can demand change. The police force is enacting the will of the democracy. Together we can make an impact and form a better bond between our community and the police force that protects us.”
A thunder of applause followed my impassioned speech. People rose from their seats again, but this time in support.
“So naïve.” Keith’s sharp voice cut over the crowd. He leaned closer to me, a hand gripping the back of my vacant chair. “You think drug abusers and criminals should just run rampant in our city?” The bitterness in his tone stank like weeks-old trash.
The crowd went quiet, save for one woman that I was pretty sure was Raina, who whispered, “No, he didn’t.”
Yes, he did. Gripping the mic in my hand, I took a cleansing breath, rolled my shoulders back. In my peripheral vision, I saw Chris scoot to the edge of his seat.
“I’m not naïve, Mr. Davenport. I care about our citizens, and I’m not suggesting we let drug dealers run rampant. But up until last year when the city decriminalized marijuana, you could face up to six months jail time. God have mercy on residents outside of the city proper.”
“Caring doesn’t make things happen, Sienna.” He got his tone back under control. This time it was mild and condescending. “Perhaps you’re out of your depth here. But I would like to state, for the record, I do care.”
“Do you now? That’s certainly a change.”
“What does that mean?” He stood, his palms down on the table.
“Did you or did you not refer to my clients as poor, unfortunate souls? Did you or did you not once tell me that they weren’t worth the hours I spent poring over discovery to try to win their cases?”
“Oh, oh. Girlfriend went there,” someone shouted from the crowd.
“Well, hell, he went there first,” someone in the first row yelled back.
Keith adjusted his tie and then licked his lips. “Sienna, I said no such thing.”
“Candidates. Please stick to the topic,” Martha lightly admonished. “Let’s not make this personal.”
“My apologies, Martha.” I straightened my skirt and tossed her a strained smile.
“Sorry,” Keith mumbled under his breath.
Martha nodded, although her eyes brimmed with amusement. “Sienna and Keith, please present your final remarks.”
Keith begged for votes. I tried to pivot and get my Michelle Obama on, but I could tell the crowd wasn’t buying it. The good news: They seemed to like my message. The bad news: Our lovers’ spat may have discredited us as serious candidates.
After the debate, I was accosted by my parents. Kara and Raina looked like they wanted to come over, but I shook my head. I would never live it down if they heard my mother lecture me about controlling my temper.
“Sienna.” Mama grabbed my elbow. She had a strong grip, despite her petite frame. Baba was close behind. My parents maneuvered me to the back of the room. Mama nodded as people waved. On the outside, she was all smiles, but on the inside, I knew she was boiling mad. Mama didn’t tolerate us cutting the fool in public. It didn’t matter that I was in my thirties, had a good job and paid my own bills.
I had definitely cut the fool with Keith, of all people. I sighed and readied myself for the verbal lashing I deserved.
Finally away from the crowd, Mama dropped her smile. “Sienna, dearest, what in the world were you thinking? Arguing like a . . . an elementary student with that man.” She squeezed her slender hands together, again, I knew this was an effort to not swing her hands widely like she usually did when lecturing one or more of her seven kids.
“I . . .” She waved at Baba. “We are so disappointed that you—”
“Speak for yourself, Winnie. I, for one, am proud of our little girl.”
Mama tutted. “Busar.”
“Oh, stop it, woman. I saw you fighting a smile when she went toe-to-toe with that spineless rat. Our daughter has always fought for her fellow man, and we raised an exceptional woman. The only time she got in trouble is when she defended her classmates from bullies and when she boycotted McDonald’s after that ridiculous documentary.”
I smiled. That was the turning point of me becoming a vegetarian. I’d been a junior in high school and had convinced a few other students to picket the McDonald’s near our school. I was convinced McDonald’s was the cause of all things unhealthy, and I wanted to save our little town in middle Georgia. The police had been called, but luckily my parents came by and forced me home.