By Mark David Blum, Esq.
Whether it is by hardwiring or by socialization, it has always been my immediate response to run into the fire to help a fellow human being. All my life, I have reached out, broke in, intervened, and stood up for a person in trouble. It mattered not to me if they were young or old, black or white, male or female. A human being in need of help was where I devoted my energies. My career as an attorney best exemplifies that trait.
Coming up on five years ago, I met a person in dire distress. A family was in desperate need of help. Our first encounter was at the Onondaga County Justice Center. Begged by a crying and panicking mother to help find her missing son who had been arrested by police a day before, I ultimately located and went down to see him. Discovered by me to be unconscious, laying naked on the floor with a paper blanket, I managed to wake him up briefly to learn of his situation. In the few minutes I was in his cell, I personally saw extensive bruising on his rib cage, a very swollen right wrist, massive swelling on his left ankle, multiple bruises on his face and the bridge of his nose. He complained to me of numbness in his wrist and how hard it was for him to breathe.
When I discovered these injuries came at the hand of Syracuse Police for the heinous crime of blowing a stop sign, I was appalled and immediately went to work. The more I learned and explored, the more I discovered his innocence.
At the same time as this young man was healing, I saw in him that ineffable quality rarely seen in most folks. Best described as an unpolished diamond, over time I came to know this young man as being lost and flailing about as he searched for a place in society and a life. He is smart though uneducated, charismatic though unschooled, and a man of great honor and integrity.
Many times over the years, I have met young men who for one reason or another attracted my attention beyond our professional relationship. With each, I desperately tried to reach out and rescue them from the fire which engulfed them. Most times, the problem was just one of socialization and education to the rules of civilized society. Without exception, every single one of them could not hold on and in the end, gave up and either went to prison or was killed.
With this last young man, I swore he would be the last. So much heart and energy is required, that to see my efforts frustrated makes the situation untenable. I simply could not handle the loss of another human being to stupidity. At the same time, I believed – really believed that if I could make even a small difference, the overall impact would spread like a virus into all aspects of his life. Unfortunately, until this last one, all my efforts were for not.
Today, I sit at this keyboard for a different reason. It is I and not the young man, who has given up. It is hard enough to deal with the streets and the rules of the ‘hood. Even with my educational and practical background and ability to hang and communicate “street”, I no longer have the strength to fight this battle alone.
If the battle was just between myself and the forces of poverty and gangs, then perhaps I would have succeeded. But when I reach out and instead of help, the entire system gathers itself up and works against my efforts, eventually even the strongest among us will fall. I can no longer stomach this epic battle for the soul of one man. Forces that work against me are so much stronger and when I seek help, I get rebuffed, rebuked, and rejected. The end result is another life soon to occupy a bed at a State prison or worse, a hole in a cemetery.
I take responsibility for my own shortcomings. But this discussion does not end there. The Syracuse Police Department deserves a lot of the credit. When I filed a civil action against them four and a half years ago, instead of cleaning up their house they resorted to escalating the situation. In doing so, they drove me closer to the client but destroyed the client’s sense of safety and comfort in his own home. Repeatedly police broke into his home without warrant or exigency, searched his cars and his neighbor’s homes, arrested him on cleared warrants, and manufactured charges against him. Each time this happened, I would become more radicalized and even moreso determined to win the battle and assure my client’s safety.
But the police are not alone. I sought help from the media as well. All three law reporters from the Syracuse Newspapers ignored the stories and the reports. One went so far as to delete emails unread. Television news channels 5 and 9 were given the information but they too ignored the issue. City government, County government, and even the Feds were made aware of the problem but they too turned their backs. George Kilpatrick who is the only person of color in local media, chose to ignore me. Social activists like Reverend Larry Ellis or Carol Perry also turned away. Even professors from Syracuse University took little interest in the problem.
What is this massive monstrous problem they all ignore? The plight of the young black male in the City of Syracuse. How do you extricate a man from the gang life? How do you convince someone to trust you and the system when the system itself is grinding you into hamburger? Where do you turn to save one life from the hell of a 6x9 foot cell? In this part of the country, frankly there is nowhere. Those to whom you would normally turn pretend the problem doesn’t exist. To quote an entire bar full of police officers who all raised their glasses in a single toast, “fuck that client”. In my mind, such should be the new Upstate New York slogan: “Fuck the Blacks. Fuck the Poor.” Spend five minutes on the streets and you will see that attitude from every police officer and government official who dares come down. Even their own elected legislators ignore the problem; but then again when Lovie Winslow spends all her time at home and away from her official duties, who can blame a community for falling apart.
Right now, I am tired. Having spend thousands of hours and dollars and used every resource available to me – from counselors to landlords, I thought I had the battle won. I believed his soul was now mine and rehabilitating from a life of violence and fear. With the good help of a couple of people, we were able to get him a home, furniture, and a sense of stability. I cleaned up his petty criminal record and gave him a fresh start.
Alone, however, I cannot win the battle. Forces in the street and the allure of ‘hood life are far more romantic than the daily drudge of a job and being a responsible citizen. I have watched this man stand tall in face of being dragged by the hair from his job by police. I was there when the system crashed his party and handcuffed him and all his friends for no reason. He was thriving and trusting me enough to come out of the darkness. But in the end, when it is only me and nobody else giving a damn, I cannot prove the example I am trying to set.
There is not a street in the Southside I cannot walk down. I have earned the respect of everybody of every stripe and color. They know me because I am not afraid of being down there. They know me as being someone who will be straight and honest with them and treat everybody with dignity and respect regardless of their lives or lifestyle. It is not my place to judge the person; only their actions.
Over these past years, thanks to my friend’s help, we were able to negotiate peace between warring gangs and in fact, there has not been a gang dispute in Syracuse for more than two years. Small changes in behavior have had massive impact. For example: showing an alternative means to settle disputes, teaching how to be better and more responsible parents, and directing people to jobs or education or even helping set up small businesses. You have no idea how much change can come about as a result of one person doing one small thing that makes a difference in someone’s life and outlook.
I however, have lost my stomach for fighting a war by myself. It is bad enough the system ignores my pleas for help. When it works against me, then the battle shifts from making things better to being a body guard and babysitter to protect against another enemy; the system itself. Rehabilitating the system in this county is beyond my scope of capability. Having morphed into a monster that eats its own, Onondaga County and the governments and entities therein are not to be trusted with the lives of their citizens. Creating an “us versus them” situation, this county does little more than drive the poor into gangs and criminal lifestyles and attacks anybody who tries to step in and help.
I am tired. It is not the guns or knives or threats that wore me down. I can handle the streets because the streets are my own home turf; where I grew up. Long ago I lost my fear of dying and in many respects, taking a bullet would be a welcomed relief. This gives me the ability to stand up and face down even the roughest of bad guys. It has also given me the power and credibility to get the attention and respect from those I have been trying to reach.
Rather, it has become obvious to those around me that I cannot deliver on my promises to help. The jobs are not there. Legislators make promises they do not keep. Indians seem to be more of interest to Syracuse and the University. The local media cares more about puppies and black bears than it does the lives of the community. Police and prosecutors work overtime to escalate the problems. C.O.R.E., Mr. Fitzpatrick? Seriously, Syracuse now has a secret blacklist of persons to be targeted by police. Am I on it? Are you?
Collectively, the situation is such that I cannot control it any longer. I lack resources and strength. Slowly I am watching four years of work with an entire neighborhood deconstruct and people are returning to the old school ways of handling things. Me, today, I feel like a failure. I have fought myself out and have no more energy to carry on. So, I have packed up my toys, my tent, and my gear, and walked away. I may still be the attorney for one or more folks and will zealously continue my representation to its natural conclusion. I never abandon a client.
But, having reached the end of my patience and endurance, all I can do now is stand back and watch. When the blood starts flowing again and the bodies pile up, I will mourn. I will probably cry at the loss of someone I knew as a person; a person whose entire essence will be summed up in a brief couple of inches in the back pages of the newspaper. Rest assured I know where the blame lies. Unfortunately no one person will assume the responsibility since so many have worked so hard to ignore and destroy a community.
I am thankful to have met the people I did. They are now a part of who I am and everything I will ever be. The tale of my history would be incomplete without understanding my love for certain people. But, the end has come for me. It is no longer my fight. It is yours. Good luck.
