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Society
Issue date:
July 24-26, 1998
Message of Hope
You'd expect Mary Nell Verrett to be filled with hate. Her brother was the man killed so brutally in Jasper, Texas. But she says, "He
would have wanted the world to grow from this. I think it will."
On June 7, the brutal killing of James Byrd Jr. jolted the nation.
The details are horrific: Byrd, 49, walked along a country thoroughfare
early that morning near his home in Jasper, Texas, and got a lift.
He was then beaten, and his ankles were chained to a pickup. He was
dragged for two miles, his body ripped apart. USA Weekend staff
writer Dennis McCafferty went to Jasper and spoke with Byrd's sister
Mary Nell Verrett, who talked about love, hate and healing.
On the road where her brother James Byrd Jr.
hitched his fatal ride, Verrett holds his photo. Three men have been
charged in his death.
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 ll my brother did in the early morning hours of June
7 was walk down a country road. Before the sun rose, he was dead. That
week, my family was confronted with the unspeakable details.People may well expect that my family and I are filled with hate and fear.
Here's the truth: My brother would have wanted the world to grow from
this, and I think it will. Our family has no use for destructive hate.
We have done our best to communicate a message my brother would
have wanted the world to know: We are all here to stay. It is just as
well we learn to live together as one community.
And fear? Let me tell you about our hometown of Jasper. On the stores in our little town
of 7,160 people, on the front page of our newspaper, we've seen yellow
ribbons. When I visit Jasper from where I live in Houston, my four
children walk the streets safely. We will not live in fear in our own
hometown. By now, everyone knows how my brother, James Byrd Jr.,
died. I want you to know how he lived. My brother was the third of eight
children, and I am the fourth. We were close in age and mind. He was a
star trumpet player who got the big solos in the school band. When we
were young, he'd watch over me and my sisters, protecting us like a
tent. When his little sister Mylinda, now 45, joined him on the
road with the band, my brother kept her from the mischief that happens
when no parents are around. My brother was good friends growing up with
my future husband, Leroy, but he checked him out to make sure his
intentions were sincere when he was courting me.
Update on Hate Crimes
The FBI reported 8,759 incidents in 1996, up from 7,947 in 1995. (The higher numbers are largely due to an increase in agencies reporting numbers.)
For detailed FBI reports on hate crimes, go to the Web site http://www.fbi.gov/publish.htm.
The Southern Poverty Law Center Web site, www.splcenter.org, contains summaries on hate movements as well as a potential solution:
the national "Teaching Tolerance" project.
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As we grew older, our family's strength supported my brother as he sought to help
himself. He lost his way for a while, committing small crimes. He
worked hard to get himself on the right path. I'd send him letters and
cards, like one with a sailboat on open seas. "Keep at it," I'd
write. Just six months ago, he finally got his own little apartment.
That little place meant so much to his self-esteem. I brought him his
favorite song, I Believe I Can Fly. "That's my theme song in
life,'' my brother said, his eyes glowing with joy. He couldn't wait for his son, Ross, 20, to get a furlough from Fort Benning, Ga., to come
visit his place. His place. It sounded like music. "Now, get off
my son's bed,'' he'd say with a smile, shoo-ing friends off the
roll-out sofa. "Nobody sits there until my son gets here. He's coming
home and he's going to stay with me." Now, Ross is in such pain, I don't
think he can walk past that apartment. People must think before committing violent acts: There's more than one victim. A link in our
family chain is forever broken. Hate and love are the most powerful of
emotions. Hearts are the seeds of motivation for all acts. This act of hate has inspired the most profound outpouring of love I've known. I
sit on my parents' floor and read stacks of mailings. Thousands of
letters, from all over the world, pack two huge Tupperware containers.
"We are so far away in miles,'' I think, "but so close in mind and
heart." The healing will take some time. Just recently, the Ku Klux
Klan marched in our hurting town. People ask me what I thought of that.
Here's what I tell them: "What a privilege it is to be in a country and
a place where you can exercise your freedom to assemble and march. I
wish that same dignity had been allowed for my brother." Will we ever forgive the men who did this? Forgiveness is when you let go of
resentment. We resent now. But when you carry resentment inside, it
tears away at you. You become sick. You become a victim all over again.
It can keep you from sleeping, eating and thinking straight. It can keep
you from going forward. One day, we won't resent anymore.
Photo Credit: PAM FRANCIS FOR USA WEEKEND |
