“Justice will not be served until those
who are unaffected are as outraged
as those who are”
–Benjamin Franklin
“Mami, what is justice?” You ask me on our
drive to school, your ocean-blue eyes fixed
on Benjamin Franklin’s quote on my shirt.
“Imagine I’m Justice and have to decide every
night who, between you and your friend Nate,
behaved better during the day. Imagine I have
a magic measuring cup where you can pour
what you didn’t do right: you blamed Chiqui’s
tail for the broken glass, you didn’t clean up
your toys when I asked you to; you forgot to
brush your teeth after lunch. At the end of the
day, your cup is full while Nate’s is empty, so
I will have to praise his behavior and correct
yours, although you are my son, not him. Being
Justice, I must do what is right.” You seem
content with my answer, unaware that I’ve told
you a lie. I don’t believe there is justice. I don’t
believe that the law is impartial, or that bias does
not exist. And yet, am I wrong if I want to protect
you from the ugliness of the world as long as I
can? Who would want to grow up in a world where
a woman is raped by five men taking turns, then
claim that she asked for it by the way she was
dressed? Where teenage boys are arrested, coerced
to confess to a crime that they didn’t commit and
even sent to death row? Where a business can turn
away a customer, fire an employee, for being gay
or transgender? Where a person can be pulled over for
doing nothing wrong, to be later asked to explain how
a forty-year-old black man would not have a rap sheet?
I stand in your school drop-off line, surrounded
by kids ages four to twelve—white, black, Asian,
Hispanic, Native American—all facing the American
flag, right hands over their hearts, reciting the Pledge
of Allegiance: “One nation under God, indivisible,
with liberty and justice for all.” My throat feels full
and tight. My lips start to quiver.
As I drive away, tears
stream down my face.