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On November 23, 2013, most Americans were preparing for
Thanksgiving. We were marking the anniversary of JFK’s
assassination and watching the weather, the news on Iraq or
the Baylor/Oklahoma State game. We were enjoying our
weekend. And on that Saturday, 10 random children died of
gunshot wounds in this country.
That, says Younge, has become too normal. It barely even
registers anymore. For awhile, there were websites that
tracked this kind of thing but, for the most part, the
deaths of these “kids” – coincidentally, all boys on this
day: seven African Americans, one white, two Hispanic – are
unmarked, except to families and locals.
The youngest, nine-year-old Jaiden Dixon, was a “giving
soul” with a “valentine” he thought he might marry someday.
Preparing for school on a Friday morning, he opened the door
for his mother’s ex-boyfriend, who shot Dixon in the face.
Dixon died the next day.
The girlfriend of Kenneth Miller, who was “just three days
shy of his twentieth birthday,” learned of his death through
Twitter. Seventeen-year-old Stanley Taylor was killed over
“spontaneous drama.” Legally blind, 18-year-old Pedro Dado
Cortez worked for his father and dreamed of learning to
drive.
Eleven-year-old Tyler Dunn was shot by a playmate, while
16-year-old Edwin Rajo was accidentally shot in the chest by
his best friend. Samuel Brightmon was “conflict averse,”
Tyshon Anderson had been shot several times before, Gustin
Hinnant was an honor-roll student and Gary Anderson was
killed because he wore a red hoodie.
One bullet tore apart a small town. All devastated families
and friendships. Some were in areas where “Nobody knows
where the next shot is coming from…. But everybody knows
it’s coming.”
Before we get any further, there’s this: British-born author
Gary Younge doesn’t overtly advocate, nor does he denigrate,
gun control but astute readers can catch a clue. He also
writes about parenting, particularly within the black
community, about gangs, prisons and about the NRA and its
influence.
And these are interesting subjects but the real power comes
in the stories he uncovers in Another Day in the Death of
America. Younge doesn’t just write about the demises of
the ten “kids” he found; he also helps readers understand
the men they might have become and what we truly lost in
losing them. That kind of unflinching journalism packs
gut-punching, timely meaning, and you won’t forget it.
“Pick a different day, you get a different book,” says
Younge on the randomness of his research, which is perhaps
the most poignant sentence you’ll ever read. So pick
Another Day in the Death of America. It’s no ordinary
story.
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