Farrell: Reducing homicides in Beaufort County starts with single question

Talk to anyone who has lost a loved one to a shooting or who lives in a community where it's not uncommon to hear that so-and-so got shot at or that so-and-so was killed or that so-and-so went to jail for murder and -- assuming this is not within your own realm of experiences -- you will feel like you and the person you are talking to were raised in different countries.

You weren't.

You are the same. You are humans who live and breathe. Who love and laugh. Who think and act.

But during these moments there is an unfamiliar language being spoken.

A reality that is not yours.

A fear you've never felt.

And, for those directly affected by the shootings, on whatever side of the gun, there is a sadness and helplessness so painful and wild-eyed that words come out as choked pleas between silent shakes of hung heads.

The stories behind the shootings are varied, but all are senseless. They are disputes settled from a cowardly distance with a might that was not God-given and an authority that wasn't remotely earned.

Last year in Beaufort County, 17 people died this way.

Seventeen people are done, finished, out of the game. Their once young life gone. All their chances for joy and happiness erased.

This number -- this body count -- is nearly three times that of the year before and the highest number of homicides the county has seen in 20 years.

Do we care?

That question might be blunt and the answer might seem obvious, but in the search for solutions it's a question and an answer that must first be considered.

Most of those killed were men.

I am not a man.

Most of those killed were black men.

I am not a black man.

Most of their bodies fell in places I have not walked and for reasons that have nothing to do with me.

That is not my neighborhood. That was not my fight.

The shootings are tragedies, but as distant as any other in farflung parts of the world ... where the language is different, where the realities are different, where the fears are different.

Do we care?

For those seeking ways to prevent future homicides, it's important to be very clear about the answer to that question.

A strong belief that it matters -- yes, indeed, it matters -- might be the only thing that can be known for sure.

I say this because there is no clear solution to reducing the violence. There is no single official person or agency to call to action. There is no "crystal ball," as Beaufort County Sheriff P.J. Tanner said. There is no "magic wand," as local anti-violence activist Herman Glaze said.

It's left to chance.

There is lots of blame, though.

It's single mothers. It's absentee fathers. It's an abusive homelife. It's poverty. It's social media. It's white oppression. It's black repression. The police aren't doing enough. The churches aren't doing enough. Community leaders aren't doing enough. Guns are too easy to get. Drugs. Drugs. And more drugs.

And, oh, how about the schools? Isn't that their job to fix this? Isn't it on them to teach their students how to resolve arguments with words instead of weapons? To show students how they can bypass a life of crime for one of lawful productivity?

Schools, of course, can't fix this on their own, nor should they be expected to, but a solid education is at the root of most good things, which is why I talked with Geri Henderson.

Henderson is head of counseling for the Beaufort County school district and a former drill instructor with the Marine Corps. She is often called upon to speak with church youth groups and at other events that stress the importance of education in the black community.

"Every teacher in every school (in Beaufort County) works on (teaching) conflict-resolution with students every day," she said.

There are programs and initiatives. There are action plans and behavioral contracts. Each student has an adviser. There's accountability. There are teachers and administrators who go out of their way daily to make sure that students know they care.

There are lessons on self-esteem and on problem-solving, both race-based and for students at large. And there are efforts to get at-risk students to see that, yes, success and happiness apply to them too.

Yes, you deserve a future.

Ah, the future.

In her career, Henderson has seen "the good, the bad, and the ugly."

A former student of hers was shot and killed last summer. In another incident, a former student was a shooter.

But she can more easily name the students who graduated with honors, who have gone on to college when they never saw college as an option, who received full rides to do so.

She can more easily access in her memory the celebrations and triumphs, rather than the souls lost.

"We're dealing with so many issues," she said. "One (dead) is too many. God, how many (at-risk) kids I've had to deal with in the district. But it is amazing how many succeed, too -- kids raised by single mothers, by their grandparents or in foster homes. You don't hear about those stories. They get overshadowed by the shock. It's shocking. It's shocking to having shootings in Beaufort County.

"But there are so many success stories."

Follow columnist and senior editor Liz Farrell at twitter.com/elizfarrell and facebook.com/elizfarrell.

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This story was originally published January 13, 2016 at 6:01 PM with the headline "Farrell: Reducing homicides in Beaufort County starts with single question."