Aja Johnson holds a photo of herself and her mother Lenene Muldrow in their former Woodlawn apartment. Muldrow's husband was shot and killed on the South Side, and Johnson left Woodlawn due to frequent gun violence there. Carolina Sanchez for The Trace
By Justin Agrelo, The Trace, December 15, 2023
This fall, I attended a support group for parents who’ve lost children, mostly to gun violence. The monthly gathering is hosted by Elizabeth Ramirez with Parents for Peace and Justice and Rincon Family Services. Eight parents, each at different phases in their grief, attended that night. Some were open about their children, the lives they lived, the things they accomplished, the dreams they left waiting. Others were more reserved, choosing to listen, searching for comfort from fellow travelers. One woman, C, shared something I hadn’t heard put into words before. When her son was killed, she wasn’t ready to not be his mother. Years later, she still wants to be his mother. She still is.
C’s comment made me reflect on the many ways that gun violence strips survivors of their agency, sending their lives in a direction they never could have imagined, and never would have chosen. How survivors are often forced to grapple with circumstances they did not choose. I often think about how we as media makers play a role in that loss of choice. Episodic crime stories are published every day in Chicago. In their attempt to cover nearly every homicide, reporters often boil people’s lives down to just a few details, often defining them by their deaths. I think about how little choice communities are given in deciding what their loved ones’ public narrative will be after they’re gone.
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