By Dr. David Hinds
A few weeks ago I was approached by slain activist Courtney Crum Ewing’s mother. She asked me to use my voice to help bring justice for her son. I was humbled by her request. She spoke in a quiet and dignified tone, but her frustration was evident. As I stood there for those few minutes I saw visions of my own mother having that conversation with someone.
On Friday last, I briefly joined a picketing exercise mounted by his parents and friends at the corner of Middle and Carmichael streets to draw attention to the fact that there is still no justice for Courtney. As I approached the picket line, I was struck by the small number of picketers. Then I saw Courtney’s mother standing in the line, picket in hand. I went straight to her and apologized for not yet honoring my promise to do something to highlight her plight. She understood—I think.
The few of us on that picket line looked like a lonely bunch. Others passed in their cars or on foot and a few curiously looked at us. One or two stopped to enquire what the picket was about. The majority went about their business as if we didn’t exist. Absent was the huge crowd that attended Courtney’s funeral. The politicians were nowhere in sight. It felt lonely. The media, it seems, could not be bothered; they were absent. Oh what a place of short memory!