By Susan MacLaury

Several months ago, I joined the National Juvenile Justice Network (NJJN), hoping to better understand the American juvenile justice system as a producer of Shine’s documentary, “Virtually Free,” about three male teens in detention in Richmond, VA. I’m glad I did. Their newsletters and notifications provide a valuable perspective on the scope of juvenile detention in the United States, its contributors, and its consequences.

Were it not for NJJN I would never have learned that on May 29th, four days after the murder of George Floyd on May 25th in Minneapolis, another, much younger Black male, died in Kalamazoo, Michigan while being forcibly restrained by 4 staff members at Lakeside Academy for Children. His name was Cornelius Frederick. He, too, cried out: “I can’t breathe,” also to no avail. He was taken to a local hospital, unresponsive, and died the next day of cardiac arrest due to asphyxiation. His initial offense which prompted this collective restraint? He threw a sandwich at another student at lunch.

Cornelius was 10 when his mother died, and he and his four siblings were put into the care of their stepfather, according to his aunt, Tenia Goshay. Several months later his stepfather was incarcerated and Cornelius became a ward of the state, housed first at Wolverine Human Services in Detroit for two years. Diagnosed with behavioral problems and PTSD, he was moved from Wolverine to the Lakeside Academy and had been there for approximately 2 years at the time of his death.

Lakeside is one of several facilities privately owned and operated by Sequel Youth and Family Services “that develops and operates programs for people with behavioral, emotional or physical challenges” in more than a dozen states. In a sad irony, due to the impact of COVID-19 on the Lakeside facility that infected 39 residents, including Cornelius, and 9 staff, efforts were being made to relocate the residents, but there was no place for him to go.

One has to wonder not only about the circumstances of Cornelius’ death but also his last day alive. Where was he eating? With whom? Was he quarantined as he should have been? Who called for help to restrain him and why? These questions may never be answered but what is clear is that Cornelius’ life was too painful, and too brief. During this very important movement toward real justice reform let us remember Cornelius and the countless other children and teens who are NOT disposable. Their lives are precious. Their lives matter. They are all our children.

By Susan MacLaury

TV coverage of the demonstrations being waged across the US reveals that protestors as a group are very diverse, that most who come out do so with the intent to make their concerns known peacefully, and that there are law enforcement officers who sympathize with those demanding change. More than one police chief has been filmed taking a knee, embracing protestors, or walking arm in arm with them.

These moments are harbingers of hope as well as a reminder that the majority of police officers are well-intentioned and have taken their jobs to serve their communities. It can come as a shock to such persons that their efforts, while well-intentioned, don’t always achieve the goals they assume they will.

One case in point was this statement made last week by Alfred Durham, former police chief of Richmond, VA. Mr. Durham was one of three persons doing a Q and A after a screening of Shine Global’s most recent film, the short documentary Virtually Free, filmed in 2017 and 2018. He was Chief Durham then, the head of the Richmond police force. As such, he was one of several unlikely allies who came together to in support of a program called Performing Statistics, then housed by a local arts program, Art 180. Teens in detention were given the opportunity to work with artists in a variety of media making art that expressed who they were and what the experience of incarceration was truly like.

He did so after investigating how many arrests his department had made of kids and to his horror, learned that in a 6 month period between 2014-15, they’d arrested more than 150 kids for very minor offenses. He went on to discover that these arrests were made in schools with police stationed as school resource officers, at a rate 11 times higher than schools without them. He believed they had lost sight of their mission and shut down this practice.

Chief Durham was a strong proponent of community policing, of viewing his cops as “saviors, not warriors,” and he understood that community trust couldn’t be assumed – it had to be earned. Hear how he became involved with Performing Statistics in his own words

I want to take a moment to acknowledge officers like the Chief and the tens of thousands of other police officers who give their all for their communities. Leadership such as he provided is essential to compel police departments to find and give their very best – to all their citizens.