Unseen
Page 27
Ayana explained the gang member mentality by simply stating, ‘Every dollar you make, is a dollar I don’t make, so in order for me to make that dollar back, I have to kill you to ensure that I make that profit.’ It was a cold reality she painted, but for her, it came down to conditioning. She blamed the mayor who’d shut down fifty schools on the South Side.
Ayana believed there were two very different Chicagos, and their home was right in the middle of the neglected side. Ja’mal believed the north was seeing all the support, forcing some parents to turn a blind eye to their kids to dealing drugs, as that had suddenly become the only way to keep the lights on.
That don’t supposed to be
An average week at The Leaks funeral home would see two or three young victims of gun violence. Lee McCullum Jr was the twenty-ninth person to lose their life that month alone. He was found in his mother’s car with multiple gunshot wounds to the head and I’d been invited to his funeral.
Sat at the back of the full church, I got talking to one of his mentors and close family friend Michael. We sat at the back of the packed hall and spoke quietly as friends and family members around us quietly cried. I was struck by just how many young faces were there to mourn the death of Lee, making the premature nature of his death inescapable. Michael insisted he was a good kid who just wanted to play basketball, but how does a good kid on the right path lose his life to gun violence?
Michael strongly believed Lee’s loss of life was extra painful for so many, not because his life had more value, but because he was on the right path. As far as Michael was concerned, the environment was to blame: ‘It’s a lack of respect for human lives. It’s a lack of fathers, it’s a lack of standing up and being men to their child.’ Michael couldn’t hold in his anger and it seemed he wasn’t alone in feeling that Lee’s death was not only incredibly sad, but unjust.
I’d arrived in the darkest outfit I had scraped together from the blacks and blues I’d packed in my suitcase. When I arrived, I was surprised to see his entire family and closest friends head to toe in white. Michael described the choice of clothing as ‘respect that he was an angel’.
Lee’s father, Lee Senior, stepped up to the podium and held the room’s attention with his short, clipped words. Reading from a small piece of paper, he’d planned a speech for his son but his presence alone demanded the attention of the room. Not the tallest in height but huge in stature, Lee Snr was clearly grieving quietly behind his dark shades. He looked so young himself, further emphasising the young life that had been taken.
Throughout his speech his eyes jumped from those in front of him, to the young friends of Lee trying their best to show no emotion at the back of the room, and the open casket holding his dead son. Speaking to the responsible shooters, he said, ‘Ima pray for you in a different type of way,’ which received a loud round of applause from the parents in the room.
The threat of a retaliation on Lee Jr’s behalf felt increasingly likely as the young pack holding the wall seemed more and more enraged as the service went on. Lee Snr made no attempts to hide who he was speaking to as he raised his voice: ‘Fall back, ’cos I can’t do no more funerals.’
Michael left my side and stepped up to the podium. His delivery was worlds apart as every ounce of frustration and rage poured out of him. He repeatedly shouted ‘That don’t supposed to be’, while pointing at Lee’s lifeless body. Michael had been in prison for over twenty-one years and Lee Jr’s death infuriated him. ‘That’s supposed to be me.’ Like a man possessed, Michael pleaded for there to be no retaliation but with emotions running so high, I was moved but unsure if the message hit home enough for Lee’s visibly emotional young friends.
As Michael stepped down, I looked to Toby and Becky who were now hiding at the back of the church. They were both bright red and tearful as the powerful speeches had affected them too.
It was a funeral service the likes of which I’d never experienced. Understandably grief swept the room, but the pleas for no further violence made the loss of life so much more painful and the message so much more vital.
The service ended and the room full of men, women and children in white filled the tall concrete steps. Outside, Michael quietly shared news he’d had of an imminent potential show of disrespect to the family. He’d heard those responsible might come by shooting from a car to further establish their strength. The family quickly said their goodbyes and left while I tried to work through everything that had just gone on. The biggest battle for me was the need so many felt to do something about Lee’s death, but with the same level of force causing the same level of grief to another family in another church.
Lee McCullum Jr was the 221st victim of a fatal shooting in 2016. It was only May. Thankfully, two weeks passed and there had been no retaliation.
That night, Toby insisted we’d get out for a team dinner and Jesus did we need it. It was one of the hardest days I’d ever had on a shoot and it wasn’t because of the filming conditions or the team, it was because of the weight of the subject matter.
All three of us left the church totally drained and with nothing left to give, we ended up stuffing our faces with every kind of taco on the menu while Toby and Becky smashed back a few tequilas. We needed a night off and decompressing as a team pulled us together. We ate and giggled hysterically and needed it. I’ve been happily teetotal for years, but that night I envied the release Toby and Becky could find in a bottle.
This the law of the land of the other man … we just pawns
Michael and Lee Snr invited us over to the McCullum family home. Occupied by Lee’s grandmother, the house was the family hub crammed with food, photos and memories. We met on the street as I parked and as we walked to the house, every step Lee took let out a small noise. It was only then that I realised Lee was walking on a prosthetic leg.
Lee Snr lost his leg through no fault of his own; he was being a good Samaritan. In an attempt to break up a fight he got shot and due to circulation issues his leg was amputated. I stood in silence as Lee told the story, but it didn’t stop there. He then went on to show me the large scar he had on his head where he was shot. In the head. And survived.
Picking up his son from a Halloween party, Lee turned a corner and walked into a fire fight, catching a bullet to the skull in the cross fire. Telling both stories with a quiet calm, it seemed as though the man had made peace with both incidents. Lee explained he was angry, but not any more. ‘I’m angry about my son, that’s what I’m angry about.’
Proud of his naturally athletic son Lee Jr, he showed me his son’s massive pile of trophies and medals. In an effort to get to know who Lee was, I asked if they’d planned for sports to be a part of his future? Lee Snr walked away slowly saying ‘Yes’ over and over, as that possibility would be something he’d never know.
Every wood-clad wall was filled with photos and signs of the huge family. There were too many children to count, but with there being so many pictures of him, it was clear Lee Jr was a favourite. Sat on big fluffy, comfy couch, Lee Snr fell back into his seat on the kind of sofa only grandmothers have. It was impossible the amount of pattern on that one piece of furniture, yet it was unbelievably comfy.
‘It hurts that he’s gone … I feel like I failed because he lost his life.’
Michael stood in the hall watching quietly as we spoke. ‘It’s gon’ always hurt,’ Michael barked in his now familiar tone. He believed the trust between the community and the police had totally eroded. It was an atmosphere where people were taking justice into their own hands and the system was only making matters worse. ‘It’s broke, you can’t fix something that’s broke – you got to replace it.’
Lee showed me pictures of his son’s graduation. In every photo the kid was beaming with pride. There were photos of Junior hugging and kissing his girlfriend and their young romance was sweet and clearly real, but now unfulfilled.
Michael was hurt not just at losing young Lee Jr but listening to his friend speak with every word
charged by so much pain. ‘This the law of the land of the other man … We just pawns.’ Standing in the dark doorway, Michael was visibly upset and felt powerless in both his future and that of his community. Resigned, Michael let out an unusually quiet, ‘The system been broke.’
It was a revealing but deeply painful conversation. I said my goodbyes and left quietly.
I’d spent over a week on Chicago’s South Side and the place just kept smashing me with curveballs I never could have prepared for. As I left, Lee Snr called me back to the house’s porch and pulled from his pocket his cell phone. Without asking, Lee thrust in my face images of his son on the autopsy table. His face was riddled with cuts and deep bullet holes. I was speechless as Lee put his phone away holding eye contact. He wanted me to understand what he was trying to live through and I wondered just how many times he had stared at that hellish photo.
I walked away to the car as kids in the wide sunny street played loudly. A boy on a pink girl’s bike complete with flowery basket rode past smiling. All innocence and giggles, while the images I’d just seen of Lee Jr filled me with sadness.
Lee was a good kid but he lost his life to gang violence. If that was the case, how could you truly feel your child – just like the boy on the bike – would stay protected? What was becoming undeniable was that no matter what might be instilled in your child, their behaviour, manners and morals couldn’t protect them from cross fire or a stray bullet. Just because of the street you live on, your child might not make it to their eighteenth birthday.
I drove away bouncing down a main street filled with potholes. Every third shop was closed down or boarded up. I couldn’t help but feel I was in a place sending loud and very direct signals to its African-American residents. No one cares about the area and no one cares about you. But what might that lead to? Well if you’re a child being told nothing around you and (by proxy) you don’t matter, what respect will that child grow to have for their own life or worse still, someone else’s?
People think it’s not your problem, until that problem knocks on your door
So who was speaking up for the next generation? A group of fathers and college fraternity brothers were taking to the streets of Englewood in an effort to send a loud message. They marched the streets head to toe in purple, chanting, singing and clapping. Residents stopped to watch, cheered them on, or joined in and marched with them and it was incredible to witness.
They chanted, ‘Stop the violence, save our youth, put the guns down.’ Cars beeped their horns in support while some came to their doorways raising a single fist in support. I walked with a father who’d brought his six-year-old son along, believing the walk would be something the kid would remember for the rest of his life.
We arrived at a car park and stopped as the pack congregated. The crew of former classmates sang loudly and begun step dancing. Stamping and clapping, they used just their bodies as percussion. It was beautiful to watch the group of fathers and grandfathers so united in their mission. Then, one of the men stopped a song to make an announcement about news he’d just received. ‘While we was walking, a brother just got shot.’ This had happened literally minutes before as we passed. ‘We have to have a greater presence,’ another man shouted. ‘We gotta be louder next time.’
Mike, a taller, quieter man stepped up to make a speech. The group fell silent in support as some gripped his shoulder, others his back. They were marching to send a message, but also in honour of his daughter, Tiara Parks, who at just twenty-three had lost her life as the victim of a stray bullet. ‘We have to get ahead of the problem.’ Rumbles of agreement floated with every statement made.
He spoke of helping others and protecting the children, forgetting mid-flow he didn’t have a daughter any more when speaking about doing right by the children of others. Full of emotion, he corrected himself and was instantly embraced, just about avoiding tears.
I told Mike about attending Lee’s funeral. He stopped me talking with no more than a look. ‘Lee McCullum?’ he asked. ‘That was the boyfriend of my daughter that was killed.’ His words nearly knocked me off my feet. His daughter and her boyfriend had been shot dead just three weeks apart.
Mike was a cop and even his daughter wasn’t exempt from the violence: ‘People think it’s not your problem, until that problem knocks on your door,’ he said. Tiara just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and his position as Deputy Sheriff made no difference to the safety of his child. He risked his life every day and was visibly close to breakdown, as his efforts to better his community couldn’t keep his child alive. He’d done everything he believed he could to keep his daughter away from the violence. She went to college, she had her life together, but the violence plaguing the city still touched his door.
Tiara and Lee were two connected lives lost, both victims of guns and segregation-fuelled tensions that continue to rip the country apart. Could it be that for many black people, the ever-elusive American dream had been replaced by a fight for survival?
I came away from the Windy City with more questions than answers, but I felt a level of pride in my willing to share every doubt, annoyance and frustration with the camera.
This film almost entirely stripped away the voiceover track, which only showed up when it was really needed. I felt trusted in my role on screen as that steered the film, but what made it were the people I’d met and their willingness to share.
All the films I’ve made so far have taught me amazing lessons in objectivity, listening, patience and so much more, but perhaps none more so than Life and Death in Chicago. For me, this project set a benchmark for the level of work I was to be a part of. There is still so much to learn, but I knew I had made something I could be proud of, and felt excited about what I would do next …
INDEX
The page references in this index correspond to the printed edition from which this ebook was created. To find a specific word or phrase from the index, please use the search feature of your ebook reader.
RY indicates Reggie Yates.
abdominal etching surgery 69–71, 72
African National Congress (ANC) 87–8, 98, 113, 116
Afrikaners 92, 93, 95, 106, 107
Ahmed, Sohail 245–7, 249, 252, 253, 255, 256–7
Albert (Extreme Russia: Gay and Under Attack) 129, 137–8
Alena (Extreme Russia: Gay and Under Attack) 124
Alexandra Township, Johannesburg 99–100
Alexi (Extreme Russia: Far Right and Proud) 52–4
Alfred (Extreme Russia: Gay and Under Attack) 128
Amnesty International 137
Amy (Knife Crime ER) 155–6, 169
anabolic steroids 78–83
Anna Scher Theatre, The, Islington 262–3, 268
Ant (The Disney Club) 121–2, 230
Antwi, Richard 324–5
Apartheid 6, 19, 87, 89, 92, 100, 102, 113–14, 116, 117–18, 162, 289
Apollinariya (Extreme Russia: Teen Model Factory) 199–200
Aroutiounova, Diana 29, 33–4, 43, 45, 46–7, 48–9, 52, 54, 314
Ata (Knife Crime ER) 164, 166, 167, 175, 176
Autistic Superstars xx–xxii, xxvi
Bamiro, Yemi 97
Barcelona township, South Africa 18–20
BBC xi, xiii, xxvi, 14, 26, 27, 85–6, 221
BBC One 208
BBC Radio 5 xi
BBC Three xx, xxvi, 208, 258
BBC2 xv
Benny (friend of RY) 230–1, 232, 233, 264
Black Diamonds 98
Black Lives Matter 266, 296
Black, Leon 263
Blessing of the Bikes, The 314–17
body dysmorphia 75
Brixton, London 265–6
Broadwater Farm Riots (1985) 266
Brown, Michael 266–7, 270, 271–3, 274, 276, 277, 278, 279, 283, 295, 296
Brown, Pastor Catherine 310–12, 317
Buckley, Kieran vii
Burn, Aaron vii
Cape Town, S
outh Africa 87, 152–76
Central Foundation Boys’ School, east London 149
Channel 4 ix, 28, 299
Channel 5 xiii
Charlie (friend of RY) 232–3
Chicago, U.S. 299–336
Chief Keef 302–3
Christian, Terry xiv
Christianity 3, 4, 5, 131, 132, 238, 249, 270
Clark, Ayana 326
class viii, xxv, 2, 16, 44, 104, 111, 115, 119–20, 219, 256
Claude (The Disney Club) 121–2, 230
Cohen, Danny xx, xxi, xxiii
Colin (The White Slums) 99–100
Comic Relief xviii–xix, 85–6
Common 301
Coronation Park, Johannesburg 88–96, 102–6, 107, 110–12, 116–17
cosmetic surgery 68–74
Cox, Professor Brian xxii
Craig (Dying for a Six Pack) 81
Dan (friend of RY) 230, 231, 264, 265, 268
Dapper Laughs (Daniel O’Reilly) 214–15
Darrell, Maddy xii
Darya (Extreme Russia: Gay and Under Attack) 138–9, 147
Dave (Freak) (Dying for a Six Pack) 80–1
Davis, Charles 270–1
Demushkin, Dmitry 40, 42, 47, 49–51, 54–5, 56–7
Derby Pride 255–6
Desmond’s ix–x
Disney Club, The xi–xii, 120
Dmitry (Extreme Russia: Gay and Under Attack) 134, 135, 136
Don’t Forget Your Toothbrush xiv
Drill Music 303
Duggan, Mark 264
Dying for a Six Pack 61–84
Ebuntu 263
Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) 112–16
Edwards, Frankie 280–1
Elite Stars 196
EMI records 324
Evans, Chris xiv
Extreme Russia see Reggie Yates: Extreme Russia
Extreme South Africa see Reggie Yates: Extreme South Africa