The Other Wes Moore: One Name, Two Fates

I listened in amazement and horror as, through trembling lips, she talked about the hopelessness the people felt during this time and the pain of knowing that this level of segregation, this level of poverty, this level of depression was being imposed on a people for things they were in no way responsible for, or should be ashamed of.

I don’t want readers to ever forget the high stakes of these stories—and of all of our stories: that life and death, freedom and bondage, hang in the balance of every action we take.

There’s a term in the hood for a face like Tony’s, that cold, frozen stare. The ice grille. It’s a great phrase. A look of blank hostility that masks two intense feelings—the fire evoked by grille (which is also slang for face), and the cold of the ice.

Life’s impermanence, I realized, is what makes every single day so precious. It’s what shapes our time here. It’s what makes it so important that not a single moment be wasted.

We laughed at the panhandler on the block, but he wasn’t just an object of ridicule, he was an unsettling omen.

But even the worst decisions we make don’t necessarily remove us from the circle of humanity.

Tony was the closest thing Wes had to a role model. But the more he tried to be like his brother, the more his brother rejected him. The more he copied him, the more Tony pushed back. Wes wanted to be just like Tony. Tony wanted Wes to be nothing like him.

The common bond of humanity and decency that we share is stronger than any conflict, any adversity, any challenge. Fighting for your convictions is important. But finding peace is paramount. Knowing when to fight and when to seek peace is wisdom.

These were not Bronx rules, these were West Indian rules.