Jesmyn Ward - Men We Reaped

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“We saw the lightning and that was the guns; and then we heard the thunder and that was the big guns; and then we heard the rain falling and that was the blood falling; and when we came to get in the crops, it was dead men that we reaped.” —Harriet Tubman In five years, Jesmyn Ward lost five young men in her life — to drugs, accidents, suicide, and the bad luck that can follow people who live in poverty, particularly black men. Dealing with these losses, one after another, made Jesmyn ask the question: Why? And as she began to write about the experience of living through all the dying, she realized the truth — and it took her breath away. Her brother and her friends all died because of who they were and where they were from, because they lived with a history of racism and economic struggle that fostered drug addiction and the dissolution of family and relationships. Jesmyn says the answer was so obvious she felt stupid for not seeing it. But it nagged at her until she knew she had to write about her community, to write their stories and her own.

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I’d like to thank my agent, Jennifer Lyons, for first suggesting that I had a memoir in me, and for believing and being passionate about my work from the very beginning. My publicist, Michelle Blankenship, for being an amazing publicist and an excellent friend who humors me when I am in New York City and feel like eating Korean BBQ for three hours. I’d like to thank my dear friend and editor, Kathy Belden, who saw this manuscript when it was half-realized and, with careful reading, brilliant feedback, and meticulous prodding, helped me to write the best book I could. I’d be a much worse writer without her.

My mother has been after me for two books to thank the man who provided me with a scholarship to my exceptional high school, so in my third, I’d like to thank Riley Stonecipher for seeing potential in me and generously offering to help me get a better education. The world is a better place with people like him in it, who give and help where help is needed. There were many friends, teachers, and librarians at my high school who saw potential in me and helped me become the writer I am: especially Mariah Herrin, Kristin Townson, and Nancy Wrightsman.

Finally I’d like to thank the hood in DeLisle, without which I could not have lived this to write it: Blue, Duck, Loc, C-Sam, Scutt, Pot, Fat Pat, Darrell, Darren, Jon-Jon, Ton-Loc, Tasha, Oscar, B. J., Marcus, L. C., Rem, and Moody-Boy (many of whom told me their stories and helped me write this book). I’d like to thank my friends and cousins who comforted me when writing was almost unbearable: Mark Dedeaux, Aldon Dedeaux, and Jillian Dedeaux. There were days where I could not write another word without you telling me: It will be all right . B. Miller for knowing exactly when I need to laugh so I won’t cry. My father for telling me stories about our family, for stressing the importance of history and memory, and for teaching me to believe in community. My grandmother Dorothy for helping me learn the family’s history, for teaching me how to be a strong, beautiful woman, and for cooking me special dishes. My mother for giving me permission to write this book, for clarifying facts about our family heritage, for mothering us when we wandered in the wild, and of course, for making a way out of no way every day. My niece, Kalani, and my nephew, De’Sean, for making me be silly when I need it and hugging me when I need it and giving me hope that tomorrow will have light. My baby, Noemie, for waking me everyday and reminding me to be grateful and amazed that we are here, for teaching me I can do what I previously thought impossible, and for making me happy to be alive. My sister Charine, who insisted that I write this book, who helped me research so much of it, and who pushed me to tell our story when I didn’t want to. And finally my sister Nerissa, who saved my computer during Hurricane Katrina, and who was the first person to tell me that I must tell our story, the first to insist this story was worth reading. My sisters, I am forever in your debt. In closing, I’d like to thank every one of the aforementioned for loving me, for walking with me through this trial, and for giving me a home. Thank you.

Footnotes

1See www.communityvoices.org/uploads/souls_of_Black_Men_00108_00037.pdf, July 2003.

2http://newamericandimensions.com/drupal/content

/10-notable-statistics-Black-history-month.

3http://www.irp.wisc.edu/faqs/faq3.htm.

4http://www.census.gov.

5http://www.measureofamerica.org/maps/

6Matt Volz, “Male Prison Population Mostly Black,” Associated Press, August 23, 2003.

7http://www.upi.com/Health_News/2011/06/18/Poor-education

— deadly-as-a-heart-attack/UPI-89501308377487/?spt=hs&or=hn.

A Note on the Author

Jesmyn Wardgrew up in DeLisle, Mississippi. She received her M.F.A. from the University of Michigan and has been a Stegner Fellow at Stanford and a Grisham Visiting Writer in Residence at the University of Mississippi. She is currently an assistant professor of creative writing at the University of South Alabama. She is the author of the novels Where the Line Bleeds and Salvage the Bones , for which she won the 2011 National Book Award and the Richard Wright Literary Excellence Award, and was a finalist for the New York Public Library Young Lions Literary Award and the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, as well as a nominee for the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award.

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