"Justice for Jordan"
That was what the rally asked for as it wound its way from the University of Maryland's McKeldin Library to its administrative building on a blustery Nov. 1stafternoon.
The rally was organized by Maryland's student government, in partnership with the McNair Foundation, the McNair family, the NAACP and several other university coalitions.
It was supposed to protest the reinstatement of former head football coach DJ Durkin…but then he was fired. The rally pushed on—it became about supporting the McNair family. At least, that's what SGA president Jonathan Allen said.
Teachers excused us from class to attend, and when they didn't, we attended anyways. The air was crisp and cool, and there was a helicopter hovering somewhere in the air above the library. It sounded like an oversize bee and made it hard to hear the SGA official yelling into her bullhorn—you could just make out the odd words: "football!" and "Justice!" and most of all "Jordan!"
They taught us a chant to rev us up--"when I say 'what do we want?' You say "JUSTICE!" And when I say "WHO DO WE WANT IT FOR," you say "JORDAN!"—and it worked.
My voice was hoarse by the time we clustered on the steps of the administrative building, waving our signs, chanting until we were asked to observe a moment of silence—for Jordan.
But then the SGA began asking us to go to football games and handing out free tickets, and a group within the student protestors tried to yell over them, and the protest dissolved into utter chaos.
Any semblance of solemnity, of graveness, of respect or unity amongst the rally-goers, was lost amidst screams of "BOYCOTT THE GAME" and "GET YOUR FREE TICKETS," and I found myself wondering…what about Jordan?
What about Jordan McNair, the person the rally claimed to be for?
Jordan McNair—football player, yes—and student. And friend. Son. Teammate.
Jordan McNair, offensive lineman, full of potential, full of as many dreams and wishes and betrayals and fears as the next 19-year-old.
Jordan McNair, sophomore, a little gap between his two front teeth when he smiled—I only know that from pictures.
Jordan McNair…gone.
In two years, I will be older than he will ever be. In three, I'll hold my degree in my hand—something he no longer has the chance to experience.
And instead of uniting in the face of loss--instead of grieving the death of a fellow student and celebrating his life--we've somehow managed to turn McNair's death into another reason to tear each other apart. The rally organized under his name, with his justice in mind, devolved into bitter student in-fighting over whether or not to show up at football games.
McNair is gone, and we will never know what he would've wanted—but somehow, I doubt he would've wanted his passing to ignite a student-on-student war.
It seems to me like we've managed to do everything BUT find justice for Jordan McNair, and I hope that we choose to collectively open our eyes and come together to make sure that what happened to him never happens again--before it's too late.
