Before I begin I would like to give a background of this piece because while it is quite famous, not many people have seen or know of its existence. The film I am rewriting is one called ‘American History X’ and I decided on this piece because of its relevance in modern times. While many texts focus on post colonial prejudices that took place hundreds of years ago, ‘American History X’ is an extremely powerful film which highlights and brings attention to racism, neo-Nazism and xenophobia in America in today’s world. It is about Derek Vinyard (played by Edward Norton) who is a self confessed member of the white power movement in Los Angeles and his younger teenage brother, Danny (Edward Furlong), who narrates the film and seems to be following in Derek’s footsteps. In the film Derek shoots and kills two black men who are trying to steal his car and it explores his three years in prison as he comes to the realisation that everything he believes is a lie as well as following his life once he is released and his mission to get Danny out of the environment he was once part of. My rewrite is an extension of the film; at the end of the movie Danny is shot and killed by a black teenager at his school, which is a sad irony as Derek has just made him realise the errors of their ways. My rewrite will focus on Derek’s future as a councillor in a juvenile prison where he works to re educate teenage boys destined to become what he was in the sense of white power movements, I will be writing in first person from Derek’s point of view. I realise that this piece and film deals with some pretty horrendous themes but I think it is important to bring an awareness to it because as sick as it is, it is part of the world and if it can be combated, the better this world would be. Also here is a link to the trailer of the film.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXaZENPQrswAmerican Future: Derek’s Redemption
Ten Years Later
I awoke to my alarm clock yelling at me. Reaching across my body and rolling on my side, I shut the noise off and stared at the digital red 6:00 flashing back at me. The first thing that came to my mind was Danny. It has been ten years since he had been taken away from us but Danny was the always the first I thought about when got up. But I didn’t remember him as when I last saw him. I didn’t remember holding him in my arms, his body pierced with bullets, lifeless, as his blood soaked my shirt and as I screamed in agony on the bathroom floor of Venice Beach High. No, I didn’t remember him like that at all, even though that image had haunted me so many mornings before. When I awoke I remembered Danny’s cheeky grin flashing up at me, his eyes that used to dance with excitement and his laugh, oh that laugh, so infectious you couldn’t help but laugh with him even if you didn’t have a clue what was so funny. I smiled to myself as I remembered his laugh, I always did and that included the times in which I cried.
Slipping out of bed, I made my way to the bathroom for a quick shower before Ally got up. It was just us two now; Davina had moved to Washington and pursued a career with the Democrats just like we all knew she would, such a smart one that girl; and Doris? Well the smokes had finally claimed Mum, she said Danny had once told her that he would grow his hair back the day she quit smoking but Danny never got that chance. Stepping out the shower and wrapping a towel around my waist and stood on the freezing bathroom tiles and the cold shot through my body, mixing and cooling my body heat from the shower. As I stood on those tiles, I stared at my reflection through the misty, steam-filmed mirror. A Swartz sticker glared back at me from the left hand side of my chest. They had ways of removing tattoos nowadays but I would never get rid of it. It was a reminder. A reminder of who I was, who I had become and what it had cost me in the ultimate loss of my brother. All the other tattoos remained as well; the iron cross, the eagle, the words ‘white power,’ all reminders that I could not erase my past but that could better my future, my community, my world.
Ally was now the same age as Danny was when I was sent to prison. Smart like him, she had the same inquisitive hazel eyes and the same cheeky smile. She didn’t go to Venice Beach High like we did; I had instead enrolled her in a private girl’s school on the other side of town. The tuition was expensive but I worked long hours and it was better than her having to endure years in a building her brother had died. Pulling up to the front of the school, she started to go for the door,
“Hey!” I yelled.
Ally turned back and looked at me.
“Sorry, I forgot,” she replied and reached over giving me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.
I held her tight for a little longer and then let her go. It was something we did every time we left each other. Even though she could hardly remember Danny, she still felt the loss I did and it was important to us to have that hug, it was our thing. Restarting the engine, I sat there and watched Ally in my rear view mirror until she disappeared from sight. I did that every time as well, as long as she was in my sight, I had to know that she was safe.
The drive to work was long. Located an hour outside Venice Beach, Aldridge Juvenile Detention Centre contained the worst of the worst. It was the Chino of Juvi, the place where kids of the most horrific crimes went, the place of hate. But this is what drove me; helping people is hard but helping people who don’t want to be helped is even harder. It was my mission to make that difference and no matter what, I wouldn’t give up. Some have asked me, ‘what was the point?’ Kids don’t listen; they’re a law unto themselves. That always amused me, I thought, ‘what? So adults listen?’ Of course the answer was ‘no’ and the adults in Chino were too far gone and I didn’t feel safe in that environment considering my past. There’s an old saying, ‘cut off the head and the body will die.’ Well, that may be true, but I came from the reversed point of view, ‘starve the body and leave the head twitching.’ That was my aim, to get to these kids while they were still young, while they still had the mind to relearn, so the body couldn’t grow and feed the ignorant, hate inspired head which drew its minions. A wise man once said that we cannot completely destroy evil, but we can keep it at bay and that was my intention. I’m not going to save everyone, I’m no Jesus. Not that I saw it as saving. Saving implies that people are already lost. No, my role was more of a facilitator. I knew that goodness was in these boys; they just needed a shove in the right direction.
Turning off the freeway, I drove down the familiar gravel road leading to Aldridge. The centre was still more than a k away but already I could see the domineering monstrosity that passed as a home. I was not that it was uncomfortable or anything, these kids had it way better than when I was in Chino, it was just how it looked from the outside. Built at the turn of the century, Aldridge Juvenile Detention Centre stands tall and dark, made of jagged, misshapen stone which always looked wet. Just imagine a 16th century English castle and you’ll get the idea. The building was formally known as Aldridge Penitentiary and housed from the most violent of criminals to the petty thieves. However with time comes change and of course a growing population. As humans increased in numbers and the likes of gangs began to become more sophisticated, Aldridge Penitentiary became too small for the criminal sect of Los Angeles. Through the fundamental basics of economics, supply met demand and Chino was erected, opening its doors for its most loyal patrons. Aldridge then closed for a number of years until, with the irony of history; Los Angeles needed a bigger space to house its wayward teens. In the late 80’s Aldridge was reborn and this time it was swallowing up younger cliental.
Finally I reached the end of the gravel road and turned left into the staff car park. Pulling into a spot, I cut the engine, grabbed my briefcase and stepped out into the consistent Californian sun. If case you’re wondering; it don’t rain in LA. Walking up to the security gate I tapped on the bullet proof window of Madden’s box. Officer Madden pulled his eyes away from a different kind of box and looked over his shoulder at me,
“Morning, Sam,” I called.
Madden scowled and pushed a button releasing the security gate.
“Why you gotta disturb me?” he grumbled, “you know you could just use your access card.”
“Oh but then I wouldn’t get to see your pretty face now then would I? Highlight of my day you know,” I replied smiling.
Madden muttered something under his breath something that sounded like ‘twat’ and turned back to whatever daytime, cable drivel he was rotting his brain with; probably something along the lines of Dr. Phil meets Fear Factor or whatever ridiculous muck they were churning out these days and the affect was clear on his IQ. Why didn’t I use a security card? It was simple; because I chose not to have one. Call me cautious cat, but I don’t think an unarmed councillor is the best person to carry a ‘freedom key’ in the vicinity of adolescent inmates; but that’s just me. So this concluded my routine morning conversation with Sam and I walked through the security gate on my way to the main building. Stepping through the doors, I waved greetings to the officers I saw and made my way to my office. I had only sat down for five minutes when there was a knock at my door.
“It’s open,” I called out and in came Warden Hughes.
“How are you today, Derek?” he asked.
I looked at him with a curious stare, “who do we have, sir?”
I always knew when the Warden was bringing me a newbie; he always asked me the very same thing before telling me so. Warden Hughes was not a man of expression but he gave me a subtle, awkward smile as if to guess I was making a joke.
“New kid,” he replied.
“Name’s Jeremy Owens, fourteen, armed robbery and assault. Oh and right up your alley,” he added.
“How’s that?”
“Take a look for yourself,” he said, dropping a manila folder on my desk.
Opening the file, I stared at a mug shot of skinny white kid with a head shaved to the skin like mine had been once before. Flicking through the sheets of paper I came across another photo, this one of a tattoo; an iron cross protruding from the inside of the boys forearm. I looked up at the Warden.
“How long?”
“All his life. Reckon he’s being a solider since birth, but that’s what they all say. I had a look into it, seems like only a six months or so.”
The Warden then turned and exited the office to leave me to my thoughts. I leant back in my chair and pondered the necessary course of action to take. After a few minutes, I picked up the phone and called through to the front desk.
“Hi, Marlene, it’s Derek. Could you check out the schedule for an inmate for me? Inmate 785344. Yeah, Owens, that’s the one. Available at 2:30 is he? OK. Can you get one the officers to bring him down to my classroom then? Excellent, thanks Marlene.”
I hung up the phone. Yes, it does sound strange for a prisoner to have a schedule, but these are still kids we were dealing with and kids, prison or not, still had to go to school. 2:30 was fine with me anyway. It gave me time to look into this kid in a little more detail and decide what method to use on him. Based on his age and short term affiliation; I was thinking ‘shock value’ would be the way to go and then some good old fashioned re-education.
2:30 came quickly and before I knew it I had a new student in my classroom. It was big for two people but my office would not accommodate the resources I needed to do my work. Also, I only worked one on one. I found this way was easier; you couldn’t have a group egging each other on; especially when it came to the seriousness of the themes involved.
Jeremy Owens was your typical teenager and then again, obviously, he was not. Skinny and with a shaved head, he possessed the same detest for authority as any other inmate at Aldridge and expressed this with a sneering facade. We sat in silence for a while, him at a student’s desk and me directly opposite him, my rear end parked on the front of the teacher’s desk. We did not speak a word and as the time passed I could tell he was becoming more uncomfortable, more edgy, but most of all, he was becoming unsure of himself; which is exactly what I wanted.
“What the hell am I doing here?” he exclaimed, his uncertainty reaching its climax.
“You’re here because your ideologies are being brought into question.”
“My what?”
“Your ideologies, your doctrine, your beliefs,” I replied.
To this, Jeremy sniggered.
“What’s wrong with my beliefs?”
“Well, you tell me. Seems like you’ve gone through some changes in the half year, am I right?”
“What are you talking about?”
Standing up, I made way round the desk and pulled open one of the draws. Removing a book, I made way back to where Jeremy was sitting and dropped the text in front of him. Jeremy looked down at the copy of Mein Kampf.
“Care to explain that?” I asked.
“It was found in your cell.”
“So? Can’t read, can I?” he snarled back.
“How long have you been part of the movement?”
“No of your business. Anyway, why do you care?”
“Because I’m here to show you what a dangerous path you’re travelling down.”
Jeremy began to laugh, “Yeah, you? What? A pen pusher for the pigs, what makes you so bloody qualified?”
With this statement, I walked staunchly up to him, ripping off my tie and unbuttoning my shirt. Standing before him, my chest bare, I pointed to the Swartz sticker embedded in my flesh.
“That’s what makes me so bloody qualified,” I said coolly.
That whipped the smirk from the adolescents face. I re buttoned my shirt and tucked it into my pants.
“So made you join the white power movement?” I asked him.
Jeremy face contorted with anger.
“Black guys reckon they can walk all over us. Robbing us blind and laughing in our faces. Same with the Spics and the Chinks, if it ain’t white it ain’t right,” he said smiling at his clever little rhyme.
“What about Jews?” I asked.
“They’re the same,” he answered. “Bunch of money grubbing, lying bastards.”
“Oh, really?” I replied. “But what about the fact that they’re white?”
“Yeah but...”
“It doesn’t matter what you’re about to say. The fact of the matter is they are white. You’d think you’d need their help with your support not having mammoth proportions.”
Jeremy stayed silent but I could tell his mind was beginning to tick. With this I pushed my advantage.
“You mentioned Latinos and Asians or Spics and Chicks as you so delicately put it. What’s the problem?”
Of course I knew what he was going to say but I let him speak anyway. A key part of my re education process was to let the student say what they thought and then for me to counter and make them see how ridiculous their arguments actually were. His answer did not disappoint.
“The Spic come in here illegally and steal real Americans jobs,” he answered. “And the Chinks, Koreans and stuff come in and get a green card with it. Pisses me off even more.”
“So you have a problem with immigrants? That’s pretty dumb.”
“How’s that dumb?” he shot back.
“Don’t you know immigrants made this country? Mine and your ancestors were immigrants themselves and it wasn’t too long ago either.” I reasoned.
“These immigrants you despise are the people who keep this country ticking over and they do it for some pretty lousy wages as well.”
Jeremy frowned. It seemed my words were having their desired effect. I continued to press, pushing my agenda further.
“But the crux of the matter is, your racism is largely directed at black people. Well let me ask you this: What happens when their mixed blood? Black and white? They’re not one or the other so to hate their blackness makes you justified but to hate their whiteness makes you a hypocrite.”
I could see that this had really stumped the boy and knew he was now beginning to question himself.
Placing a pad and pen on Jeremy’s desk I turned and switched on one of my most important pieces of equipment; the projector. But it was not one of those fancy ones you hook up to the computer; no, the state couldn’t afford pricey things like those. Anyway I preferred it this way; it was more authentic. Clicking in the first slide, a picture of Martin Luther King snapped into view.
“You know who this is?”
“I dunno,” Jeremy replied. “Some black dude.”
I smiled. This was what I encountered most of the time; ignorance. Ignorance of the unknown, however education could soon see that right.
“Yes, he was some black dude. He also led the civil rights movement so that African Americans could be free of injustices and segregations.”
“Looking after his own kind then?” Jeremy retorted.
“Yes and no. What he strived for was equality, equality of all man no matter their race, religion or sexual orientation. He was a man of peace and man of love.”
“I want you to write me a paper on Martin Luther and his life and journey. Write down these references as I give them to you; it’ll help with the research and you can get what you need from the prison library.”
As reluctant as he seemed, Jeremy wrote down the books as I dictated them.
“Alright, you may leave Mr Owens.”
Jeremy got out of his seat, picked up the pad and made his way to the door. As he reached it, I called out to him.
“Mr Owens”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to leave with this simple question a great man once asked me: Has anything you’ve done made your life better?”
Jeremy looked at me, frowned and exited the room. I now could really see the penny was starting to drop with this one but he still needed nurturing. It didn’t usually take solely one lesson to bring the boys around but I would get there in the end although there was never a guarantee I would succeed. But I would try and try again to work and improve this boy like many I had before and the many that would be sure to come. All for a better future, all for an American future.
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