The Other Wes Moore: One Name, Two Fates

The chapter begins with Mary Moore watching the news about a robbery led by four masked men at a jewelry store. The masked men held customers and police at gunpoint then stole $438,000 worth of watches and jewels. They nearly got away without anyone getting hurt, but a police sergeant who ran after them shortly after they left the jewelry store was shot three times at point-blank range. While Mary was watching the news coverage, the last two suspects’ photos appeared on-screen. The pictured men were described as likely being “armed and dangerous” (149). They were her sons, Tony and Wes.

Though the robbery occurred outside Baltimore City, “crime in Baltimore and its suburbs [was spiraling] out of control” (148), and the police were especially troubled by the death of Sergeant Prothero. On a lead, the police searched a house and found a stolen watch. They also captured a suspect who admitted to being an accomplice in the robbery but not to shooting Prothero. The next day another man was arrested. Both men had long criminal records, and both denied shooting Sergeant Prothero.

The police grilled Mary Moore continuously, but she could only repeat the truth: “she had no idea where the boys were and had not seen them in weeks” (150). Mary’s niece was getting married, and Tony was supposed to walk her down the aisle. But there was still the manhunt out for them, five days after the robbery. Police cars pulled over the vehicle transporting the wedding party and ordered them to sit on the curb, offering a sizeable reward if they revealed where Wes and Tony were located.

Wes and Tony had escaped to their uncle’s neighborhood in North Philadelphia. They were arrested at their uncle’s place after a 12-day manhunt. When this news broke, “a collective sigh of relief seeped through Baltimore’s brisk winter air. At home, Mary wept” (155).

Wes was the last to see trial. The other three suspects were found guilty and given life sentences without parole; “Tony was charged as the shooter and had avoided a possible death sentence by pleading guilty to felony murder” (155). Wes insisted on a trial by jury. There was some evidence that proved he was present at the robbery: one of the saleswomen identified him, and a necklace had been retrieved with his DNA on it. Wes was found guilty and received the same sentence as the others: life in prison without parole.

The story shifts one more time to a meeting between the author and Mayor Kurt Schmoke of Baltimore. Moore had returned to Baltimore two years earlier, after being accepted to Johns Hopkins University to complete his undergraduate degree. His mother had been working in Baltimore for the past five years, so he considered Baltimore home. Even though Moore’s scores were hundreds of points below the average Johns Hopkins applicant, he still received an admissions package and a scholarship. At the time of his meeting with Mayor Schmoke, he was on his second internship.

Moore was planning to travel to South Africa for a semester abroad. During his meeting with Mayor Schmoke, the mayor brought up the possibility of Moore being a Rhodes Scholar. He advised Moore to admire South Africa’s natural beauty and culture, and cautioned him not to leave without understanding the history between South Africa and Cecil Rhodes, the British imperialist and white supremacist who served as prime minister of Cape Colony (now South Africa) between 1890 and 1896. The mayor insisted, “Make sure you understand who Cecil Rhodes was and what his legacy is. Know this before you apply for his scholarship” (162).

When Moore arrived in South Africa, the division and legacy of apartheid was still obvious even 10 years after apartheid was removed. Moore could see strong parallels “of Baltimore and the Bronx in the story of these townships […] Despair and hopelessness were not accidental products of the environment but rather the whole point” (165).

Moore’s host family “went out of their way to make [him] feel welcomed” (166). In a conversation over afternoon tea, Mama explained the race dynamic in South Africa. Moore would be considered “colored” but not black because his skin wasn’t dark enough. Mama’s husband had been a freedom fighter in apartheid South Africa. Moore was confused by her lack of anger and by her peacefulness. He asked why she wasn’t angry. She simply said that Mr. Mandela had asked them to not be angry. Ubuntu is the Xhosa word for “humanity,” and this became a way of life for her.

This struck a chord with Moore, who writes:

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. Ubuntu was right. And so was my father. Watende, my middle name, all at once made perfect sense (168).

While learning about the rite of passage that his host family’s son, Zinzi, would partake in to become a man, Moore also learned that it isn’t “the process you should focus on; it’s the joy you will feel after you go through the process” (170). He came to understand the strong commonalities between the young men and women of South Africa and the kids Moore grew up with in Baltimore and the Bronx. He observes:

In both places, young men go through a daily struggle trying to navigate their way through deadly streets, poverty, and the twin legacies of exclusion and low expectations. But they are not completely unequipped—they also have the history of determined, improvisational survival, a legacy of generations who fought through even more oppressive circumstances. One of the key differences between the two was in the way their communities saw them. Here, the burgeoning manhood was guided and celebrated through a rite of passage. At home, burgeoning manhood was a trigger for apprehension (170).