One of the bottles given out at the rally reminds us, “There is no life without water.”(David Svien photo)
While part of the crowd congregates in front of the jail, a man holds a protest sign at left. (Stacie Clarke photo)
Lori Taylor speaks to camera crews. (Ken Stange photos)
Marchers head up from the water towards the jail.
There are no winners here. Only losers.
Everyone involved lost something.
A son. A brother. A friend.
Reputations. Respect. Trust in our community.
When Keaton Farris died in the Island County Jail from dehydration, less than a mile from the Coupeville High School track he once ran on, it affected a great many people.
Lives have been shattered, on both sides, and who knows if they can ever be rebuilt.
For Keaton’s family and friends, there will always be an ache.
I know this.
I have lost my mother and father, one suddenly, violently, one slowly, agonizingly.
Life will go on, things will change, but there will always be a void.
And for the jailers under whose watch he died, I, for one, hope for some small grace for them.
If accidents happened, lives will be still be ripped apart. Jobs will be lost, reputations lost, maybe even worse.
And, if they allowed this to happen, if they refused to follow protocol, if they got pissed at a mentally ill man who was making their job tough, if they let Keaton die slowly (by choice or omission), they fully deserve to serve time in their own jail.
Without water.
But, when I say we have all lost, I follow this up with this — we are not lost.
Because what I witnessed Sunday was what needed to happen to begin to turn things around.
Call it whatever you want.
A protest. A memorial. A solidarity salute.
It was all those things.
Men, women, little children, babies, those who knew each other and those who were strangers, those full of anger, those full of sadness, those there for a story, those there because they live in this town and will not let it fall apart on their watch — they came together.
The parking lot next to the Coupeville Library went from one car to ten to overflowing and yet people still came.
They came from off the Island. They came from around the corner. They came from everywhere.
And when they marched, when they went towards Front Street, looking out at the vast expanse of water glistening in front of them, they went as one even though they numbered well over 200.
Some beat drums, some yelled in frustration, others murmured, others walked in silence.
But they went as one.
And on their arrival at the jail, a building you, I and every other person who lives in Coupeville passes daily without ever thinking twice about it, they circled it.
Eventually, after arms were stretched, and with encouragement creeping up and down the line and around the corners, we connected — one circle of people who had given up a bit of their Father’s Day Sunday because they wanted to, they needed to.
Family members would later talk to the camera crews, water bottles bearing the reminder “There is no life without water” would be handed out, a stream of cars going by would slow and honk their support, and, eventually, most of us would drift away.
Did it make a difference? Only time will tell.
No one from the jail came out, the sheriff didn’t make an appearance (that I saw) and the story will flare for a bit on the newscasts, then fade.
But Keaton’s memory will live on, and now through not just his friends and family, but through those who weren’t previously connected to him.
Pressure has been applied. Changes have to be made. And the world is watching.
If, in the days to come, people show the same commitment they did Sunday, there won’t be a need to come back again.
On an Island, in the middle of the water, in a country where water flows freely, in a town that I fully believe has a good soul and good people, every effort should be made to ensure this never happens again.
When we are one, we are strong. When we are one, we will make things right.
We were one Sunday.
Don’t lose that. Ever.
