Another Day in the Death of America: A Chronicle of Ten Short Lives by Gary Younge Page B

early settler in Marlette, “A cyclone of fire swept across the county and in four hours’ time had laid the entire Thumb of Michigan a desolatewaste. . . . A change in wind saved the village but the next day, not a farm building or a fence was left between the village and Cass River except the house of James Keys. Cattle, horses, sheep, hogs and chickens lay in the fields roasted to death. Apples hung, baked to a turn.” 7
    The emotional fallout from Tyler’s shooting wrought an analogous toll on Marlette. “We’re a small rural county,” says Biniecki. “When you have a tragic accident like this, it does affect everybody. Right from the families involved at the epicenter of this all the way out. Everybody knew the victim’s family. Everybody knew the shooter’s family. As you’ll find out weaving through this, both sides were devastated.”
    The question of how to weigh those two experiences—grief for the dead and sympathy for those who must live with their mistakes—is not easy. In Marlette it tore at the very fabric of this tight-knit community.
    Within four days of the shooting, Brittany put up a “community” page on Facebook called “Justice for Tyler Dunn.” The words “your amazing” [ sic ] were emblazoned in bright green over three pictures of Tyler: one of him on the go-cart, one close-up, and one of him with his shirt off wearing nothing but a big smile and that coconut bra of Ashley’s. Another photo shows Tyler sitting in a rocking chair in a T-shirt, appearing to be holding court. In the “About” section it simply states, “March 5th 2002–November 23rd 2013. Tyler Dunn was only 11 years old when his life was cut short. Please Help support his family and friends.” The last posting from the family was less than two months after Tyler’s death; they were selling T-shirts and hoodies for twenty-five dollars and thirty dollars respectively. Both say “Justice for Tyler” on the front; the T-shirts have a picture of Tyler on the back. A year after Tyler’s death, the page had 792 likes.
    Erica Bartz posted the following on the page a week after the shooting:
I do not wish or pray for blood in return for the death of my cousins son. I pray for comfort for their loss, healing for their broken hearts, and strength to carry on. I do not wish bad upon anyone, especially a 12 year old boy. I do expect there be justice, yes justice for Tyler Dunn who’s life has been ended way to suddenly because of irresponsible parents who have no concern or safety for children. As for the kid who was at the other end, I pray for him to tell the truth. So anyone offended by “Justice for Tyler Dunn.” Its none of your concern an your two sense is not needed unless it’s words to remember Tyler or to be sympathetic for the family. If this was your son, grandson, brother, your family member, or close friend you would want to know the truth and have justice put on those responsible for their short life that could have and should have been prevented from ending so horribly.
    But the tension inherent in that posting—compassion for Brandon alongside a preemptive swipe at those who equated seeking justice for Tyler with retribution against Brandon—gave a hint of a bitter divide. Five days after the shooting, Tyler’s own Facebook page was still up. On it, Rikki Mangone posted, “Yes what happened to Tyler was a horrible thing. But blaming the friend is not right! Brandon did not do it on purpose! It was an accident when two young boys were messing with a gun. Tyler AND Brandon need to be in your prayers! Tyler lost a life and now Brandon will have a shitty one. So for everyone saying shit about Brandon needs to stop.”
    Twenty-six people liked the post. At least one did not. Janet, Tyler’s grandmother, responded shortly after four in the morning, sparking the following exchange:
Janet: HOW DARE YOU RIKKI, YOU NEED REMOVE THIS POST OFF OF TYLER’S WALL, WE HAVE NO SORROW FOR BRANDON.
Theresa