Keep fighting the good fight, Sheriff Goods

VICKSBURG, Miss. (VDN) — Policing in the year of our Lord 2025 has to be an absolute nightmare, and over the weekend, Claiborne County Sheriff Edward “Moose” Goods had enough.

We’re living with the fallout of a generation that came of age in isolation. Their most formative, identity-shaping years were spent in COVID lockdowns, online classrooms, and the awkward, uncertain return to a world that didn’t look—or feel—the same. These were supposed to be the years they built confidence, community, direction. Instead, they got anxiety, apathy, and algorithms.

That’s who law enforcement is facing now. A generation shaped more by TikTok trends and trauma than by the kind of mentorship and structure that once came from schools, churches, neighborhoods. These are the kids carrying guns not because they’re hardened—but because they’re scared. They’ve been trained to look the part, not live it. And so they put on the performance: they post, they pose, they posture. They’re trying to survive a world they were never prepared for.

The proof? Despite the number of shots fired this year in Vicksburg, there’s only been one death. That’s not nothing. That means something.

And it means that, thankfully, this generation is more interested in looking tough than being dangerous. That doesn’t make the situation less serious. But it does mean there’s still a window—however narrow—to reach them before things get worse. Those shots fired will lead to another death.

Over the weekend the Claiborne County Sheriff’s department took their frustration to their Facebook page calling out the “YNs” and their parents, those posts—blunt, maybe a little too sharp for some—bought them one night of peace.

But in today’s world, that wasn’t the headline. The tone was.

On Monday, Sheriff Moose shared an example of just what they are up against. A suspect fled from a vehicle, leaving behind an arsenal that almost looked fake. It wasn’t. That’s the reality they’re walking into every single day.

It’s become a modern reflex: when something hits too close to home, or calls something out too directly, we fall back on I don’t like your tone. It’s a way to disagree without engaging. It’s a way to feel morally superior without actually saying anything. And while tone does matter, so does timing. If the message saves one life, prevents one funeral—then maybe, just maybe, the words were worth it.

Because here’s the truth: these kids are not okay. Suicide rates are climbing. Between 2007 and 2020, the suicide rate among Black youth ages 10–17 increased by 144%. Depression is rampant. Humor is darker. Hope is harder to come by. And we’ve all sort of shrugged our way into this era of quiet despair, acting like it’s normal to scroll past tragedy and keep scrolling.

They see that. And they internalize it.

The ones who keep showing up, who walk through neighborhoods every day hoping to change one mind—those people deserve our support. They deserve some grace. If they manage to save one life today and come back tomorrow to face another kid with a duffel bag full of firepower, maybe don’t lead with “I don’t like how you said that.”

Maybe check your premise.

Because that kind of critique says less about them and a lot more about us. Let’s stop getting in the way of people who are still trying, still in the fight, still refusing to throw their hands up and say: “What do you do?”

We need them. We need their effort, and we sure as hell need more than another passive moral high ground while the ground beneath these kids feet keeps falling out.

Let Sheriff Moose speak to those lost boys and girls. However he has to.