Last night we got a call from the superintendent of our school district notifying all families within the district that a man was reported to have used aggressive speech to try to get a middle school aged student into his car. Apparently this was the second such incident in the span of seven days, the other occurring in the parking lot of the same school. This morning on the news, amidst 9-11 memorials, reporters gave details of the local perpetrator’s mustache and salt and pepper hair. Hearing these details made me want to punch that anonymous face right in his mustachioed mouth. I am furious. I feel violated. I want to say that I’m pissed off but can’t because I’ve told my children it’s a crass phrase. Still, it really conveys a certain visceral reaction of gut-clenching rage. How dare this slimy creature trespass into the borders of our safe little town? It’s called Pleasant Hill, not Creeperville, for crying out loud!
I don’t know why I’m so shocked. Twenty minutes away from my home, a young girl was kept imprisoned from the age of eleven for eighteen years by a predator and his wife. She was abducted from the shores of Lake Tahoe, one of the most beautiful ski resort villages in the world. Evil does not bow to the courtesies of suburban boundary lines. Evil knows no bounds. There, I said it. Evil. It is a frightening and ugly word. As a society, we don’t like to use it. Why? Because it’s scary? Because calling something evil sounds judgmental, not PC, not rational? Because many, over history, have mishandled the label of evil? I am not sure what it is, but I know as a whole, we shy away from the term, the concept, the label. But what else do you call the act of stealing a child away from her parents? Perpetrating unspeakable acts on that child? You’d better believe I will call it evil. I will go one step further and point this evil out to my kids and tell them: “If they ever see evil coming at you, run like hell in the opposite direction. Run like you’re running from hell, because that’s exactly what you’re doing.”
The local and national media have drained every last drop of news out of poor Jaycee Dugard, the girl who lived, victimized in a tent, three towns away from me, her innocence permanently stolen. I am shocked and irritated that reporters never fail to ask this question: “In all those years, why didn’t she run away?” I’d seriously like to slap the face of anyone who, by asking this question, places any amount of blame on the victim. Obvious armchair psychology diagnoses of Stockholm Syndrome or terror-bonding aside, how could a child of eleven have been prepared to fight against or flee from evil in a world where we refuse to believe that evil exists? The only person who should receive blame is that monster Phillip Garrido. So unprepared for his brand of unvarnished malevolence, when we face him and his kind, we feel helpless and unequipped to respond.
Before 9-11, my husband, who is from Perú and grew up witnessing daily acts of terrorism, used to say, “Americans have no idea what it’s like to be terrorized on your own soil. You guys are innocent.” To tell you the truth, I thought is was a little condescending but cute because I like him, a lot. Then came 9-11. On that day our collective innocence of abject evil died suddenly. We watched evil, in it’s molten form, melt i-beams and collapse a monument to our national strength. Evil does not bow to the courtesies of suburban boundary lines. Upon reflection, it didn’t avoid the sleepy harbor town I grew up in. It didn’t rest while vacationing in beautiful South Lake Tahoe. It wouldn’t even kowtow to those once lofty Twins Towers located in the heart of Gotham. Evil knows no bounds.
Once evil is acknowledged, what do we do with that? Fortunately for me, I have a strong faith in a God that is all good and all love. I believe that, in Him, love has won the day and will continue to do so. Blah blah blog, you say? What good do these benign platitudes do if you don't share my belief? Or what if you do have a faith but believe that faith without action is dead? Where is the practical application? Should we run from evil? I hope my children will, as fast as their sturdy legs will carry them. But I'm an adult. Is it time for me to put away childish things? Should I clench my fists, size up my opponent and kick evil in it’s sweet spot?
Consider the heroes of 9-11. What did they do when faced with evil? Did they flee in terror? No. They ran with defiant abandon right into its jaws. Who will ever forget the shock they felt when those towers went down? Here is a more startling question: who will ever forget the countless acts of bravery, selflessness and goodness that followed? I cried as I watched people willingly give up their lives with the hope of helping just one other human being. Even the smallest act of goodness overcame the greatest act of evil that day. How can this be? Because evil does have bounds. Evil is bound by goodness. It is smothered by goodness. It is crushed beneath the heel of goodness.
So, what if we meet each day of our lives, in our communities, at our jobs, in our homes, at our schools with the defiant abandon of the heroes of 9-11? What would happen if an endless stream of acts of bravery, selflessness and sacrifice flooded this world? Obviously, I’m not breaking ground with this thought. After all, the President has declared this a National Day of Service and Remembrance. In a well-written speech at the wreath-laying ceremony at the Pentagon, President Obama said, these acts of goodness are “the greatest rebuke to those who attacked us, the highest tribute to those that were taken from us.”
Finally, I add this prayer I found on someone's facebook page today. Just about sums it up for me:
it is night.
The night is for stillness.
Let us be still in the presence of God.
It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
what has not been done has not been done;
let it be.
The night is dark;
Let our fears of the darkness of the world and our own lives rest in you.
The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
all dear to us,
and all who have no peace.
The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day,
new joys,
new possibilities.
In your name we pray.
Amen.
third 9/11 cry of the weekend.
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