I feel I should explain a bit about my last blog post. Most of it was my
way of dealing with grief. Then I tried to imagine what John's life had
been like since I last saw him. When I thought of my own experiences
during that time, I thought maybe I understood.
In prison, I was witness to the ease with which people
hate, and how casually they do harm to one another. One cannot help but
be affected by that. More than anything, it confused me. Finally,
one day something clicked. See, occasionally the guards would come in
and do something mean or hateful, for no reason. Like, say, ripping up
correspondence from a loved one. It basically amounted to poking us with
a stick. Maybe it was a method of control - a way of keeping us
off-balance. Maybe they were just bored. But you could always tell who
the new inmates were, because they would always ask the guards "why".
The answer was so consistent, that I came to believe that it was
actually a part of their training. Their response was always, "Because
we can."
When you get down to it, that's really the only reason.
Circumstance, or in some cases, authority, gives someone the
opportunity, and some take it. There are always rationalizations and
justifications later, of course. But while it's happening, it's a base,
mindless thing. It's then that the differences between the good guys and
the bad guys tend to evaporate.
It wasn't just a
prison thing. When I got out, I was apprehensive about how I might be
welcomed back into society, so I decided to do a little experiment. On a
number of different websites, I posted (anonymously, of course) the
details of my crime and punishment, trying to get as big a cross-section
of people as possible. The responses I got back were overwhelmingly
negative. I expected that. I had, after all, broken the law. What I
didn't
expect was the venom contained in a significant percentage of those
responses. Death threats, some quite creative, were most common. There
were others who were too lazy to kill me themselves, so they requested
that I do things to myself that were not only fatal, but physically
impossible.
For months afterward, I was depressed. These were people who had jobs, drove cars,
raised children?
Why should I want to join those whose only claim to good citizenship
was the ability to follow a few simple rules? I thought about finding a
hole someplace to spend the rest of my days in.
Luckily, there
are
good people out there. I'm lucky enough to count some of them as
friends, and all of them as family.. I still believe that most people
are hard-working decent folks, just trying to do the best they can. Am I
ever wrong? Sometimes with a frequency that is downright spectacular.
But if my only choices were to become part of the darkness, or be a
victim of it, I'd choose the latter.
Of course, nominally, one should
avoid both.
It's my hope that John was lucky enough to surround himself with enough people who cared.