The Bad Guy

A crime story has been dominating the news headlines this week.   As originally reported, a young woman had gone missing.  A search ensued, with the usual helicopter-and-ground-crew efforts to find the local university student.  Days passed with no results.  Then came the awful news: a man had been taken into custody, charged with her murder.

In an odd twist, the arrest came without the woman’s body having been discovered.  As I write this, the search for the body continues, in the treacherous waters at the mouth of a river.  Details of the case remain largely undisclosed; the authorities are playing this very close to the vest. 

The victim’s family has appeared on television, exhibiting tremendous grace in the face of overwhelming grief.  Her father spoke softly and eloquently at a candlelight vigil, honoring his daughter’s memory by thanking virtually everyone in the town for their support.  If I were in his shoes, I’d be unable to function, let alone speak before a crowd of friends and neighbors, with TV cameras rolling.  My heart cried for this man. 

Each of us views the world through our own lens.  What we see is shaped by our experiences and biases, and by our own uniquely arranged personality traits.  Our capacity to feel empathy for someone, for example, is determined in part by how closely we are able to identify with that person.  This was one of those situations, I’m sure, to which those of us who are parents can easily relate.  “Every parent’s worst nightmare,” hackneyed phrase though it may be, is spot-on here.

 I have since become aware of another parent’s nightmare: the suspect in this case is the son of an acquaintance of mine.  I don’t know this gentleman well, nor do I know his son at all; but I’ve known him casually for many years – a seemingly nice guy.  And because we have this connection, tenuous at best, I’ve found my mind wandering into territory that would normally be far out of bounds: I began thinking about the “parent’s nightmare” that he is experiencing.

The blog comments on the news sites are already piling up, calling for the death penalty and worse.  “Innocent until proven guilty” is a concept understood by all, but ignored by most when forming opinions about news stories of this nature.  And typically, I’m right there alongside the snap-judgment crowd; the facts seem obvious, fry the bastard.

This time things seem strangely different.  I know the guy’s father.  I know what it is to be a father.  This is not abstract to me.  I’m reminded of the farmer’s daughter who names the cow that she has chosen as her pet.   The cow is destined to be slaughtered.  One day Bessie will appear on the girl’s dinner plate, and that, somehow, makes things different.   Personal.   Uncomfortably real. 

My breakthrough realization here is that not one, but two families have been torn apart.  I’m not suggesting that we blur the very clear distinction between victim and perpetrator, nor that society should deal with this case differently from others.  I guess I’m just viewing it all through a different lens.