My students wanted to talk about VA Tech last night. It makes sense that in college classrooms everywhere, people would want to talk about the horrors they’ve seen, read about and can’t seem to escape.
I told them we would quickly reach the limits of my ability to talk about this subject.
I told them I have not followed the wall-to-wall coverage of the events.
I confessed that the only reports that have held my attention have been the stories about the victims being run at the end of different segments on NPR and other news outlets. I told them why I was interested in focusing on the victims here rather than the event, the massacre. I qualified my remarks by reminding them that I am a student of the history of political philosophy and someone who is interested in political rhetoric. I explained that naming the event was important and I further explained that focusing on the massacre, the events themselves – seemed fruitless to me.
This massacre at VA Tech (which certainly fits the definition of massacre in terms of numbers and method) seems to be different from the
Srebrenica massacre, or the
My Lai massacre, or any of the massacres committed by Saddman or other tyrants too numerous and infamous to name. We can and should call these things massacres because men can’t live with those who perpetrate such crimes against humanity. Furthermore, we can hold leaders and governments and maybe even peoples responsible. We can hold our leaders responsible either for committing them, or refusing to intervene when humanity and politics demands intervention. Our anger and even self-righteousness can be instruments of change, or at least signposts that there are those who are not cowed by tyrants and their horrors. We are not dogs and we will scream to high heaven when we see men and women murdered like dogs. If we cannot punish the political murderers in this time, we can condemn them in history and again, history means something to men.
I started to think about my use of the word tragedy, in contrast to someone who I love and respect using the term massacre to describe what happened earlier this week. I told them of the difference between the two terms, and the thoughtful position of my dear friend who said that VA Tech is best understood as a massacre. My students, for the most part thought massacre was the more appropriate term. I did not defend my use of the term tragedy to be a contradictory prick (although I can be that, no one knows that better than my students).
I continued by explaining, massacre elicits anger and demands retribution. Now consider the events from earlier this week….
Who ya gonna retribute against? Or how are you going to secure like institutions from this sort of thing ever happening again?
It was quiet in class, and as with many fine moments in teaching, chilling.
We all confronted, if not a deadly truth, a deadly reality about freedom, security, modernity, technology, leisure time, relative deprivation and the opportunity for one person to unleash mayhem.
Where does our anger get us? Some students wanted to see the murderer pay for his crimes, they wish he could stand trial.
I responded, who would be comforted by such a trial, who would be educated, who would be avenged, who would be deterred from future actions in the same mold? Wouldn’t this be like sentencing a killer tornado to death?
No response (although certainly there is one)
I explained that I choose to call this a tragedy and remember, with others, who we lost and not how they were lost. How they were lost is only a reminder of the waste. Who was lost, what they dreamt of doing (even if it is part of the media’s post-traumatic event puffery) still means something to those who are left. I looked at my class and told them:
“I can’t tell those who lost loved ones not to be angry. But, hearing the stories of those who were lost reminded me how lucky I am to know you at this time in your life. It is a privilege to work with you when you are so promising, hopeful, with only your dreams in front of you. Believe it or not folks, sometimes your parents and teachers forget what you are and what you represent, or only pay it lip service in some meaningless, political way. Out of the tragedy and knowing what the broken-hearted have lost, we can see who we still have and how precious you are.”
