Journal to a Muse

Where is the village?

I anticipated a leisurly browse through the Sunday times this morning. What I experienced were alternating waves of outrage and sadness. I can be as stand-offish as anyone ("It's not MY business." "Don't get involved." "I couldn't do anything about it anyway."). I can also be infuriated,frustrated, grief-stricken and quixotic about situations that bother me.

No doubt you have heard the proverb "It takes a village to raise a child."

Set aside, for now, any politicized response you might have about these eight short words. Instead, think of instances when neighbors helped you. When adults gave you a ride or advice or just a smile when you were a kid. There are lots of places where caring neighbors, relatives and strangers support children and their parents.
Maybe we should amend the phrase to include "It takes a village to create good parents." We have geographical villages, ethnic villages, religious villages and electronic villages.
When each village is isolated, we also have a very flimsy societal fabric. Rags. Tatters. Ideological threads, strands of behavior and belief weave us together, comfortably or not.

So I was distressed to read about the following failures of our Village.

Walter Smith was given a psychiatric discharge (PTSD) by the USMC after he collapsed in tears during specialized gun range training. Upon returning to his hometown in Utah, he called police several times because he thought he was going to harm himself or another. He has now confessed to drowning the mother of his twin daughters, but doesn't know why he did it. Her parents call for "justice" and deny that PTSD, his experiences in Iraq, or the Veterans Services have any responsibility for their daughter's death. The town prosecutors are not so sure.

What is the village going to do to stop this from happening over and over?

At left is a photograph of a chair, cords, and duct tape used when 7 year old Nixmary misbehaved. Her step-father in a videotaped statement said he tied her to it,they say, with twine, with duct tape, with bungee cords that cut into her ankles. Forensic experts will testify that the blood on the pillow and the T-shirt, on the turtleneck and the sweat pants, on the pink towel and the blue blanket, is Nixzmary’s.The cat box was her toilet. Her parents have both testified that she was a terror to her five younger siblings. Her last infraction was taking a forbidden yogurt container from the refrigerator.

The murder trial is revealing that some community members, parents, step-parents, and prosecuters in New York don't know what Child Abuse is. Mr. Rodriguez is quoted as saying

"You don't know you've crossed the line until you get accused
of crossing the line."

If a child dies, it was abuse and beyond, OK?
I don't know if the tragedy is that this man honestly didn't know what was appropriate and what was not, or if he had no regard for this child's life. I do know that no matter how much of a "terror" this 37 pound girl may have been, she didn't deserve to live or die in such circumstances.
I know about "losing it." Thank goodness I was willing to leave rather than wreak such damage.
I am even supportive, in many instances, of forgiveness, of second chances. The children I've known in foster care (which is hardly the haven of safety they deserve) in Texas know that "if it leaves a mark" it is abuse. Sadly, even reports or evidence of abuse may not get them any relief or protection.

Why haven't we insisted and persisted in telling parents and those responsible for children that it is NOT alright to hit them? That doing so only shows that the adult's nerves are frayed and they have stopped thinking clearly? That regardless of how many generations of nannies, grandparents, school masters, teachers or authorities in their family used hitting, whipping, beating, the time for that is OVER?

There are more programs on television talking about proper training of dogs than there are talking about proper, humane training of the next generation.

When will the village care as much about the small and week in its midst as its pets and livestock?

Finally, someone is stealing Trees in Vermont. Decades old, hardwood Maple trees were felled by a neighbor (!) without warning and without permission. They are on private property. The aged couple living on the property has used the trees as an ancillary income source. (If you have worried about how you might enhance your fixed income during retirement, Maples Trees would have seemed like a safe bet.)
Any syrup conniseur knows that Vermont Maple Syrup can be the best. But someone who wanted fire wood, or boards for chairs or tables, sawed down the trees and took them away.
It turns out its not only in Vermont. They are taking trees from National Forests, remote private lands and any place where they can get hard wood without getting caught.

When did we forget about the differences between public and private? What is mine and what is yours? What is free and what has a price? I thought our American Village believed in a kind of democracy that meant that everyone "matters." The American Village has never professed to be one giant commune where everything belongs to everybody-- "just take what you need." The American Village (I thought) adoped democracy as its basis for human rights, and capitalism as the means to distribute goods and services.

Does your village think it is OK to steal? Does it matter if there wasn't a guard or guard-dog present? How does your village balance personal wants and civilized values such as mutual respect, contracts and cooperation?

We are each our village. What are you going to do?