I’m reading Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy.
It’s a tough book to read, because it is unflinchingly violent. It is violence that still manages to disturb, despite my healthy diet of violent images in the mainstream media – from Quentin Tarrintino to the Dark Knight. It is – in a strange way – refreshing to recognize that violence can still jar, still shock, still offend. I think that is one of Cormac’s gifts as a writer – that he makes violence so visceral, so demanding. He paints a world I don’t want to be a part of….
….and he also manages to force me to realize that I am a product of that same world I find so distasteful. That is what is so powerful about his work I think – that it disturbs and fascinates with its violence – but it also connects us to it, holds us responsible through some distant chain of fate in reverse. I want to wash my hands of the blood.
As I thought about Gaza, and Blood Meridian I realized that violence is always designed to seem distant, remote. Wars are fought on distant shores, where the bloody mess and the dusty rubble can be ignored by those who find it easy to turn away from it all. Israel refuses to let the media in to Gaza – I suspect because they know the benefit of keeping us all distant from the reality of violence. Hamas, for their part, shows little of their missile launches, and paints a picture for us to gain our sympathies. Both sides know how removed we are from violence – even violence of our own making.
I don’t pretend to know what Cormac thinks about anything. But I do read in his books a somewhat desperate effort to make us face the bloody, destructive facts of our history and our present. Maybe if we looked at it in all its horror, we’d be less inclined to participate in it.
This summer, I’ve seen a lot of crime in Hartford.
My church was broken into twice. Twice. In two weeks. The first time, I called the police at 9:15 p.m. The first police officer arrived at 12:30 a.m. Over three hours later.
I witnessed a man get beaten on a street near my church. He was screaming for help as a gang of five teenagers pummeled him. I, and many others, ran to his aid, but the young men got away. The man was beaten up, but he’ll be ok.
I’ve heard about crime too. Colin McEnroe wrote a depressing column in the Courant. I was talking with another friend who told me he caught a guy stealing copper pipe from the basement of his house. He trapped the guy in his basement. It took the cops two hours to respond to that one, and the guy got away.
Hartford, we have a problem.
No doubt the recent spike in crime in Hartford is due to the national economic downturn. When the economy goes south, the poorest communities are hit first and hit hardest. Our food program at the church is being taxed heavily, and I know many in my congregation who are looking for work. Hartford’s public education has been a problem for years, and kids have little to occupy themselves with during the summer.
I have to give some credit to the Hartford police. When they finally did show up, they were professional. They did a solid investigation. And they even made an arrest and got a confession. Case closed. But I also kinda think that if we had a better police program, with more cops on the street and more connections between the police and the community, and if we invested in our children, that these crimes might never have happened in the first place. Good police work should prevent crime as much as punish it.
One other thing: The problem has to be admitted before it can be addressed. I hate watching Hartford’s leadership repeatedly gloss over these problems and not take them seriously enough. I hate hearing politicians and community leaders keep telling me to emphasize the positive. Focus on the good. No doubt there is a lot of good in Hartford. I don’t need help focusing on that. But if someone doesn’t start paying attention to what’s really going on in this town, I feel pretty certain that the good that is here won’t be here long. Face it: Hartford is addicted to violence, and Hartford is in denial.
