My Mind's Ink

I was walking with a friend of mine in the quiet little park behind my house when we were attacked by a group of kids. My friend managed to escape. I was pepper sprayed, beaten senseless, and robbed. It has been a year now and a couple chipped teeth are all that remains of the physical damage, but an episode like that lingers with you. I have been turning those thoughts over and over. The rough edges have been worn away and they are now familiar enough to write about. Here they are then, those smooth little pebbles.

Four masked individuals attacked us on Halloween night. Even wearing masks, their slight stature and tone of voice gave them away as teenagers. Thinking, at worst, that we were the targets of a practical joke, we ignored their request for our wallets. One of the young men had a can of bear spray. As the liquid hit my face I lunged towards the person wielding it. I covered the distance in two steps and grabbed my attacker; by then I knew we were in trouble. The spray had already blinded me and I was fighting in the dark. I yelled to my friend. I couldn’t help him. He had to run. It turns out he did not hear me, but he hardly needed my advise. With burning and blurry eyes he fought his way through and went for help.

I was fighting for my life and I did so by trying to choke it out of the kid I had my hands on. Grappling on the ground with my eyes squeezed shut, I found his throat, put my fingers on either side of his windpipe, and squeezed as hard as I could. I heard the sounds of him choking and gasping for air, and I remember thinking that was good.

Then the world stops. My memory does not fade out. There is an abrupt halt to it. I believe I received a heavy blow to the head from one of the other kids and this accounts for my sudden decent into blackness.

The first thing to emerge from that dense and clinging nothing is a memory of standing on the street talking to the police. I had some notion that I was hurt; the source of this was principally my face, which felt as though it had been set on fire. My vision was reduced to blurry prisms and my brain was punch drunk. Those memories, and the ones that were to follow for the next several hours, are veiled in a hazy fog.

The muggers relieved me of my jacket and wallet, neither of which had any value, and ran away. I do not know if I was rendered entirely senseless when my memory left me. What happened in that intervening blank space is unclear. By talking to witnesses, lawyers, and the police I have some guesses. I assume I still had some fight in me, which I find strangely encouraging, because I then managed to be beaten again by a separate group of drunken youths that were in the park at the time.

I had visions of a group of people kicking and punching me while I was unconscious, which I found particularly disturbing. I have since come to believe that in my fuddled state I attempted to aggressively defend myself from the first person to lay hands on me. Even in something so senseless you try to make things add up. It is this, more than any actual facts, which lead me to this belief. Regardless of the circumstances, I was savagely beaten. I was beaten until a few good Samaritans stopped my attackers. I credit them with saving my life.

Witnesses at the park led police to make two arrests almost immediately. I originally thought these were two of the muggers but have come to realize that they were never caught. The two boys that were arrested were involved in the second assault. They were both 16. My friend and I were subpoenaed as witnesses but in the end nothing was required of us. The two individuals charged with the assault plead guilty on the day of the trial.

My attackers have been sentenced under the Young Offenders Act which has resulted in a non-custodial sentence. That means a combination of things, none of which is jail time. The fact that time in a jail was not part of the sentencing seems particularly troubling to many people. The outcry, expressed in phrases like "slap on the wrist" and "scott free", is for more jail time and stricter sentencing. I remain unconvinced of this answer.

Men are not punished for their sins, but by them. – Elbert Hubbard, American author

I am not in charge of the criminal justice system. Which is probably a good thing. I do not know that you can point to the days of public hangings as a beacon of hope for humanity. Short of removing individuals from the gene pool we have to find other solutions. Which in the general case leads to a larger discussion, but in this specific case leads me to say this. I believe in treating the young in a different manner than the mature.

The character is still forming on a daily basis when you are that young. A 15 year old that steals a car has a better chance at reformation than a 35 year old that steals a car. There are far more choices that will result in a basically good and productive individual for the young man than for the older man.

The effects of our actions may be postponed but they are never lost. There is an inevitable reward for good deeds and an inescapable punishment for bad. Meditate upon this truth, and seek always to earn good wages from Destiny. – Wu Ming Fu, Chinese activist & poet

Punishment can be part of the whole, but punishment with out an opportunity to change is self-defeating. We have ruled out the take-them-out-back-and-shoot-them philosophy and so we operate with the understanding that we have to live with these boys for the rest of their natural lives. Putting someone young in the constant company of violent criminals seems a dangerous proposition. I will never have to deal with these two again, but lots of other people will. Given that fact a jail sentence may not be the most productive long-term plan.

This runs contrary to our innate desires. As the victim, I can assure you that far more medieval brands of sentencing come to mind when considering what would bring a sense of satisfaction. In truth though, if given the opportunity to dole out justice as I see fit, I am not sure what that would be.

Never does the human soul appear so strong as when it foregoes revenge and dares to forgive an injury. – Edwin Hubbel Chapin, American clergyman

Vengeance satisfies our blood lust, and is easy to dispense, which is why it is so often dressed up as justice, but it is a forgery. We must aspire to something more. We make the world we live in. In order to make it better it becomes necessary to look beyond our base instincts. We cannot elevate ourselves if we are busy exchanging blows with the lowest common denominator.

I had an opportunity to put this philosophy into practice. I met with one of the boys after the trial. It is called restorative justice, which is the legal systems term for an apology. One of the boys requested it. The arrangements were made, and an hour after he plead guilty, I talked with him.

He was not the boogey man. He was a small awkward teenager with acne. He was, in fact, a little pathetic. He said he was sorry. I believed him. He explained that he was drunk and that he thought he was defending a friend. He told me he was changed and that he was trying to make better friends. He said that if he were ever in that situation again he would just walk away. None of this made much of an impact on me, but then I was not expecting to hear anything surprising. I agreed to meet with him so I could tell him some things.

I could have said that he was lucky I was not a different sort of person. I was surprised at the number of offers I received in the days following the attack to take part in any vigilantly undertaking I wanted to set in motion. It was touching in a lynch mob sort of way. So I could have mentioned that he was fortunate that he was not going to end up in the back of a van on the outskirts of town, but this would have detracted from the message I wanted to deliver, so I am glad I omitted it.

I told him that I considered myself lucky. I walked away from a brutal incident with no permanent injuries. Lamenting the bruises and dental work lacks a degree of perspective, and so, I feel lucky. That means he was lucky too. Both of our lives could have turned permanently more ugly on that night. He dodged a bullet too and he would do well to keep that in mind. They do not often miss twice.

The humblest individual exerts some influence, either for good or evil, upon others. – Henry Ward Beecher, American clergyman and abolitionist

I told him that it was good that he was sorry and that he pledged to change, but that his promise to walk away was not enough. There were two young men that stopped me from being beaten. They became more than bystanders and if he wanted to set this right then he had to become one of them. It was not good enough that he did not play the bad guy. The next time he had to be the good guy. I told him that is what he owed.

The defense lawyer, parole officer, and the prosecutor were present. In the days following they went out of their way to tell me my little speech had a "big effect". I am choosing to be optimistic on this point. I think he did understand what I was trying to tell him; maybe it even made a difference. I am not sure that what those boys received was justice, or that the course of their lives has been altered for the better, but a path is open to redemption, and that is a good thing. We all need a little redemption from time to time.

Epilogue

The sentence imposed a number of restrictions and curfews on the boys as part of their parole. One of which was that they were to have no contact with one another. The police discovered them in the same park. They spent a week in juvenile detention center as a result. The rest of their monitored parole continues.

The sentence also had financial consequences. I received $1,730 from them. The prosecutor had made me aware of much of the expected sentence, but this part was a surprise. I considered it found money and donated it. Covenant House in Vancouver helps street kids and Victoria Women’s Transition House Society is an emergency shelter for women and their children, I split the money between them.

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