Soccer Mom: Unplugged

Lots of talk the past few days about a brutal rape that took place in St. Paul.  The general consensus is that those who happened upon the scene and did nothing should be held accountable and that their inaction is reprehensible.  Shades of Edmund Burke...  All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing, right?

What comes to mind as I consider these horrifying happenings is a violent crime that unfolded before my eyes as a child and has been seared in my memory ever since. 

My mom worked nights. My dad worked days.  And there was a short period of time when my younger brother and I were left in the care of my oldest sister while waiting on the arrival of the school bus.  My sister was 19 and I was 7 that morning when I missed the bus and had to wait for mom to get home from work, drive me to grade school and check me in "tardy". 

My other teenaged siblings were waiting at the bus stop just across the street from our front porch where I sat waiting for mom, backpack loaded and lunch in hand.  At about the time the high school bus approached the stop and teenagers started filing onto the bus, a tall, black man with a set of num chucks (no clue how to spell that) strode quickly to the stop from the opposite direction.  My brothers and sister got onto the bus and the last student, a lineman for the footbal team raised his foot to step into the bus.  The man grabbed the boy by the scruff of his letterman jacket and threw him to the ground.  He proceded to beat him mercilessly until he lost consciousness.  My sister ran inside and called the police, yelling at my little brother and I to 'go inside'.  My brother followed her into the house but I couldn't move.  I was paralyzed with fear and viewed the whole incident. 

From inside the bus, my brother beat on the doors to get out and help his teammate but the bus driver, knowing her responsibility to the other students refused to open the doors.  It was nightmarish.  All of us, filled with a desire to do something, none of us, knowing what to do.  The man ran off after he realized how many witnesses had seen his crime and how close to death his victim was.  The bus driver stayed at the scene with the other students locked safely inside the bus until the police and EMS arrived.  I stayed on the porch with my sister, perhaps 30 yards from the scene, until we were sure that my older siblings on the bus were safely on their way to school.

After the scene was cleared,  all I could think about were the victim's school books and papers scattered across the neighbor's yard.  My sister sent me over to gather all his things.  I distinctly remember shaking as I walked to the bus stop/ crime scene and the eerie post crime silence that convinced me the attacker was going to come back as soon as I stepped anywhere near the spot where his victim stood. 

It was a long time before the phobia of being in the front yard passed.  And even into adulthood, I spook easily when people unexpectedly enter my personal space.  But that day I learned that there are smart and safe ways to get involved.  No one suggests that bystanders put themselves in jeopardy - that is a very personal choice -  but there is absolutely no excuse for refusing to dial 911 or for sugar coating a crime in progress.  If 10 bystanders witnessed this crime, then there should have been 10 calls to 911, all detailing vividly the crime underway.  And instead of excusing inaction with psychological or sociologial phenomena, these bystanders ought to be held accountable by a reasonable application of Minnesota's Good Samaritan law.