A little unwell

More than you think you are / Matchbox 20









The moment I knew the world was wrong....


“So you want to go out for a drink sometime?” The defense attorney asked the prosecutor. His leer made my skin crawl. My eyes narrowed as the woman answered, sure with a smile as her fingers came up to play with the edge of her hair.

I turned looking around me for someone to offer a reality check. I found no help. I was surrounded by fourteen young Deaf women. We were on a field trip to observe the U.S. court system in action and they were getting an eye full.

We were in the audience of the court to observe the sentencing hearing for a rapist. I had explained this was not a trial, that the accused had confessed and this was simply a process to hear what his fate would be. I had been hesitant initially, rape being a particularly emotive crime. My students, I knew, shared my own harsh opinions of the crime and I had worked very hard at keeping a professional tone.

The girls, initially thrilled, were starting to get bored. We were forty minutes late in starting. The judge had arrived on time, but he wanted to finish reading his newspaper and chatting before things actually got started. Apparently that took priority.

The victim was there, at least in body. She was higher than kite and the smell of alcohol clearly emanating from her could not be escaped. While initially she had been trying to engage her attacker in conversation, after twenty or so minutes she had shifted to trying to dance on the chair and catch unseen butterflies. She was the elephant in the room that we were all trying to ignore.

Although her attacker said nothing, his family had commented loudly to the effect that she was ALWAYS like that. Their language was explicit and the disdain dripped in their tone. Her family in an equally shrill proclamation had agreed, but taken offense in the manner in which the initial sentiment had been expressed. The two families quickly began hurling insults across the isle, volleying like an obscene spelling bee. I wondered if my students were learning new words that I hoped I would not have to explain.

Only the self confessed rapist sat, appropriately dressed, looking pitifully young in a dark suit that was a little too big for him. He was demur, sitting straight; head bowed ignoring the circus around him. He looked sorry and contrite, on the few occasions he spoke his words were clear and polite, punctuated by ‘sir’ and ‘m’am’.

In teaching “deviance” and prejudice I often suggested the “elevator test.” When encountering someone different from themselves, someone who’s view or circumstances in life made them blanch, I asked my students to consider: ‘would I be okay stuck in an elevator with this person? Based on fundamental ideas would this person be more likely to help me or harm me?’ While not a fool proof exercise, it often reinforced that those we fear, might be label wrongly.

I had always found rape to be an inexcusable crime. I held no sympathy for the rapist and my personal views as to their acceptable punishments severe. Now I sat looking around a courtroom and the only person whom I thought it might be reasonable to be stuck in an elevator with was the one I knew to be a confessed rapist.