A Man of Conviction

Over the last few months/years, there has been an ever growing controversy surrounding law enforcement.  There are populations across the United States that believe they are continually persecuted by law enforcement, which has been responded to by protests, and have led to further division and violence.  All anyone has to do to witness evidence of this division and resulting violence first hand, is to turn on the TV.  What must the rest of the world think when they look to the United States?  I don’t want to write about this violence and contribute to the ongoing division of beliefs that are plaguing our people.  Instead, I would like to tell you about a law enforcement officer, that I respect, who hopefully a lesson or two can be learned from.  For the sake of anonymity, for the time being, I will leave out names and locations.

This man is one of conviction, with a steadfast belief in the law, that I believe in his mind exists without question.  I won’t say that he is a good officer, as that is a whole other conversation, but he is without doubt good at his job.  He is given a task, and he does it efficiently, and without question, as would a dedicated soldier.  What's more, he likes his work.

Within his jurisdiction, there is a great deal of unrest.  Tensions are always running well above what most would consider to be safe for law officers and the citizens served alike.  Conflict occurs nearly every day.  As a result, this man has become hardened over time.  He exists in a world of black and white, right and wrong, and those that break the code of conduct set forth are persecuted to the full extent of the law.  

Admittedly, there is a level of violence associated with his work, and given his experience and training, violence now comes easy.  Anyone who has studied or been around combat, knows that on some level you end up almost liking violence as you become more experienced in using it.  There is a sense of power that is addictive.  This officer likes violence and he is good at it.  Anybody who stands up to him quickly regrets it, as he is able to put them down quickly and without much fuss.  The law is his religion, and he is an avid devote.  He is so good at his work and inflicting violence against law breakers, he has been chosen for a special unit that hunts down specific populations; individuals and groups alike.

There are those that would call what he does unethical at times.  The persons he is charged with pursuing, do after all belong to specific groups.  He doesn’t seem to mind though, or frankly even care, as he knows what he is doing is for the benefit of his home and State, as these individuals refuse to assimilate and do in fact break the law on a regular basis.  Regardless of their ethnicity, they are criminals and the law is very specific on the natural consequences of breaking it.  He believes in the law, and so he believes in the threat these individuals pose to it, to his very way of life, and he has no qualms about targeting the responsible parties to make sure the threat is taken care of.

This officer's story presents a contradiction of values, or at a minimum a moral quagmire which I would like to discuss.  Many who are not police officers will read about this individual and will begin to, or have begun to, form opinions about this person's intentions. For some, this man represents a very serious problem facing this County, in which law enforcement is perceived as being aggressive to specific groups of people simply because of the color of their skin.  Others will recognize that in some very specific areas, a majority of crime is caused by specific groups, and so statistically it is nearly impossible for their not to be racial differences in arrests.  

There are very likely individuals who are reading this, that have either stopped by this point, or have continued simply because this man’s story has made them so angry, that they want to finish so they know exactly how to respond when they later comment.  Either way, I would like to take a moment to thank those still reading.

Social Disorganization Theory of Criminology, suggests that the “where” is more important than the “who”.  For example, youths from disadvantaged neighborhoods might participate in a subculture which approves of delinquency, and so these young individuals will acquire traits consistent with becoming criminal, and will exist successfully within those social and cultural settings.

Because neighborhoods are traditionally made up of ethnic groups, these areas have a disproportionate number of criminals who fall into that category.  This does not make a cop racist.  It only means that the officer is doing his or her job.  This is evident in the fact that this phenomenon is by no means specific to a single ethnic population;  Western Baltimore, South-Central Los Angeles, South Boston, Western Phoenix, South Manhattan, and countless other neighborhoods all have various concentrations of ethnicities, and all have above average violent crime rates.  A cop in any of these neighborhoods could be looked upon as being racist, simply because of where he or she is assigned to patrol, regardless if they are actually racist or not.

All that being said, there are absolutely cops out there who are dangerous, racist, drunk with power, and should without hesitation be relieved of duty.  The same can be said for teachers, counselors, doctors, accountants, or any other profession.  This is because people are inherently flawed, and as Social Disorganization Theory shows, where and how a person grows up and is taught, easily leads to socially accepted behavior, within specific contexts, that for many of us is completely unethical, and frankly scary.  The man from the beginning of this piece of writing, is one of those scary individuals.

By the end of his career in law enforcement, this officer was more enforcer than he was law.  As described, he was good at his job and did it with a cold efficiency that was scarily fierce.  He crossed the line from being a man driven by the ideals of justice and service, to a man driven by a lust for violence and persecution.  

So who was he?

You might be surprised to learn that you very likely know who this person is, if not by name, then certainly by his Acts.  His given name is Sha'ul ha-Tarsi‎.  He was Turkish born and as a law enforcement officer, he persecuted and jailed a population of people because of their beliefs and his intense hatred of them.  A near terrorist  to some of his time, and certainly by modern standards.  

Most today simply remember him by the name he took on after he quite miraculously had a change of heart, and began advocating for those he had once been sent to harm, defending their faith as fiercely as he had before tried to destroy it.  The name you might recognize, is Paul, and he wrote at least seven, perhaps as many as fourteen, of the twenty-seven books of the New Testament.  

Paul’s letter to the Roman’s, is among my favorites.

Three Chords and You

For years I tried to write my song, to have the notes come out just right,

All the nights that I spent playing, the countless days I just couldn’t write,

 

After drinking away every last goodbye, or raising a glass to the first hello.

Spent so much time seeking answers, to questions I just didn’t know.

 

And then one day in winter's warmth, beneath the Texas sun I knew,

Why my song it never worked, I can’t write me without you.

 

G to D for just two bars, an E Minor to help see it through

That all I’d need to write our song, these three chords, and you.

 

Our  joyous song that's sometimes sad, and never quite the same,

Never changing yet always new, seldom repeated in each refrain

 

That song, it’s with me all the time, been stuck in my head all day,

Can’t help humming another chorus, and I can’t wait to play,

 

G to D for just two bars, then an E Minor to see it through

This simple tune is all I’ll need, just these three chords and you.

 

 

To Make a Violin...

          I was swapping stories this morning with a doctor friend, whom I have worked with off and on for the last year or so.  Quite randomly, he casually mentioned that he has been making violins.  As a former fiddle player and lover of all things music, I was suddenly fascinated to be speaking with someone who possessed the time, talent, and patience, to make something so very beautiful.  I enjoy woodworking myself, but I typically go forth without any real plan in place.  I just like to build stuff.  What he does however is truly art, and I was captivated by it.

         The good doctor explained to me that a good and proficient violin maker can produce a violin in roughly 250 hours.  Through every step of the process, the smallest of mistakes can ruin the project and all you are left with is a pretty piece of firewood.  I found myself wondering what it would be like to go through the extraordinary and procise tedium of making a violin, only to make a single small mistake near the end, and have it all be for not.  With a violin, actions are absolute.  There is no fixing them or hiding what you have done.  It’s either right or it’s not.  Period.

         I know a lot of people that think this way, and it always amazes me how they never see the ridiculousness of it all.  These people, I find, tend to exist on either the far left, or the far right of the spectrum, and refuse to entertain the idea that there might be a mutually beneficial middle ground.  I had a teacher once tell me that being an Independent, really just means that you can not hack it in either party, be it republican or democrat.  I remember being told as a child, for a spelling test as I recall, that the last three letters of Republican spell “can”, while the last three letters of democrat spell “rat”.  I think I was about ten years old at the time.  The indoctrination of personal beliefs is best achieved in one's youth after all.

        The fact of the matter is, when we fall victim to this “All or Nothing” brand of thinking, we all become casualties of a broken system.  The repeal of Obamacare is a wonderfully failed example of this.  On one side of the isle - let's call this side the left - representation praises the Affordable Healthcare Act as a necessary step in providing for the wellbeing of this nation's citizens.  On the other side of the isle - the right - representation equates the Affordable Healthcare Act to a socialist idea meant to bring about the fall of the free economy.  It’s a terrible realization that they are both right.

          With this example, we have representatives of both parties squaring off against the opposition, and the result is a majority of the American people being left in a state of purgatory, just waiting for a decision to be made, a decision that will never come.

Obamacare does not work as advertised.  The efforts to repeal and replace Obamacare will not work as advertised either.  The reason for this, is that both sides hold so tightly to the idea that they are absolutely correct, they can’t begin to recognize how wrong they are.  And unlike the process of building a violin, rather than recognizing that a mistake was made and starting over to make sure it is done correctly, the legislature just keeps on carving away at the problem.  

If an artist such as my friend the good doctor did this with a violin, the result would be a poorly constructed piece of garbage, with no hope of ever making beautiful music.  I guess that is where we are at with the Affordable Care Act.  At least a failed violin has the potential to keep a few people warm for a moment or two.

On Foreign Shores

I was in the army, away on some foreign shore.

Fighting in some great battle, in a hell that we call war.

 

I hoped you were back home, patiently awaiting my return,

Praying that I don’t join the others, that in death have found their turn.

 

I then got a letter, that you had sealed with a kiss,

Saying you wish you could be here, so you wouldn’t have to end it like this.

 

A strange feeling came over me, as I realized what this letter was about,

You were no longer going to give your love, instead you simply wanted out.

 

You said you had found someone else, who would never make you cry,

Because you’d never stay up late at night, and wonder when he’d die.

 

I felt that I could right then, die as you had professed.

And God must have read that letter too, for a stray bullet landed in my chest.

 

And as I fell to the ground, my heaven lost by what you had said,

I woke up from my nightmare, and I was laying in my bed.

 

I then got an even stranger feeling, as discovered irony’s devilish charms,

For not even in my dreams, could I hold you in my arms.