There's Only Us

Three stories have dominated the news, social media, and my heart, soul, and mind this past week. The story of a radicalized madman mercilessly murdering seven innocents in Toulouse, France. The story of Trayvon Martin, an innocent teen killed by a neighborhood vigilante. And the guilty pleas of a pack of white teens who killed James Craig Anderson here in Mississippi last summer.

Across the sea. Across the country. Across town. Everywhere I look, all over my world.

All three of these stories, with their diverse settings, characters, and tragic ends, share chilling similarities. None of these were crimes of passion - a drug deal gone bad, an act of revenge or family vendetta, a man walking in on his wife in bed with his best friend and flying into a rage. I am not excusing crimes committed under these circumstances, merely using them to underscore a critical difference. Legally and emotionally, there is a difference between crimes of passion, and crimes of hatred. 

The three tragedies all share these two terrifying elements:

-A truly innocent victim(s), who did not have any personal connection to the killer

-A killer (or killers) who saw his victim merely as an "other"

Four of the seven Toulouse victims killed by Merah.
Top, from left: Aryeh Sandler, Gavriel Sandler.
Bottom: Rabbi Jonathan Sandler, Miriam Monsonego.
Photo reposted from The Jewish Journal

In France, a 23-year-old man named Mohamed Merah killed three French paratroopers (if anyone has their names, please share them; I scoured articles and could find only that they were all male, in their twenties, and of North African descent), and four French Jewish citizens: Miriam Monsonego, age 8; Aryeh Sandler, age 6; Gavriel Sandler, age 4; and Jonathan Sandler, age 30 - father of Aryeh and Gavriel. All were killed in cold blood, at close range - and, wearing a camcorder around his neck, Merah filmed the murders as he committed them. A self-proclaimed Al-Quaeda militant, Merah killed his victims because of who they were: not as individuals, but as others: who they were, what they looked like, what they "represented" to their killer. Being "the other."

Trayvon Martin.
Photo widely available online.
Original source unknown.

In Florida, on February 26, a 28-year-old man named George Zimmerman shot and killed 17-year-old Trayvon Martin. Zimmerman, a "self-appointed neighborhood watch captain," thought Martin looked suspicious. Though he claims self defense, Zimmerman's own calls placed to 9-1-1 indicate otherwise. Trayvon Martin did not pursue him; he pursued Trayvon Martin. Zimmerman weighs 250 pounds and was armed with a 9 millimeter handgun. Martin weighed 140 pounds and was carrying an iced tea and a bag of Skittles. As evidence continues to surface, this crime too seems to be committed because of something the victim could not control: who he was, what he looked like, what he "represented" to his killer. Being "the other."

James Craig Anderson.
Photo widely available online.
Original source unknown. 

In Jackson, last summer, a group of white teenagers from Rankin County drove into the city, with the explicitly stated goal of finding black people to attack. They found James Craig Anderson, 49, and for no other reason than the color of his skin, they assaulted him - brutally beating him for a prolonged period of time, before ringleader Deryl Dedmon, then 18, ran over Anderson with his truck, killing him. None of the teens knew Anderson before that night. They killed him because they were looking for a black person to kill, and he fit the bill. He was killed not for anything he did, but simply for  who he was, what he looked like, what he "represented" to his killer. Being "the other."

How do these stories end?

In France, Merah was killed hours ago in a standoff with police. 

In Florida, Zimmerman's fate is yet to be determined (he hasn't even been arrested yet) - but, as a glimmer of hope in a dark hour, there is a growing groundswell of support to seek justice for Trayvon Martin. 

In Mississippi, Deryl Dedmon was convicted yesterday, found guilty of both murder and committing a hate crime, and sentenced to two life sentences. Two of Dedmon's associates, Dylan Butler and John Aaron Rice, also pled guilty to the hate crime charge today and may also face life sentences. (And the judge's speech when he rendered the verdict was truly stirring, noble, and appropriate.)

... of course, not a single one of those updates are, in fact, endings.

The stories are ongoing. The terrifying realities still exist. The conversations continue -- and the current conversations surrounding each case range from profound to frankly horrifying. Searching the internet tonight, trying to find as much information as possible from a variety of sources... my eyes kept drifting to article comments. Many were prayers for the victims' families. Some were simple expressions of shock. But an astounding number called for the killing of Muslims (in response to the Toulouse murders), questioned Trayvon Martin's innocence (because surely, he must have provoked the neighborhood watch guy), or made shocking remarks about James Craig Anderson's sexuality (despite the fact that Anderson's identity as a gay man was something Dedmon and his gang had no knowledge of until long after they killed him, and has nothing to do with his murder). I began to fear, not for the first time, that perhaps I have too much faith in humanity.

Because the way I see it, we're all in this together. There is no "them." That's the problem. 


I read an interesting blog from the perspective of a white woman pondering what life would be like as a black teen ("If I Looked Like Trayvon"). It was a great piece, a thoughtful response to dealing with this story. Sad to say, probably far too few people do take the time to imagine wearing another label, and to be hated simply for being who you are. Sadder yet, too many people don't have to imagine it. I think of the three Jewish children and the 30 year old Jewish man gunned down by Merah simply for being Jewish, and think, I am a 30 year old Jewish woman. I don't have to imagine what it would be like to wear that label. And encountering these tragedies, I can't help imagining what it would be like to be killed for that. To be attacked by someone who doesn't even know me... but hates me for who I am, for what I look like, for what I represent to someone who hates any "other."

I am not precisely sure why I'm writing this post tonight. To help process all of this, I suppose. To be a part of a conversation that is critical to have, painful as it will surely continue to be. And maybe, most of all, to share the one thought I can't seem to shake tonight. The thought that the only way for us to overcome those who make others of anyone who goes against their own narrow worldview is to take the opposite stance. To realize that while we can acknowledge and even celebrate difference, we must also be aware of other-ing, and actively fight against it. 

Because there is no one else who can fix this problem, and prevent future tragedies. There's no "other" who will take this on, and magically make such hatred go away. This not a job for "them," because there is no "them."

There's only us.