What Happened To Compassion?

I read a story this morning about how the budget shortfalls in Illinois are causing some issues in an interesting area - it seems prisoners are having to wear soiled, worn clothing, with laundry done only twice a week.

The story itself was not remarkable, really...it's hardly a surprise that the state will cut funding anywhere it can, and prisons are an easy mark because the people inside are either employed there and can leave or are lumped under the heading of "If you're there you must deserve to be so suck it up".

What struck me was the tone of the responses to the story. The comments left were horrid, to say the least, full of smug self-righteousness and ignorance. They ranged from"Who cares?" to "They deserve to suffer."

Excuse me??

People are wrongly convicted every day. Not everyone in prison is evil. People go to prison for having the wrong kind of herbal entertainment in their pockets. They go to prison for defending themselves. They go to prison because they made a mistake and society wants to punish them soundly.

Whatever the reason, and whether they are nice, stupid, evil, intelligent, kind, guilty, or innocent, they are still people. To try and deny them their humanity is a mistake. To treat them as less than human is to take away the one thing that connects them to society and helps them change for (one hopes) the better.

Forcing people to wear filthy, worn clothing while living in crowded conditions is unhealthy, to say the least.

Saying "Oh, well,they can wash them in the sink" would make sense...unless you know how unrealistic that is. Prisoners don't get full bars of soap. They often get tiny bits, smaller than those motel soaps. It's hardly enough to wash a body, let alone laundry.

Asking why they need underwear at all is just plain stupid. While not everyone wants underthings, a prison environment is hardly the place to make someone...erm...freeball, as it were. Think, people.

The comments about how the vicitims suffered, so should the criminals? How do two wrongs become a right?

And before you jump all over me for being all soft or whatever...I havebeen the victim of crimes, with the perpetrators unpunished. Were they in prison, I would not want them to be treated inhumanely...I would want them to come to understand how they did me (and others) harm, to change and grow, and to emerge better people. Naive, yes, but there you are.

I wonder what those hateful commenters would think if it was their son, husband, brother, sister, mother, daughter, or friend? What if they, themselves, were the prisoner being made to wear dirty, threadbare clothing?

Prison itself is the punishment...being locked away from the clear sky, the freshening wind, the gentle rain, the sun, moon, and stars...to be locked away from friend, family, kind words and soft touch...that's the punishment. Fer cryin' out loud, clean skivvies are hardly a luxury...or at least, they shouldn't be.

If Illinois needs to cut their budget, perhaps they should consider trimming from some truly inhuman sources - perhaps a few politicians could use a paycut. I'm sure the bribes will more than make up for it.

Oh, no...please, not again...

I had a cute post ready to go for this morning, but...maybe later. I don't feel like being a bubble-head right now.

I don't usually watch or read much news - it hurts and I'm not a glutton for punishment.

Yesterday, when many people were celebrating love - parents, kids, romantics, spouses, friends - one young man was finding a settling-place at the bottom of his existence. Or perhaps he found it days, weeks, months ago and yesterday was simply the day to express himself with violence.

He opened fire in a crowded lecture hall, snapping short Fate's threads for seven people, himself one of them.

Sixteen more will view Valentine's Day in a new light for the rest of their lives, scarred in flesh and spirit. If they find themselves dreading the day, they'll be among the small few who have reason not to join in the spirit of hearts and chocolates. I wouldn't blame them.

Perhaps, though, they'll enjoy it all the more for having come close to meeting their maker. Perhaps their experience will lend a certain piquancy to their lives and loves.

The boy who instigated this destruction turned on himself, saving police the trouble, saving the people of his community the expense of trial, incarceration, care. Leaving us, so far without answers.

Please, for the love of all that's holy, if this child left a video tape, a manifesto, a website or some other communique...please don't play it! NBC? Are you listening? Don't play it! Ever. Something that horrible belongs to its maker, should be viewed by authorities and perhaps...perhaps if they ask to see it, the families of the victims so they might garner some understanding. But me? And everyone else not directly involved? We don't have a need to see it, and frankly, we don't have a right.

Respect these bright futures brought low, grown dim and then dark - don't give the shooter his fifteen minutes. He doesn't deserve the glory-after-death that the Virginia Tech shooter got (I refuse to even type his name. He doesn't deserve it.). He deserves compassion for the suffering he must have felt, for whatever sickness, evil, anger or pain drove him to shout his misery so loud and with such violence, but not fame or infamy (they're so difficult to distinguish, lately).

Show, rather, something of those wounded and killed. Show something of who they are or were, of what they love, what they want or wanted to be. Show how they rally from this, how they rise from it and walk on through life, scarred but triumphant. Show how they live, lived. Leave their families alone, let them find understanding and peace without your blaring, blazing, intrusive presence.

I know it's a stretch, but give them a little dignity.

Now please excuse me while I go light a candle and mourn - no, I don't know any of these kids, but every time something like this happens, I hurt. These are my children, my brothers and sisters, my fellow sojourners through life, and just because I haven't met them doesn't mean their loss doesn't sting. The day I stop hurting over these horrors is the day I leave the last of my humanity behind for something worse.