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Commentary

By Liz Quirin

Taking a Stand Against Violence

We pulled up to an Israeli check-point in Bethlehem, and the driver didn’t want to stop. We were on our way to interview the mayor of the city, and we were late. As we inched forward, the soldier banged my window with such force I was sure it would explode all over my lap. The Palestinian driver spewed venom at him in Arabic. I was frozen to the seat. The raw violence of the encounter stays with me even though this happened eight years ago and took less than five minutes of my life.

What must it be like for families who encounter violence, not on the streets of a foreign city where death and destruction are part of their “daily bread,” but in the homes, schools and workplaces of the good old U.S.A.?
Just as devastating, as frightening and with the same tragic results, the violence in families spills onto the front pages of our newspapers and is served in byte-sized servings on daily newscasts. Seeing it on television, reading it in a newspaper or hearing it on the radio give us the opportunity to detach, to see it as someone else’s terrible problem, not ours — unless it happens to you or to me.

Our problem isn’t that we don’t care what happens. We care deeply, but unless the dragon strikes us personally, we generally “don’t get it.” That’s the irony, isn’t it? We don’t see that every person who becomes a victim drags us into the cycle, puts us on one team or the other — victims or abusers. Impossible, some would say, but undeniable would be my rejoinder. We’re minding our own business, staying away from violence, keeping ourselves and our families safe.
Ask Jon Brough and his wife, Wendy, how safe they are, living in a good neighborhood with a wonderful family in a loving relationship. A police officer, then Sgt. Brough was sucked into the vortex of another family’s violence in the line of duty, and now he’s permanently blind and scarred for life. Their family refuses to take their place on the victim team.

They’re joining the third team, the survivors’, a strong but small franchise that grows every time someone refuses to be victimized, stops accepting abuse as something deserved, realizes the emotional dynamite used in language does not apply. From the sidelines, we join as cheerleaders and coaches, encouraging, supporting, caring about the survivors and those who want to join them, listening to their stories of tragedy as they turn into triumph.

We don’t want these to be our stories, but we need to respond before we can’t avoid being pulled into the cycle. The first step: become more than an armchair quarterback in this game. Look around your neighborhood, your school and your parish. Victims, often invisible, need help, need support, need to know they have options, and not exclusively from centers or safe houses or programs. They need all of us engaged, with our eyes open, dreaming their dreams and seeing their potential. They can’t afford for us to wait. This may not be the Middle East but wars rage here just the same.