On the front page of today's Washington Post is an article written by Brigid Shulte. It is about the tragic shooting of a college student, Jessica Goode, in what appears to be a hunting accident.
According to Shulte's narrative:
Shortly after 4 p.m., a single pull of the trigger propelled a bullet into Goode's chest from a distance of 100 yards. She was killed instantly. After slicing through her, the bullet continued into the hand of her friend, Regis Boudinot.
Anyone who hunts knows you aim for the heart, it is the most ethical way of killing. In this case the hunter did exactly that. Unfortunately, at a 100 yards through a scope, the hunter mistook the young woman for a deer. Now, one might argue that she was not dressed in blaze orange and thus it is possible. That remains to be determined.
Unfortunately, it appears Shulte is wrong in one critical detail.
Another story reporting this incident was published in Friday's Washington Post. Written by Hamil Harris, it included an interview with the stepmother of the young man who was next to Jessica Goode when she was shot.
On Thursday, Boudinot's stepmother appealed for an end to recriminations against the hunter, who told authorities he mistook the students for deer.
"We all make mistakes, and people are saying horrible things about him without knowing the facts," Kimberly Boudinot wrote in an e-mail to friends. "I have never known hate and cruelty to triumph over love, and I ask that everyone remember this."
Cloutier was charged with manslaughter, reckless handling of a firearm and trespassing, police said.
Kimberly Boudinot said that her stepson and two other students "were on a school assignment tracking turtles for their biology class when it happened. As soon as they heard the sound, he saw that [Goode] had a huge hole in her chest. She turned to Regis and said, 'I am going to die.' My son watched one of his dearest friends die."
To me, "instantly" means "she didn't know what hit her." Unfortunately, that is not quite true in this case. I'm sure she was in shock and probably did not feel much pain. Nature is merciful that way. But death was not immediate. Reasonable people can argue about whether Shulte chose the right word or not. I am not suggesting this was done intentionally or with malice. Quite the opposite. I raise the point because this is an uncommonly stark example of how we use language to fool ourselves. It's one of those gentle ways we lie to ourselves in an effort to be compassionate.
I honestly feel conflicted about raising this. On the one hand, I feel like an ogre. Who wants to add to the grief of a devastated family? Everyone involved in this tragedy will carry it with them the rest of their lives. On the other hand, I feel like a cheat. Lying to ourselves to make ourselves feel better seems a bit selfish. Maybe we need that. It makes it easier for us to accept the horrible things that happen around us, or are done in our name.
But if we are to learn from our mistakes, how can we learn the proper lesson if we lie to ourselves? There is nothing new about this. Accidents happen and sometimes there is no larger lesson to be learned beyond, "be careful." If you don't learn that lesson, you are bound to repeat the mistake. That would be tragic. Equally tragic is anesthaetizing ourselves to situations that are not accidents. It compounds the tragedy by guaranteeing it will be repeated.
This compassionate lie reminds me of the most haunting image left behind from The Baculum King's cautionary tale, You've seen it before; Read it again, Dammit!.
The foregoing happened, in front of me. I was driving the dry van. Out of compassion I have no doubt that the family of the dead was told, as is standard in car/truck wrecks, that the dead "died instantly". Based on 15 years and some million-and-a-half miles on American roads, and witnessing dozens (or hundreds) of such crashes, I can tell you it's rarely actually true. What it really means is that the fate of the dead was sealed upon impact, regardless of how long it took them to get there.
As Jim Staro so poignantly reminds us, forty years ago, America learned again that her fighting men and women were capable of committing atrocities. We have paid a terrible price for forgetting that lesson. Going forward, I wonder what mistakes lie out there waiting for us as we stumble about in our self-induced confusion? That concern reminds me of a comment from Dalton Trumbo's introduction to Johnny Got His Gun.
Numbers have dehumanized us. Over breakfast coffee we read of 40,000 American dead in Vietnam. Instead of vomiting, we reach for the toast. Our morning rush through crowded streets is not to cry murder but to hit that trough before somebody else gobbles our share.
All that dashing about reminds me of a line from a Nicolas Cage movie. Looking at a headstone in a cemetery, he comments something to the effect, "Our lives are just a dash from cradle to grave." He plays the role of a detective seeking the truth about a sordid murder. In one scene he asks the mother of the murdered girl if she wants to know the truth. She says she does. He tells her. Later she says to him,
"I hated you for telling me the truth, but now I realize you and I are probably the only people that ever really cared about Mary Ann."
In the end, I guess I'm hoping a senseless death will help me answer an impossible question. Do we care enough to be honest with ourselves, or do we prefer to delude ourselves so we can feel better?