Breaking Windows

"Crime is voluntary...you get as much as you'll put up with." (Tucker Carlson)

In the several decades since New York City’s last crime meltdown, we’ve all come to again accept criminal activity as a normal part of our environment. Granted, many areas or groups seem largely immune to personally experiencing crime, but we all experience crime of all types anywhere anytime against any person thanks to our habituation to TV and online video sources. That vicarious experience, that fascination of indirectly experiencing the pain, sorrow, and outrage of crime is a basic defect in our humanity. It immunizes us against any emotional or rational reaction. That immunity fails when the virus of crime attacks, in whatever form.

The basis for more serious crime may not be complex. Much is done in self-interest such as robbery and burglary. Some is the result of the unbridled passions of hate, jealousy, envy, and revenge. A major source of crime to which we have become jaded and accepting (aside from personal experience) is bigotry—anger and actions based on fear of the Other. Based in race, ethnicity, gender, faith, political belief, or almost any intersectional definable characteristic of humanity. Few experience the first two types of criminal activity personally. Many now routinely experience bigotry, although the definition of that may be difficult as many of those intersectional factions claim victimhood for the sake of self-aggrandizement.

These are a kind of idolatry of evil which we have never expunged despite the many travails told in the Old Testament and the testimony and sacrifice of Jesus in the New Testament. Christianity’s Ten Commandments specify not acting in furtherance of crimes and exorcising them from our thoughts and personal behavior. Perhaps crime entered the human psyche as a rotted instinct of self-preservation with that first bite of the apple. It is the product of free will, but so is its antidote, human reason. The “freed will” to act criminally often begins with small tests. Stopping these small tests, quality of life crimes such as breaking windows, was proven before to reduce more serious crime in NYC. Recently, I was given the opportunity to do so.

This past July, I and a middle-aged woman with significant physical disability were manning a Voter’s Registration Booth for the Republican Party in the Heritage Fair our small city holds yearly. We were available, not proselytizing, providing information to those interested. Occasionally someone of another political persuasion would indicate their disapproval verbally or with gestures. Our best trained response was to listen attentively, learning what we could about their point of view, and then thanking them for sharing their opinions, even if given in an antisocial manner. We knew from long experience that a person who pronounces absolutes without engaging in dialogue is not subject to debate or reason. Well after dark I was standing behind our main table and beside a large metal table holding various political tchotchkes. Suddenly that table was slammed into the side of my right knee, almost knocking me to the ground. As I untangled myself from the table, a chair, and the tchotchkes, the young man who had slammed the table into my knee came around to the front of our booth, screamed “Fascists!”, and then spit at us. He then turned and walked away while we tried to rearrange our booth and I sat down to examine my knee.

My best friend, a retired police officer, has often told me that whatever else criminals are, they are stupid. Case in point. One hundred yards down the street the young man was now walking by the Sheriff’s Command Center for the Heritage Fair. After my coworker had been assured that I was not seriously injured, she took off after the fellow despite the difficulties of her disability. She followed him past the Sheriff’s center and watched him turn down a side street. The Sheriffs were actually dealing with a fistfight elsewhere at the fair, but the dispatcher at the command center radioed two of them who promptly arrived. They heard the tale, and chased down the young man. He hadn’t bothered to try to run away. When cuffed, he openly admitted to what he had done. Perhaps this was a red badge of courage for this 17 year-old, ready for display on his social media posts.

The Sheriff’s officers then completed their investigation. They examined the scene, looked at my knee, and then questioned myself and my coworker. I dismissed their suggestion of medical attention, since as a retired physician I knew of no serious damage save the possibility of a delayed bleed into the joint (I am on anticoagulation) which might require attention later. The officers then explained that, given the individual was a juvenile and they had not witnessed the event, they were required to “cite” him and release him, which they did. They provided both of us with an “incident report card” with the case number. At the end of our evening, I was alone to pack up the valuables from the booth and carry the carton some 4 blocks to my car. My reaction to walking those unlit streets was my first hint of things to come

The criminal justice system, whether adult or juvenile, apparently works in a bath of molasses. After many weeks of not being contacted about the situation, I began calling, emailing, and letter-writing to the District Attorney’s office and the Sherriff’s office. Eventually I was told that cases like mine might take up to a year to be “filed”. This seemed remarkable. I contacted the Sheriff’s office for a copy of the incident report, using the number given, clearly identifying myself as the victim. The Sheriff happily provided the report after I paid a twenty dollar fee. The report, three pages long, contained my name and address, but almost everything else was redacted. I, as a victim of an admittedly small criminal act, could not see the evidence that the District Attorney might depend on if the case ever went to court. This prompted more letters to the District Attorney and the Sheriff’s office regarding the absurdity of both the fee and the redactions (I understood they might want to redact the juvenile’s identifying information). As my long term readers realize, I am addicted to written verbiage. A bureaucratic silence descended on the whole affair.

Meanwhile, a couple of friends through the local Republican party had heard of the incident from my coworker, and confirmed what had happened with me. One was a Sheriff’s officer, another an aid to a local county supervisor. Suddenly, a week later, a “Victim’s Advocate” from the juvenile department in the District Attorney’s office called, confirming awareness of the case and that it had indeed been filed with the court system. Their response might take as long as a week, I was told. Sure enough, the next week I was notified of the first Juvenile Court date.

Juvenile Court locally bears little resemblance to adult courts. The advocate told me that cases usually moved quickly unless a private attorney mounted a vigorous defense. Normally the first hearing detailed the charge and basis for the charge, offering the defendant opportunity to proceed further. If choosing not to defend, the accused would then be subject to a several week investigation by the Juvenile Probation office, including evaluating any past encounters with law enforcement, school attendance and performance, and family dynamics. I would also be interviewed regarding my experience with the episode and what my desires as to the outcome, including restitution, might be. Then at a second hearing before the same judge, the Probation Office would submit their report and recommendations to the court. Without unusual circumstances or further testimony on my part, those recommendations are always followed. All this was detailed my extensive discussion with the Victim’s Advocate.

The first court date arrived in a couple of weeks. The defendant, now much more conservatively shorn and dressed than on the night of the incident, was present with his own family and Public Defender . I and my spouse were on the opposite side of the courtroom behind the “District Attorney of the Day”, who probably handled a number of cases with which he was familiar from the reports. The judge detailed the alleged offense, and the accused denied wanting to mount a defense. Quite appropriate, since he had admitted to the attack to the arresting Sheriff’s officers that night. Further legal mumbo jumbo between defense and prosecuting counsel with the judge occurred, and then I was given the opportunity to speak. Standing at the bar, microphone in hand, I discovered hidden damages I had not suspected.

I detailed what had happened that night, offering one small correction to the officers’ report. Besides slamming the metal table into my knee, the young man had not “spit gum on the ground” in front of us—he very definitely spit at us, after screaming “Fascists”. This was the very heroic nature of his resistance to the regime. I noted my advanced age, my concerns as to delayed bleeding from the attack, and then stumbled onto a hidden landmine of emotion. Since that episode, “I have been unable to work any informational booths at night, and avoid walking anywhere at night. When I do work informational booths, I am constantly on the lookout for where the next attack may come from, and what my escape route might be.” Realizing this, saying it, almost evoked a panic attack.

Before that moment, I had not known, not understood, the residual this young man had left in me. As a prior trained military medical officer, I well knew PTSD, the long-term emotionally bleeding scars left behind in our warriors, and that persons exposed to criminal actions might suffer the same. Yet my incident, fairly minor in the scheme of things, had given me a new compassion and empathy for those so more strongly affected. Crime, even minor, causes ongoing damage.

The judge detailed the process following that initial hearing. We left, being notified of the second hearing in about three weeks where final disposition would be decided. Bureaucratic fog descended again, with no signs of my interview with the Probation Office.

This time, an email to the Victim’s Advocate four days before the hearing generated an immediate reply and then a call from a Probation Officer that afternoon. Perfunctory, but covered the bases. He asked for any other input, and whether I though restitution required. There was no objective damage that could be repaired, only the emotional kind. He then made a very useful offer—did I think a “Stay away” order, a kind of Temporary Restraining Order, would be helpful? Yes, indeed, since from court papers I had learned the attacker lived only a mile or so away. Once again to court, the players unchanged.

Here the judge reviewed the Probation Office report and offered the attacker the opportunity to comment. He deferred. I was then given the opportunity again to stand before the bar. I had thought a lot about the situation while my spouse and I again waited for the court session in a private attorney-client conference room, saving us the problem of accidentally confronting my attacker outside the courtroom. I wrote some quick notes about what I wanted to say to this young man and the court. Anger or revenge were not anywhere to be found within my feelings. I wanted this young man, who apparently had never been involved in criminal action before, and lived in a nice neighborhood with a strong nuclear family, to come away with some miniscule wisdom that might guide his future actions. His probation would be six months, with strict behavioral controls at home, in public, and in school, and accountability for his school work, as well as hours of “Community Service”. Externally applied borders to his behavior, but only temporary and not applying to his thinking or beliefs. I thought I might try to plant a seed of wisdom within him.

One quote I carry around with me perhaps applies more to my reaction than to his actions. In Proverbs it is stated, “For in much wisdom is much grief, and he that increases knowledge increases sorrow.” David Mamet, one of my favorite writers, distilled this thusly: “The most possible human approach to wisdom is sadness.” I was indeed sad for him, and what he was well on the way to becoming.

And so I told him and the court: “I hope he realizes or will learn through probation that he has gone beyond a quality of life crime to assault and battery, based purely on learned bigotry. That charge, under other circumstances, could have been a felony. I hope he will now learn to educate himself more deeply in civic affairs and civil discussion, and that: Dialogue is always more important than consensus. Wisdom listens. Taste your words before you spit them out.” (thanks to Charlie Kirk for his pearls).

The judge then notified the defendant of the Stay Away order with a three year duration. The District Attorney “served” him with that order, noting that if he came within 100 yards of me, my family, or my home that would violate his probation and be another crime for which he would be prosecuted. I later noted that the order also forbid his possession or purchase of firearms or ammunition. The judge admonished the young man with the terms of his sentence, noting that he was fortunate that the Juvenile Justice System operated differently than the adult system. The next, and perhaps final, court date would be 6 months hence. Providing he had not violated probation in any way, the charges would be sealed. I will be there again, interested in whether this young man shows any directional change in his life. After all, in a few short months, he will be eligible to vote.

From this, so far, I have learned that even just breaking a clear window changes your outlook remarkably. That clear glass through which we see the world protects us against wind, rain, heat, and cold. Turns out that protection is very fragile. I will have a long time in replacing it.