Last
Friday night, I had a Snow Party. It was
snowing, beautiful clingy snow that draped itself on everything, making it look
like Wonderland. I made a pot of stew,
baked bread, took out some nice crisp apples, lit scented candles and put on
Celtic music. Then my dogs and I had a
Snow Party. We were in our Happy Place.
Some
nights aren’t so happy. Those are the
ones I spend online doing animal rescue work.
Occasionally I post results on Facebook or my blog, but I keep those
posts upbeat—cute puppy pictures, dogs rescued or adopted. People don’t want to see the seamy underside
of rescue—the suffering and death—so for the most part I keep that to myself.
Occasionally,
though, you get a request you feel duty-bound to pass along. A gruesome photo of animal abuse came in with
a request to share, because it was the only photo of the incident that showed
the faces of the perpetrators. Authorities
are finding Facebook one of the most effective tools for tracking these monsters
worldwide, so I posted it with a request that anyone knowing their whereabouts
contact police.
A
couple of people responded negatively, one demanding that I remove the photo
and another asking if there wasn’t another way to contact the “right”
people.
Like
the majority of writers I don’t believe in censorship, and we—collectively--ARE
the right people.
Once upon a time, you looked at the Most
Wanted list at your post office. With
the world made smaller by travel and technology, social media sites are the new
post office. There’s no going back to
the good old days and they weren’t good.
Those pictures only showed the most wanted criminals—people who had hit
the end of the road—people not stopped at the point where some of them were
“only” torturing and killing animals, before they had moved on to bigger
game. That bigger game is us.
We
had a clear illustration of this in my community. On an abandoned railroad
track behind my property, someone began leaving carcasses of farm animals. They
had not died a natural death. Old
stockmen shrugged it off. Farmers were
just dumping downed animals, they said. But
two of us with medical and psychiatric training became seriously alarmed by
what we were seeing and called the state police. They did as much as they could in a rural
area, but within a short time we had the reports I was expecting. A woman was assaulted in her own yard;
fortunately, passing motorists came to her assistance and her assailant made
his get-away. We assume it was the same
man who later exposed himself to two women walking their dog in a county
park. The dog attacked and once
more he escaped.
Was
I surprised? No. THOSE WHO ABUSE ANIMALS ABUSE HUMANS. Usually their targets are the most
vulnerable: women and children. Thank God we have had no incidents involving
children. But with events like Sandy
Hook fresh in our minds, how can we ignore threats to our society? There were four men in the photo I
posted. How many wives, girlfriends,
pets and children are at their mercy? One abuser previously apprehended through
Facebook photos worked in security. The
man was carrying a gun. His
three-year-old child was in the photos, watching everything. What would you do to stop a thing like that? What should
you do?
I
love Snow Parties, my blog and Facebook page.
I visit pages of friends and acquaintances on Facebook and they are
often delightful, visually appealing and creative spaces with wonderful photos,
philosophy, poetry…cheerful and charming pages. They are Happy Places. Even if I don’t actually know those people,
I envision them as nice, decent women
who nurture families, take meals to shut-ins, read to children at libraries, do
the myriad little things that form the weft and warp of our society. I can understand why they are so distressed
by a graphic photo and ask if I can’t make it go away.
No. I can’t.
I respect the rights and feelings of those who do--who can block or hide
my posts--and not for a moment do I underestimate their importance to our
decent, civilized society. They are decent,
civilized people and we sorely need them.
But we need other people, too. I
can handle the tough stuff. Not to do so,
at its worst, invites the sort of disaster represented by Sandy Hook. Everyone looked away until it was too late.
We
must each of us do as our conscience dictates. I like Happy Places. But, Heaven help me, I can’t live in one.
