Sometimes a jellyfish walks with two legs. There are those who kill in the name of God. And if you put your ear closely to the wall, you just might hear the sound of silence bouncing through the echo chamber. Violence has invaded my life.
It started Friday night, getting jumped three blocks from home. Thankfully, I walked away unscathed. Still, Mom, thanks for sending the cookies and pepper spray.
When I returned home Saturday morning, I didn’t expect anymore excitement.
Washington, D.C., has its share of crime, murder and strange offerings, but I hoped one act of violence was enough for the weekend. Unfortunately, I was wrong.
I had only been home a few hours when I saw the flashing lights outside my bedroom window. I pulled back the curtains to reveal a body lying about five feet from the window, crumpled and soaked in a pool of blood. There were three police officers at the scene. I asked the man in charge what happened. He made a gesture toward his chest. “Stabbed. Five times.”
My neighbor had discovered the body while checking her mail. She sat with this stranger, nursing his wounds and watching over him until the police arrived. Without her help, he would not have lived. The next morning I dragged myself into work after having gone 48 hours without sleep. It wasn’t where I wanted to be, but I figured the margins of violence were slim.
Then, I opened an e-mail message from my editor back in Oregon to find an unexpected surprise: my first death threat. What do these three examples have in common? They are the acts of hooded mercenaries, anonymous cowards. Of course, I don’t expect everyone to agree with my columns. In fact, I welcome intelligent debate. This was something entirely different.
An individual using the painfully ridiculous moniker “Heaton Seeker” mailed me a death threat in response to my Oct. 1 column regarding the role of the ASUO in activist circles. Apparently, Mr. Seeker does not calculate freedom of speech into his jihad against the evil forces of corporate dominance.
Never mind that with the increasing consolidation of media ownership, columns of this nature are a dying breed. Never mind that independent newspapers like ours are one of the last venues for democracy. Judging by Seeker’s presentation, I would guess that a K-12 education did not factor heavily into his initiation with the neo-anarchist convention of espresso-chugging, armed reactionaries.
Mr. Heaton Seeker, you are a coward. You blast me for labeling a faction of WRC protesters as fascists. Hey, that’s your call. Yet, you send a semi-anonymous death threat to make your case. Perhaps you hoped I would recoil in fear from your words, overwhelmed by the collage of trite, clichéd rhetoric. Too bad for you I don’t run from spineless jellyfish. I see your bible held close to heart; maybe it’s the latest copy of “Mayhem.” Either way, you’re not going to change my mind with threats.
Thankfully, you were foolish enough to leave your address on a piece of propaganda, so we should be seeing you soon. Now, on the chance that the police are too preoccupied with crashing student parties to deal with you, allow me to be of assistance. You’re not going to have much luck cutting my head off, as you so eloquently promised, when I’m all the way out here in Washington, D.C.
Lucky for us, I’m coming home soon. I’ll probably be exhausted, long flight and all, but I guess that really isn’t important to a modern-day Che Guevara like yourself. Don’t worry, I’m not a big guy and I don’t carry any weapons.
But in this case, Mr. Heaton Seeker, I’ll stand by my word, when held against the sticks and stones of your vicious threats. Take care of yourself, and keep the revolution of hate alive.