Rampage Violence - It's Up to You

Imagine yourself in a playground at a park. There are swings, a jungle gym, slides and other playground equipment, all in active use by young children. It is a warm spring day. Their young parents line the playground perimeter, keeping a watchful eye on their progeny. Above the high-pitched squeals and shouts comes the familiar refrain, “Mommy, look at me!” or, “Daddy, can you see me?” As you linger, you hear the refrain again and again, not because the children are craving attention. Rather, they are seeking connection and they don’t mind asking for it.

It’s curious how, even at a young age, we are weaned from connection and taught to become individuated and independent beings. What is lost in the growth toward independence is the value of connection and interdependence. Another way of looking at “attention seeking” children (or adults, for that matter) is, perhaps, that they are reminding us that they feel “disconnected” and that those around them are not responding sufficiently to their call.

One of the reasons that so many of us love our dogs with such passion is that they never let you forget that you are in a relationship. Their eyes follow you as you move about your daily life. Even when napping, your slightest move triggers your dog’s renewed attention. He follows you to the door as you leave your home. And she is there to greet you upon your return. Something as fundamental as eye contact confirms that you are valued. That attentiveness validates your very existence.

As a hospice volunteer, I engage in a number of activities: feeding those unable to feed themselves, taking residents in wheelchairs for walks around the hospital grounds, reading books, playing cards, watching television or performing Tin Pan Alley tunes on my ukulele. But of all the things that I do, probably the most fundamental and beneficial is simply sitting with a resident and being present. I have learned that listening is, at once, a skill to be acquired and a gift to be given. Even with those whose language I do not understand, or whose cognitive impairment impedes coherent thought, I can “attend” to what they are saying. And by doing so, I validate their existence, their experience, and our relationship.

I once loved to care for “Ramon,” a delightful and humorous gentleman from Guatemala, who was in the end stages of Alzheimer’s. As a lawyer, he had once occupied a seat on his country’s highest court.

Ramon would tell me stories, in his incomprehensible and remnant Spanish, about what I came to understand as his boyhood. He would use his facial expressions, his hands, his body, and whatever other props I made available to him to animate his tale. All the while, we were in contact. He would look into my eyes, grasp my hand or reach over to hug me to bring us together. I didn’t have to understand his words to So what is it that happens when your life becomes so disjointed, so chaotic, so isolated that you lose your access to human connection? No one acknowledges your existence. No one values you in a way that matters. There is only an isolated “you” and a vast sea of “others” that remain continuously beyond your reach.

So what is it that happens when your life becomes so disjointed, so chaotic, so isolated that you lose your access to human connection? No one acknowledges your existence. No one values you in a way that matters. There is only an isolated “you” and a vast sea of “others” that remain continuously beyond your reach.

You don’t have to be “crazy” to arrive at this hellacious destination. Biological factors could play a role - a brain lesion, hormonal imbalance, or disease - but none is required. A catastrophic event, childhood abuse, dysfunctional parenting, school bullying, economic or social impoverishment, alone, or in combination, could lead you to the same destination. And I highly suspect it is from this destination that those rare few create narratives that justify them in becoming rampage killers.

And I think it’s up to us to make it more difficult for that destination of suffering, isolation, and despair to exist.

Had I not spent the last nine years attending to the final days of a largely indigent population, I never would have had the temerity to suggest what follows. My experience with the LHH residents informs this discussion.

Being in the service of others had never been my avocation, particularly as I came to understand that the population that I would serve might contain the same homeless folks that I previously had avoided in the entryways, on the park benches, and on the medians of San Francisco’s major intersections. I rarely had made eye contact. I did not initiate an interaction. I was busy. I was too self-important. And I had “better things to do.”

But from my volunteer experience I came to embrace, as a matter of faith, that every human being has a capacity for compassion and generosity. That faith was built death by death, as I sat at the bedside of people who truly were just like me, but had endured so much suffering, that I was humbled by their courage and nobility.

They also taught me that I had something to offer, that I was a better person than I had imagined and that, in my service to others, I had “grown my heart.” It is in this service that I may be my most competent as a human. They also have shown me that, in one form or another, I must never abandon this work.

Consider Mike, who came to our ward following a “compassion release” from the state penitentiary. His mother had abandoned him at the age of 6 at a shopping mall. He was “raised” in a series of foster homes until, at the age of 17, he entered the penal system, where he remained until his “final” release. Mike was in his mid-30s and dying of congestive heart failure. He was big, mostly toothless, illiterate, covered in prison tattoos, and frightening to many of the ward residents. As he remained with us, he told me that he wanted people to understand that he was a “good man.” Racing the clock, and in small, generous acts of caregiving, Mike proved that he was right.

His death was greatly mourned. We found, after his passing, that he had left us with another gift - confirmation that if you set your intentions and live by them, you can achieve your goal.

We want rampage violence to end. We see that the perpetrators are isolated, suffering individuals. We can’t know who is creating their rampage violence narrative. But we can confirm our intention to see this violence end and seek to reduce suffering and end isolation, wherever we find it. I admit that this all sounds so “left coast.” Yet, I wouldn’t make this suggestion if I had not embarked on this path myself.

What I am suggesting is part of a virtuous cycle. What you offer is paid back so richly that you cannot help but contribute again. The greatest hurdle, that confronts you at the outset, emerges from the story that you tell yourself about yourself. “I’m really not competent” or “I’m too afraid” or “I’m not really that good a person” are typical and surmountable. Think about what is at stake.

Take another look at the last pictures of the distraught Adam Lanza. Then find the picture of a younger Adam - a boy filled with promise. Were his community, teachers, and peer group all so inattentive or disinterested to allow him to fall away into his own narrative “hell”? I would like to believe that someone could have met his eyes, acknowledged his existence, and made a connection. No words needed to be spoken.

What might have happened if some attentive soul had extended compassion to him?

The city of San Francisco just finished a pilot program, working with the San Francisco Humane Society, to pair homeless individuals with puppies. I recently spoke with the director of this program and learned that both the humans and the dogs benefited enormously from their time together. The homeless were enriched by their ability to care for someone other than oneself. The dogs, lacking all the emotional complexities of humans, did what came naturally - they connected.

We need to find a way to look into the face of suffering, without averting our eyes. We need to have the confidence that we are good people, all in this together. We need to realize that the only competency necessary to offer relief from suffering is the ability to make a human connection.

Start with baby steps. Start someplace relatively safe. Keep your eyes on the children, the elderly or the infirm. Can you simply make eye contact? Can you add a nod, a smile or just “soft eyes”? If you see something potentially alarming, can you seek help from others to intervene?

Put some small piece of your life into regular service for another’s benefit. Grow your awareness, your compassion, and your “heart.”

If, as a society, we take some small steps, we will grow virtuous cycle that extends beyond rampage violence and begins to resolve other issues that torment our culture and society.