Justice Failed. . . .

My parents asked me one day, quite bluntly, why I thought my hometown of Roseburg was such a horrible place to live. I was a bit shocked by the question and stammered out a response something along the lines of not thinking Roseburg was horrible per se, but wanting my children to have wider experiences and views than I grew up with and felt Portland gave them a better opportunity to do that. This recent news story helps illustrate my feelings.

You can read the whole story (which took place just north of Roseburg) here, but the gist of it is that three punks, apparently taking a break from mailbox baseball, knocked the turban off a Sikh truck driver coming out of a truck stop convenience store. They snatched the turban off this man’s head ran around the building and then sped away with it. They were identified through surveillance cameras and found a few days later. Charges were pressed, but a Douglas County grand jury failed to indict them on more than misdemeanor theft charges even though the law states that any act “committed due to the perception of a person's race, color, religion, national origin or sexual orientation” constitutes an intimidation felony charge. Somehow the people of Douglas County could not see that this man was targeted not as a random prank, but because of his religious attire. They should have asked themselves, would these “pranksters” have snatched the “Never forget 9/11” cap off a different truck driver’s head? Or tore a crucifix necklace from a different patron’s throat? I don’t think so. And think about how this may have played out if these roles were reversed. If a man in a turban had spontaneously and harassingly swiped a Dixie flag do-rag from the head of a trucker? The story would be about how at least one by-standing patron chased and apprehended the suspect and that he is now being held without bail pending a background check for ties to Al-Qaeda. And the whole county would be up in arms about the disrespect and disregard for our first amendment rights and the ability to display/wear articles representing “Southern Pride” and bigotry.

I know, this may seem like nothing more than a man that got his hat knocked off, a couple of idiots that lived up to their potential and then were rightly held accountable for the theft of a five-dollar turban. But to me, as someone who has been to this truck stop many times, who knows these guys, at least figuratively, as people in my high school, at my previous jobs and occasionally, in my family, it is more than that. It is attitude. It is the attitude that they do not have to respect someone that is different from them. It is the attitude that prevents this jury from seeing his turban for more than its monetary value. It is the attitude that will make the truck driver the punch line of their dinner-time jokes rather than the low-lifes that assaulted him. I am aware that these same attitudes can be found in my great metropolis to the north, and I am aware that I can’t protect my children from all acts of bigotry and racism. But I can keep from submerging them in it. And hopefully as they grow up they will see this story for what it is; not a tasteless prank but an act of humiliation.

Happy Birthday, Jamie!

Jamie, you turned two years old yesterday. Two years since my little blonde chickie came into the world. And as I watched your reflection in the side mirror and saw your soft curls blowing in the wind on our way to the park, I couldn’t help but think of all the wonderful things you are. But that was mostly because you were temporarily silent. Which was entirely the opposite of the car ride home in which you were screaming for more after being peeled from the playground equipment, your brother was singing an unintelligible song at the top of his lungs and somewhere in the background was the faint sounds of the new Jackson Brown acoustic CD we had all been peacefully enjoying twenty minutes before. And above this familial din, I could still hear the simple sigh from your father which I completely understood as, “Sweet Jesus, there is still three hours, a bath and a feeding until these things are in bed.”

And many more. . . . .