Memorial Day Thoughts

Memorial Day Thoughts

War is an appalling thing.  It is a terrible way to resolve differences.  While at the end of a war there may be one party or another that stands as the victor, in reality everybody loses.  Why it must exist is anybody’s guess.  I’m sure that there are psychological and sociological explanations for that behavior, but I don’t know what they are.  Jealousy perhaps?  Historians can tell us the sequence of events that have led to wars past and pundits dig deeply into the reasoning behind those wars, but one must wonder if there really is any rational explanation for that kind of horrific violence.  Why must there be an aggressor?

I’ve looked for evidence of the first war.  I’ve found it.  It happened before we were ever born.  I am not trying to make a religious statement here.  That is not my intent.  Please bear with me as I look at a Biblical text in terms of history.  “And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels, And prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven.  And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him” (Revelation 12:7 - 9).  John speaks here of a time before the world was.  You may draw your own conclusions as to what that war was all about.

We are engaged in multiple terrible wars at present.  One war is here on the home front.  It is as though forces that have no common goal have joined to threaten our domestic tranquility.  On one front we have a battle that has crept up from our southern border and has spilled onto the streets and sidewalks of our cities, towns, and even our village parks.  And little is being done to stop the flow across that border.  Another battle has been brewing for quite some time and has become quite nasty in recent years.  While this battle seems directed at police, in reality it is a battle against society and is being fought by an unlikely federation of racial minorities, media, and current government officials.  Other home front wars are taking place between those who want to redefine the definition of marriage that has existed for thousands of years as well as people who want to kill unborn babies for convenience sake.  Then of course there is a battle between those who want to restrict and even repeal the Second Amendment to our Constitution.

The sad thing about all these battles is that there are so many of them that it is quite possible to have an ally on one front who is an opponent on another front.  Surely this divided house cannot stand.

The other war we fight is over seas.  It is against a terrible opponent who thinks nothing of the value of human life and is willing to sacrifice innocent lives for the purpose of meeting their objective.  Sadly, we seem paralyzed as we cannot come to agreement on how to deal with this despicable cowardly combatant.

Wars continue.

Today, however, we honor those who sacrificed, who gave their blood until there was none left to spill upon the ground.  We honor the defenders against aggression.  They are buried in Arlington Cemetery and national cemeteries throughout the United States.  They are buried in far flung cemeteries around the globe.  In some places their bones lay scattered in hidden forests or under layers of desert sand.  Where ever their bodies rest, their sacrifices must rest in our hearts and in our minds, for whatever the cause, it was noble.  It was for us.

Stay on the Path

Stay on the Path

            Several years ago I accompanied my sons on a backpacking trip with their fellow Boy Scouts in the San Juan Wilderness of Southwest Colorado.  If you were to look at the trail we followed on a Forest Service map you would see that the trail leading into Emerald Lake is only a few miles long; however, you get a different sense of what that trail is all about on a topographical map.  The trailhead begins at an altitude of about 7,500 feet and the first few miles are relatively flat and tall ponderosa pine trees provide comfortable shade from the glaring sun at that altitude.  It would be easy for a first-time hiker on that trail to be lulled into a false sense of confidence during those first few miles.

            After the first few miles the path makes an abrupt turn up the side of a granite mountain.  The trail is well-traveled and marked in beauty by pristine mountain streams and breath-taking landscapes.  After a mile or two of uphill hiking with heavy backpacks there is a temptation to simply stop by one of the streams and to spend the remainder of your travels in one spot.  But, you press onward.

            I recalled stopping at a small bait and tackle shop on the way to the trail to Emerald Lake to get my non-resident fishing license.  When we told the proprietor where we were going a serious look came across his face.  I didn’t think much of it at the time when he said that we should be able to make it O.K., but that the trail was generally taken on horseback or with mules.  And, he did in fact mention that there were narrow parts of the trail that offered no protection from falling several hundred feet into rocky ravines.  He also mentioned the fact that we would have to pack above the tree line before we dropped down to Emerald Lake, but he assured us that the fishing was exceptional there since so few people actually made their ways there.

            As we hiked our way to the promised beauty and great fishing we came to a spot on the trail that was relatively flat.  Towering trees continued to provide good shade on a hot summer’s day.  Ahead of us, the trail crossed over a rock slide from the side of a mountain.  Jagged granite rocks the size of basketballs covered the trail for several hundred feet.  It was impossible to take a single step without stepping on one of these rocks.  Still, the path was quite clear as horses and hundreds of feet had passed over these same rocks over the years making the path a shade or two lighter than the surrounding rocks.

            After walking on these rocks for a hundred feet or so I noticed that just a few yards away from the path there was tall luscious grass growing.  The grass was close to knee high and was thick and plentiful.  Perhaps it was the thin air of 8,500 feet that clouded my thinking, but I decided to leave the path and walk in the grass where the walking would not be so painful on my feet.  The path, after all, had been difficult and truly caused my feet to ache.  The possibility of a twisted ankle was very real.

            I was feeling quite smug with myself and totally unrepentant for taking this easier approach on the way to the lake, but it was not long before I discovered that this course had the same granite rocks that the established path had.  The tall grass had simply made it impossible to see them.  Other dangers were hidden from view by the grass, such as tree roots and broken tree branches.  Not only that, but the tall grass made it very difficult to move forward with any speed.  I only had to trip and fall once before I decided that in spite of the discomfort the path held, being able to see the path ahead of me was preferable to not knowing what lay below the surface of the grass tops.  Besides, the rocks in the grass were just as painful as those on the path.  I repented of my folly and returned to the path.

            The path we take in life is often rocky and painful, but it is well-marked and traveled by other faithful followers of the Savior.  Sometimes the path seems so painful and difficult that we are tempted to stray off the path.  The way “over there” may seem more pleasant and appealing, offering an easier way to go, but it is fraught with hidden dangers that trip up the unsuspecting traveler and slows and has the potential to even stop forward progress to the ultimate goal.  The only sure way to ultimate rest is to stay on the path, and if you have left, to return to the path.

            The trail to the lake was not easy.  There were indeed narrow passages with steep drop-offs to the side.  The trail above the tree line was clear of nearly all vegetation, was rocky, and steep.  Backpackers took only a few steps at a time before having to stop to rest before moving forward another few steps.  There was no shade blocking the burning sun at nearly 10,000 feet.  But then we crossed the summit and looked down on the sparkling snow-fed Emerald Lake, surrounded by fir trees with tall grass and Colorado wild flowers.  The destination not only was in sight, but worth every step of the trail.  The words of the Apostle Paul came to mind as I gazed upon the landscape below me.  “For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.  I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing”

(2 Timothy 4:6 - 8).

Alzheimer’s Robbed Me of My Mother

Alzheimer’s Robbed Me of My Mother

I am the oldest of three children born to my parents; more specifically born to my mother.  Unfortunately for my mother my brother, born second in our family, never came home from the hospital.  I have never seen so much as a hospital photograph of Richard Mark.  My sister, Kimberly Jeanne, died before she reached the age of three from complications following an open heart surgery.  That left me as the apple of my mother’s eye, though admittedly there may have been a worm or two in the apple that she either didn’t know about or ignored.  I’d prefer to believe that she didn’t know about them.

Mother and I were close.  Among my first recollections of Mother were in the living room of our little house in Beech Grove, Indiana, as I lay on the floor at her feet while I played with a wind-up train.  She sat in a rocking chair reading a book while listening to the radio.  I even remember the radio station.  It was WIBC.  I think I grew up listening to WIBC.

We left that house in Beech Grove before I entered school.  We lived in a little trailer in Johnson County, Indiana, while my father built our new house in what was known as the Mount Pleasant Addition in White River Township.  The trailer was so small that you had to step outside to change your mind.

Sometimes in the evening Mom, Dad, and I would pile into the car and go to the house that was under construction.  As summer moved into fall and fall moved into early winter the weather turned cold.  Electricity had been run to the house long before the house was finished so Dad hooked the kitchen stove up to the electricity so we would have some form of heat.  It was in that setting at night that Mom would tell me of her experiences as a child going to bed when it was cold outside.  Heated bricks were carefully wrapped in towels and placed at the foot of the bed and she and her sister, Ninagale, would run and jump into their feather bed and snuggle in and keep warm through the night.

After the house was built Mother added the finishing touches that made the house a home.  There were summer gardens, pictures on the wall, little mementoes placed on shelves, fresh cut flowers in vases, and live potted plants throughout the living room and kitchen.  She planted purple irises outside around our patio.  Oh, and music from WIBC played in the background.  And of course there was always a fresh supply of chocolate chip or peanut butter cookies available for the taking.

Mom thought it was important that I learn to cook.  It was probably much to the dismay of my father that I spent time in the kitchen at the time, but later in life he would come to appreciate the fact that I could cook more than a hot dog or make a peanut butter sandwich.  In time I learned survival cooking skills that would see me through a short stint of bachelorhood. 

My mother enjoyed a practical joke.  On one April Fools’ Day she had a hot breakfast all prepared for me before I went to school.  She even fixed me a glass of chocolate milk.  I should have realized what day it was.  I went to take a swig of chocolate milk only to discover that she made it with water and not milk!  I don’t think she would ever stop laughing.  The next year she again prepared a hot breakfast for me on April Fools’ Day, complete with a glass of chocolate milk.  Fool me once and shame on you.  Fool me twice and shame on me.  In spite of what some people think, I do have a long memory.  I placed my index finger in the milk and then tested it.  Behold!  It was milk and not water.  Since Mom had placed a straw in the glass I chose to drink my chocolate milk through the straw only to find that she had pinched its end so that I could not draw the milk up through the straw.  Again, I don’t think she ever stopped laughing.

As one Mothers’ Day rolled around I stood in the kitchen with my mother and the Mothers’ Day song came to mind.  You know how it goes.  “M is for the many ways she loves me, O is for” (something else, I don’t have a clue what it was for).  “Put them all together and they spell Mother.”  I swear I don’t know what possessed me, but I started singing that little song, but changed the words.  With a smile on my face I began to sing, “M is for the many times she beats me.”  Without skipping a beat, Mother continued the rest of the song with, “O is for the other times I should.”

Yes, Mother had a good sense of humor and truly enjoyed a good practical joke.

There was a sensitive side to Mom as well.  She could shed a tear at the drop of a hat.  I’ll never forget the time that I came home “very” late from a New Year’s Eve party.  I was 15 at the time.  She could not look at me for a month without crying.  I knew that my mother loved me, but I think it was at that time that I realized just how much she loved me.

Time passed and I married the woman who would become the mother of my children.  Perhaps it might be more appropriate to say that I married the woman who would become the mother of my mother’s grandchildren.  We lived near my parents for the first five years of our marriage.  Whenever we went to my parents’ home to visit Grandma was always the willing spoiler of the grandkids.  The grandkids were always willing to go to Grandma’s house.

We moved to New Mexico after those first five years of marriage, and so we made annual pilgrimages home.  Without fail, the aroma of fresh baked homemade bread wafted through the door as we entered my childhood home.   There were fresh strawberries to pick from the patch in the back yard, homemade grape juice, trees to climb, and always lots of love.  The thousand mile drive there was always worth the trip.  Mom always said that as soon as we left she would start cleaning house, not because of the mess that was left behind but because she had to do something as she cried when we left.

Years passed and I didn’t really attribute anything to Mom’s withdrawing from the mother and grandmother she had been, but one day it happened.

Becky, our oldest son’s wife called one day to report that Grandma had fallen and that she was now in the hospital.  By now we had moved to New York so it was only a long day’s drive home.  After visiting with Mom for a little while we learned from the nurses that Mom had been up at nights wandering the halls of the hospital, visiting with everybody.  We did not understand at the time that the nurses meant that she had been doing all her visiting in her mind.  It didn’t take us long to figure out what they meant.  It was Alzheimer’s Disease.

Her doctor wanted Mom to go into rehab for three weeks before she returned home.  I will spare her the indignity of the details.  It was not pretty.  But, it was while she was in a nursing home doing rehab that we came to fully understand that Mom was not going to be able to live independently at home and that Dad was incapable of caring for her.  Choices.  We could either look for a long-term care facility for my parents or they could come to New York to live with us.  We looked at assisted living first, but the longer we watched the less it seemed that this would be an option.  We brought my parents to New York to live in our house with us.

Mother was expert at hiding the truth; what was happening to her.  Ever the detective, I had to know, so I started digging.  I did not have to look very far.  I began with her handwriting.  Mother always had impeccable handwriting and now it was so small it was indecipherable.  Then what I could make out was incomprehensible.  Next I looked through her checkbook and cancelled checks.  Why people cashed her checks I’ll never know, especially the one that she wrote for a million dollars to her doctor.  Thankfully, she had an honest doctor.  Then there were the memory issues.  She could remember what happened 70 years ago but had no idea what happened 15 minutes ago.  In a very short period of time she forgot who I was.  Then she didn’t know who my father, her husband was.

The disease progressed to the point where we could no longer provide the kind of support Mother needed.  A nearby nursing home was selected and so began the final descent into hell.

We made daily visits, but most of the time she just slept.  Dad would sit and visit with her but even there most of the time he would simply sit with her.  At the end of those visits with her he would be a wreck.

Susan had a flight out of Albany to Salt Lake.  Since it was an early morning flight and Albany was at least a two hour drive, we decided to go up the night before and spend the night in a motel.  Dad was still well enough that he could take care of himself and if there was a problem he was quite capable of calling.  As we backed out of the driveway to leave I turned to Susan and told her that I wanted to go by and see Mom before we left.  She was sleeping when we got there.  Rather than awaken her we slipped out the door after I gave her a soft love tap on her arm.  I made a quick stop at the nurses’ station to make sure that they had my cell phone number.

We had checked into the motel and had just sat down to dinner across the street from the motel when my cell phone rang.  It was the nursing home.  Mom had passed away.  The last time I saw my mother was when she was asleep.  And now she was at peace.

Alzheimer’s robbed me of my mother.  There had been a few coherent moments when she was at our house and she recounted to me the happier times in her life when she was growing up.  Those times were mixed in with reports of purple flowers that were growing in the snow in our back yard.  And of course she was eager to tell us of her most recent visit she had with her father.  But, there were no more practical jokes, fresh baked bread or cookies, and no more love.

I had fully expected to cry when my mother died, but I didn’t.  It took me a couple of days to figure out why I didn’t cry at her passing.  She had died three years prior to her physical death.  Her body just needed a little extra time to catch up to her spirit.  A little piece of me had gone with her every day.

Perhaps I should be bitter with the fact that Alzheimer’s had robbed me of my mother.  Maybe in a way I am.  But, the last years of her life are not what I choose to remember.  What I really remember is the fresh baked bread, chocolate chip cookies, pride in her grandchildren, her patience, and her kindness.  Oh, and the love.  That is what I remember most about my mother.  The love.

I love you, Mom.

Baltimore

Baltimore

You may have noticed that I have been silent about my opinions of the recent events between the police and the good citizens of Baltimore.  There are reasons for that.  I am baffled, confused, and dismayed.  I’m also pretty perturbed. 

Rush to Judgment  First of all, I think it is terribly wrong for any rush to judgment about what has happened.  Even with the state’s attorney pressing charges against the defendant police officers, it means that she has met a minimum standard to file those charges against the officers.  Though she may have more than enough evidence to pursue charges against the officers, the legal standard is that she merely has more evidence against them than not.  It is a 51% standard, a mere tipping of the scales.  In criminal law it is called probable cause, which is a far cry from proof beyond a reasonable doubt.  If she has in fact met the low standard that is required for charging and arresting the defendant officers then there will be a much greater likelihood of somebody prevailing against the officers in a civil suit, which also simply requires the tilting of the scales in favor of the plaintiff.  In civil litigation it is called proof by a preponderance of the evidence. 

Personally, I think the state is going to have a difficult time getting convictions on all defendant officers of all charges, but that is pure conjecture.

Bottom Line: It is inappropriate to make any assumption of the guilt or innocence of the defendant officers in this case.

We Don’t Know All the Facts  Closely related to the Rush to Judgment is our total lack of knowledge of all the facts.  The only side of the story we have about what happened in the Baltimore case is what accusers and state’s witnesses have said.  We do not know the officers’ side of the events that took place.

Police Conspiracy  As I have watched the events of Baltimore unfold and their mushrooming effects on the rest of the country, the one theme that seems to be consistent throughout all the demonstrations and rioting is that there is a unified police conspiracy throughout the country to persecute and harass blacks and other minorities.  This assumes that thousands of police officers around the country have the necessary time and the desired inclination to carry out such a conspiracy.  It also assumes that police agencies would utilize tools available to them to carry out this conspiracy, namely the U.S. Mail or their interagency communications systems, which would just happen to be highly illegal and easily detectable by federal agencies.

More likely, the so-called oppression and persecution against and harassment of blacks and other minorities might have something to do with the fact that if you are in a high crime area and are acting suspiciously and run from us we are going to chase you, or if you have a gun pointed at us we are going to shoot you, or if you threaten us with a knife, a rock, or a baseball bat we are still going to shoot you, and if you resist an arrest we are going to hurt you.  Racism has nothing to do with it.  You behave badly you will treated accordingly.  Period. End of discussion.

There is a time and a place for being nice in police work.  It is O.K. for the police to interact with local neighborhood kids and play a pickup game of basketball from time to time.  It is O.K. to stop and chat with the women’s group meeting in the park.  It is O.K. to help the elderly couple stopped alongside the road changing a flat tire.  However, you don’t hand a coupon for a free Happy Meal to the guy who is yelling, screaming, and cursing at you for stopping him for speeding 20 mph over the speed limit.

Now, am I suggesting that all police are fair and even-handed and that there are no bad apples in the barrel? Not at all. There are men and women in the profession that have absolutely no business in the profession and the majority of us are happy to see them g-o-n-e.  Are there racist police out there?  Yes.  But does racism among police rise to the same level of public servantism there is among racial and other minorities toward the police?  You see, the public and the media has a habit of painting us all with the same broad brushstroke. It is like saying that all surgeons are fools because one surgeon operated on the wrong body part. It does not lessen the effect of the botched surgery, but it does not merit the labeling of all surgeons as bumbling idiots.

Sir Robert Peel  The Father of Modern Policing, Sir Robert Peel who began the London Metropolitan Police Department said that the police are the people and the people are the police. Unfortunately, the people seem to have abrogated their responsibility totally to the police.  Nevertheless, the police are a reflection of the values of the communities that they serve.  James Q. Wilson, noted criminologist from UC Berkley noted that police departments behave in one of three styles.  Actually, he says that departments rarely act in purely one style, but that they act in some combination of three styles: Watchman, or Legalistic, or Service Oriented styles.  Some departments may be more into assuring that the laws are strictly obeyed while others are more into providing (social) services to their communities.  Other communities are more interested in keeping outsiders at bay and having the police ignore all but the more egregious offenses.  Regardless, each community has some mix and balance of these three styles of policing and they are implemented because that is the community expectation.  Communities change their minds and when they do, police follow suit.

Everybody wants to be treated fairly.  Unfortunately, what is fair in the eyes of one person may not be fair in the eyes of another.  I like to refer to the Bell Curve, and I have found that it applies to people’s attitudes and behaviors when it comes to policing.  The vast majority (about two-thirds) don’t care what happens unless it happens directly to them.  About one-sixth of the population is ahead of the curve and they will always be pro-police no matter what happens.  It is the other one-sixth, the group that falls behind the curve that will never be happy with the police.  The police could rescue Grandma and six children under the age of 10 from a burning house and they would complain because the police didn’t go back into the collapsing house and rescue the gold fish.  (Trust me on this one.)

National Police Force  In the midst of all that has been going on ever since Trevon Martin there has been a call for revamping how police operate, even though the Trevon Martin case had absolutely nothing to do with the police.  Among the suggestions has been a nationalization of police.

As a side note, several years ago I predicted that there would be a move toward nationalization of police.  My good friends Gerry Weeks, John Chicoine, Chuck Barone, and Neal Colyer who are all occasional Facebook users will attest to this.

But, it isn’t going to happen; at least not now and not anytime soon.  We are fifty sovereign states with our own laws that were created at the will of the people.  We as a people really do not want to give up local control, and we should not.  And as a practical matter, moving to a nationalized police force would require the amendment of fifty state constitutions.

Celebration of Arrested Police  I think one of the most disgusting thing I've seen is the celebration that took place in the streets at the announcement of the charges being filed against the police officers in this sad incident.  Have you ever noticed that police do not make a public celebration when a criminal has been arrested. When a "civilian" is arrested there may be a press release or a press conference, but there is no popping of the champaign corks, no dancing in the streets, no whooping and hollering and chest thumping.  Police do not make a public display across the nation of the arrest of a murderer. Seattle police do not dance in the streets in celebration of the cleared murder investigation that took place in Houston or Chicago or Ferguson or Socorro, NM, or Whiteland, IN.  I think I can say with 99.9% certainty that the police in Seattle don't have a clue about a murder in Whiteland, Indiana.

At most, police breathe a sigh of relief at the apprehension of a serious offender. There might be a private small office celebration at the conclusion of a prolonged investigation. But camera hugging celebratory dancing in the street?

Police Don’t Riot  Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but the police don’t riot when one of their own is killed in the line of duty.  There are no mobs of police burning cars, breaking out windows, or looting stores, or shouting in the faces of the citizenry chanting “No Justice, No Peace”.  There is no rock throwing or pitching of bottles at fire trucks, no blocking of ambulances on their ways to render aid to the sick and injured, no charging head on into private citizens, no surrounding the homes of the families of people who assault and kill police, no crying to the media about how unjust the citizens are, no demands for exorbitant compensation.  There is no head run to attorneys to represent their grievances to the media.  There are no fire and brimstone sermons in churches calling for wholesale ignoring of requests from the public for help.  You don’t see the police getting all worked up over the death of a fellow officer.  What you see is a quiet, dignified display of honor and grief.  

Funny how that works.

On Crime Prevention

On Crime Prevention

I previously mentioned a couple of crime theories that relate to victimization.  There is another theory that in reality relates to crime prevention.  It has as its foundation the theories promoted by Jeremy Bentham (1748 – 1832) and Cesare Beccaria (1738 – 1794), both who were Choice or Rational Choice theorists.

Classical Criminology

As a primer, Choice Theory or Rational Choice (properly referred to as Classical Criminology) simply states that people commit crimes because they choose to commit crimes.  Prior to their introductions of Choice Theory, the prevailing attitude was that people committed crimes because the devil made them do it.  As the Age of Enlightenment (1650s through 1780s) and development of scientific thought emerged it became apparent that it would be difficult to prove that the devil made anybody do anything.  (Likewise, it was also impossible to prove that God made anything happen by using the scientific method or process for proving anything.)  As a result, the notion that the devil was responsible for crime was dismissed and the fields of medicine, sociology, psychology, philosophy, and law began to wield influence on what we now call criminology.  While Choice Theory came about more as a result of a desire to change penal codes and modes of punishment than as a social science, it opened the door to identifying the different potential causes of crime. Incidentally, criminology is a rather recent entry into the social sciences when compared to sociology and psychology. With a few caveats, I am a Classical – Neoclassical Theorist.  Neoclassical Theorists assert that there may be multiple causes to crime.  If you happen to be a person who believes that the crime should fit the punishment and that people have free will to commit or not commit crimes, you most likely hold to the classical school of thought.

Crime Prevention

Returning again to Choice Theory, the central notion of this theory is that people commit crimes because they choose to commit crimes.  This theory becomes especially important when we think in terms of crime prevention.  One of the most important ideas that has evolved from this theory is that there are three things that go into a person committing a crime.  Actually, one of the three on the list amounts to the "lack" of something.  They are:

     1. A Motivated Offender
     2. A Suitable Target
     3. The Lack of a Capable Guardian

Put these three on the table and you will have a crime.  Let's discuss the first "item" on the list.  Obviously, if a person is not motivated to commit a crime there will be no crime, but what if there is a person who is motivated to commit a crime?  You must then determine just exactly how motivated that person is.  If the motivation is extremely low and there are no opportunities to commit a crime, or the opportunity is too far out of reach for the offender, the person will not commit a crime.  On the other hand if the offender is highly motivated, that person may jump at any opportunity, regardless of how far out of reach the offense may be.

            Motivated Offenders

I like to think of motivated offenders as having three characteristics that contribute to their degree of motivation. This is my own design and not attributed to any other theorist.  For a motivated offender to advance his/her crime, that person must have the following.

     1. The ability to commit a crime.
     2. The opportunity to commit a crime.
     3. The desire to commit a crime.

You remove the motivation of an offender by removing the person’s ability and opportunity to commit a crime or lessen or remove the person’s desire.  I would suggest that an effective tool would be to replace the person’s desire with something more appropriate.

            Suitable Targets

A suitable target may be a person or an object – property.  If the target is what the offender wants, and the offender is motivated to strike, then we have a crime.  Remove the target or present the target in such a way as it will not have the appearance of suitability, then crime has been prevented.

Again, I have my own theory on suitability of targets. Like offenders, there are three characteristics of the target that play into their suitability. And, like the three characteristics of the offender being of my design, these characteristics of the suitable target are of my design.

     1. Attractiveness of the target.
     2. Accessibility of the target.
     3. Ease of escape from or withdrawal from the target.

            Capable Guardians

The third component of the equation is the capable guardian.  This simply says that if there is a guardian protecting the offender, a guardian that is capable of denying access to the target by the offender, then no matter how motivated the offender may be, there will be no offense.  Keep in mind that the guardian must be stronger than the motivation of the offender to commit the crime.  Capable guardians may be guard dogs, surveillance systems, security alarm systems, several friends walking together (day or night), and in some cases the appearance of capable self-defense of the part of the target.  In all cases the target must become less suitable to the offender. Three factors contribute to the capability of the guardian, again as I see them.

     1. Ability to Identify the Offender
     2. Ability of Target to Prevent the Crime and/or Protect Oneself
     3. Ability of Target to Detain the Offender

Offenders may unconsciously weigh the costs and benefits of committing the crime.  They consider the suitability of the target (person or property) and the risk that will be taken too achieve the benefit of the effort to commit the crime.  If the risks are too high, then the crime will not be committed.  In the case of a highly motivated offender, one who is intent on committing a crime, perhaps a specific crime, if the risks are too high, if the target is not suitable or the guardian presents too high of an obstacle to overcome, the offender will look for another target.  It is called risk-benefit analysis.  It's called rational choice.  Your job as a target (and we are all targets at one time or another, generally several times in a lifetime) is to become less suitable and to have a guardian appropriate for what you want to protect.

It is important to understand that victims of crimes are not (generally) responsible for their victimization.  Some victims appear more attractive than others, not because of beauty, but because of ease of attack and appearance of what the offender is desiring.  We do not hang signs on our mailboxes that say "Please Knock Me Over" nor do women, regardless of how provocatively they may dress announce that they desire to be raped.  But, we increase the probability of being victimized if we give the appearance of suitability without a capable guardian.  We increase the risk of having our Christmas gifts stolen from our cars when we leave them in plain view in the back seat of an unlocked car.  And yes, the drunk co-ed at a frat party who says yes by her appearance and behavior even though she verbally says no will likely be victim to her worst nightmare.  This is not a popular position, but it happens to be a reality and in no way excuses or justifies the behavior of those who would take advantage of her.

Clothing

The Question

A young friend, a young lady, posted the following comments and questions on Facebook recently.

“What I’m about to say is 'mature' content. Take it seriously. I’m not trying to be funny. I've always wondered, "Why do we wear clothes?" Why is it against the law to be naked? The nature of the human body is beautiful. Why hide it? Animals are naked. We are animals. So why (hide it)? I just need an actual reasonable answer. None of that "it's immodest" stuff or "that's just how society is". Give me one good reason why it’s 'bad' enough to be against the law.”

A Few Answers

I saw a number of good responses to her question, one of which came from Edward Houghton.  He first reflects back on a comment made by Heather Ligouri Esposito Let me quote both in their entirety here.

Heather: “Also - without clothes we'd have to carry towels around with us everywhere. To put under us when we sit down. I mean, I wouldn't want to sit where someone else just sat. If you know what I mean....wink wink.”

Edward: Heather is right. Not everyone looks good naked. Also, you must realize that the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall. This is actually a very good description of psychobiology and the way things really are from a behavioral science view. One of the most powerful physical drives that people have is, to be blunt about it, lust. Males are highly visually oriented in their lust drives - if they weren't, there would be no pornography industry. Being modestly clothed is a protective barrier against becoming the object (much could be said here about the objectification of women in general, but that is another huge subject) of someone's lust, which, believe me, is not good. Women are not as visually driven as men are. Men see motion, women see color. Why is this the law? It isn't in many places. NYC does not have a topless ordinance, for example.”

I also posted a response, which was pretty short for my responses to questions.  It follows.

Gregory Talley: “Pockets. Men need pockets. If they carried purses they wouldn't need pockets. For most men, carrying a purse is not manly, ergo pockets. Pants and shirts are needed for pockets. Women need clothes because they need shoes, especially high heeled shoes. If they didn't wear clothes while wearing shoes they would look (1) hideous, or (2) like (please excuse the term) sluts.

“Actually, the human body is a beautiful creation--God's creation. I'm sorry if you don't want to accept the Savior's hope for us, e.g., you don't want a religious reason, but it is a real reason. Your body is not only beautiful, but it is sacred. It is the temple of God. Brother Houghton's explanation is spot on. You see, I lived in a world where objectification of the human body, mainly women's bodies led to exploitation, actual physical harm, and murder. You cannot convince me after 25 years of living in that world and another 20 years of academic research that it doesn't exist in nearly every corner of society.

“Love yourself. Show a lack of respect for your body and flaunt it, trust me, you will get no respect from others. I've seen the trail of tears, broken lives, and dead bodies that follows those who do not respect their own temple of God.”

Of course the first paragraph was a little light.

I’ll finish this section with a quote from Heather again as she makes excellent points.

Heather: “On the topic of sexual violence - please know - that women are raped and assaulted no matter how they dress. Do women who are scantly clad get more unwanted advances than those who are not? Probably. But know that wearing baggy sweats all the time is no form of protection. And there is a large piece that goes unsaid that men need to respect women and despite whatever physical urges they have, should keep it in their pants and their words in their mouths. I agree with brother Talley that to flaunt one's body is not good because it makes the focus of others be on you as an object - not a person. So - if we all walked around naked - would women get raped constantly? Probably not because we all would be naked and it would be the social norm. BUT - clothes are better. I'm freezing right now. And it's raining. frown emoticon Poo.”

Here come the Stories

What I am about to say may not rest well, but let me simply put it out there.  But, I have thought a great deal about the question that was asked by this young lady ever since I read it.  These stories that I present here came immediately to mind when I read the young lady’s comments but knew that that relating them would simply take up too much space and time on Facebook.

            Story One

When I was a youngster I had a parakeet named Jingles.  I also had a cat named Scamper.  The cat had free roam of the house and was always well behaved.  We often let the Jingles out of his cage so he could spread his wings and fly like birds are supposed to fly.

One of the neat things about parakeets is that you can teach them to talk and I had taught Jingles several little phrases.  One phrase that Jingles especially liked was, “Pretty boy, hello, Baby!”  Sometimes the cat would be in the house at the same time that Jingles would be flying around loose in the house.  Jingles loved to dive-bomb Scamper while saying, “Pretty boy, hello Baby!”  Scamper would simply glare at Jingles knowing that if he retaliated that he would be banished forever.  Day after day though, Jingles would torment Scamper with his freedom.

It was Thanksgiving Day.  We had left the door to the house unlocked because we lived in a place and at a time when it was safe to do that.  We had gone to my aunt’s home for Thanksgiving dinner.  When we came home late that evening we were greeted at the door by Scamper who made a bee line for a snowbank outside.  After one step inside, we knew why Scamper was running for his life.  Somebody had let the cat in the house in our absence.  We found feathers everywhere.  Jingles had taunted Scamper with, “Pretty boy, hello, Baby!” one time too many.

Just because Jingles flew free and taunted Scamper, Jingles didn’t make Scamper eat him.  Nonetheless, the temptation was there.  Scamper was quite able to control his urges under my watchful eye, but once out of sight….

            A Little Criminology

All too often we place blame on victims.  We see that happening in a murder trial that is going on right now, and it ought not to be.  But sometimes victims could do a lot to avoid victimization.  There are two crime theories I am thinking of that relate directly to victimization.  They are the hazardous locations theory and hazardous behavior theory.  A closely related crime theory is the victim precipitation theory (the victim actively egged a person on to commit a crime—I think Jingles may have fallen victim to that particular theory).  In essence, those theories state that in the offender’s process of making choices, victims increase the likelihood of victimization by placing themselves in dangerous places (generally bars and in the company of intoxicated people) or by things the victim says or does.  For example, a person places himself/herself in serious jeopardy by wearing the wrong colors in a gang’s territory that “flies” under different colors.

Just because a woman has a right to be safe regardless of what she wears and should not be blamed for being the victim of a sexual assault, it does not lessen the possibility that her appearance will draw unwanted attention and perhaps even unwanted attack.

            Story Two

I once heard a young man say to a girl, “If I can see it I am free to touch it.”  Really?

I heard a doctor friend talk to a group of young men once about morality.  He drew two vertical parallel lines on a chalk board.  One line had an outward bump not quite two-thirds of the way down and the other line also had an outward bump about a quarter of the way down.  Then he said something that stuck with me for a long time.  He said, “Boys, this figure is the most powerful figure in the world.  It makes young men do crazy things, some of which you ought not to do.”

 

            Story Three

When I was teaching I often had several students come and visit me in my office at once.  It was not unusual for me to have five, six, and more students in my office at a time.  I eventually had to buy additional chairs to keep folded up behind my door so when those occasions happened there would be seating for at least a few more students.  On one occasion I had about six or seven guys in my office.  I recall that two of them were sitting on the floor.  As we visited a female student walked into my office.  One of the guys stood and gave the girl his chair.

“Mary” (not her real name) was wearing a rather short skirt and low neck top.  As she sat down she crossed her legs.  I thought the guys in the room were going to break their necks trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on when she crossed her legs.  Eyes continued to strain when she leaned down to place her books on the floor.

Conversation continued, though the guys that were standing positioned themselves behind Mary and could be seen taking occasional glimpses downward.  As the conversation continued, Mary asked a startling question.  “Don’t you think I look sexy?”

After the snickers from the boys and an uncomfortable silence, she asked, “What?”

“Actually, you look like a slut,” came the reply from one of the guys.

That is when Mary tried (uncomfortably) to cover up, but there wasn’t much to cover.

Then one of the guys made an interesting observation.  He said, “If you want to look sexy then you should cover up.  Sure, you’ll get our hormones going when you dress like that, but when it’s all over, I want a girl who respects herself and shows that respect.” 

By the way, none of these college boys were LDS.

Conclusion

Why do we have to wear clothes?  Well, as Ed Houghton said, there are cultures where you don’t have to wear clothes.  And there are beaches and other places you can go and shed the outer wear if you wish, but I believe you need to be an adult.  As for you and Heather and Ed and me, it is a matter of faith, not religion.  It is a matter of knowing that you are of infinite worth, that you are of value.  You really are a daughter of God who loves you and He wants to protect you from being gawked at, groped, and yes, possibly attacked.  He knows you are not an object but a person with feelings and ambitions and hopes and even fears.  He wants you to not have to carry a towel around everywhere so that when you sit down you won’t have to worry about what it is that you are sitting in and what you might contract or carry with you when you stand up.  He wants boys to have someplace to put their hands, which is why we have pockets, and He doesn’t’ want you to look hideous when you are wearing high heeled shoes.

Obscured Truths

As I sat in our small library in our home I looked across the space and saw an open magazine sitting on a little end table. It was our Church's youth magazine. I peered at the title of the article and immediately scrunched my eyes and questioned why such an article in a church youth magazine would even be included. Yet, there it was, staring back at me: How the Law of Chastity is a Bad Idea. I could not believe my eyes!

Why the Church would even consider publishing such an article was beyond me. This had to be a joke! I forgot what I was working on and reached across to the magazine and pulled it toward me, knocking the magazine that was on top of it onto the floor. When I knocked the other magazine onto the floor, I saw the full title of the magazine article. It now read, "How do I Explain to my Friend that Breaking the Law of Chastity is a Bad Idea." A critical part of the article had been obscured by the magazine that had been on top of the article I was looking at.

Sometimes when we look at the world around us, as the flow of information comes to our lives, bits and pieces of that information may be missing or obscured. As a result, we make decisions based on faulty information. Often, those decisions are as faulty as the information we rely upon to make them. Truth is always there, but because parts of it are obscured, missing, and in some cases willfully withheld from our view, we don't see it. And we dangerously make decisions on faulty information. Only upon closer scrutiny, often by pulling it closer to us and by knocking away those things that obscure truth can we find the full picture. Such action requires diligence and a relentless quest for truth.