Whenever I'm feeling homesick for my roots and need a good dose of life back in the South, I spend a few minutes browsing through the online version of my old hometown newspaper. Reading about the happenings back in Chattanooga and seeing photos of various landmarks around town in some ways makes me feel as if I'm back home ... minus getting to see my family and old friends. Sometimes, however, the stories I read and the photos I view make me realize that my beloved hometown has undergone some big changes since I moved away more than 26 years ago ... changes in technology, architecture and population, of course, but also changes in the attitudes, beliefs and viewpoints of the people who live there. It shouldn't surprise me I guess, considering the fact that pretty much the entire world has experienced drastic changes in the last 26 plus years ... from economic to political to social issues and every other issue you can possibly imagine, things have changed. Or have they? Have they really?
A week or so ago, I read a story in my hometown newspaper about a young man who was raped by his teammates with a pool cue while they were out of town playing in a basketball tournament ... assaulted so viciously that he suffered devastating injuries to his colon and bladder. You can read the story for yourself by clicking here, but be prepared should you choose to do so ... it is a heart-wrenching story of broken trust, betrayal and violence that left me sobbing upon reading of the horror inflicted upon the young man by others whom he thought were his friends. Young men who claimed to be his teammates ... teammates ... obviously, those young men had no concept or understanding of the definition of the word teammate. Teammates? No, sir ... they were in no way teammates of the young man they brutally assaulted ... they were the farthest possible thing from being his teammates.
There are many reasons why I haven't been able to shake the story from my mind, but perhaps the greatest one is the fact that had the young man not been so severely injured there is the very real possibility that the crimes against him would have never been reported. Had his colon not been torn or his bladder ruptured, there exists the distinct possibility that the young man may very well have crawled back to his room to suffer in silence ... too ashamed and terrified to ever tell the truth about what had been done to him. Why, you ask? Why is it possible the young man would have been too ashamed and afraid to report the crime? Two coaches and the athletic director were charged because they knew ... they knew about the abuse, but they didn't report it. Read that again ... adults in positions of power knew about the abuse but said nothing ... they did nothing ... they knew about the abuse and did nothing to stop it.
The more I've thought about this young man's story, the more I've come to the conclusion that those are the worst crimes of all, friends ... the crimes of silence that we commit against each other far more often than we are willing to admit. The crime of remaining silent when we see someone being mistreated or isolated or bullied or neglected or abused or wounded. The crime of remaining silent when we hear someone being condemned or shamed or belittled or denounced or insulted. The crime of remaining silent when we know someone is sad or lonely or depressed or morose or distant or dejected or unhappy. The sad but very real truth is that it's easier to remain silent ... it's easier to remain silent and not get involved ... it's easier to remain silent and think it's none of our business ... it's easier to remain silent and hope that someone else will step up to help ... it's easier to remain silent and believe we can't make a difference.
Crimes of silence ... it's so much easier to remain silent, friends. It's so much easier to remain silent and not care.
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