Criminal Compassion

I try to mix up my posts between serious subjects and lighter fare, and I had today’s planned for the former.  However, something so momentous occurred today, something so stupendous, that I simply must at least mention it in passing, before moving on to subjects with a bit more gravitas.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, I am very proud to announce that today, for the first time since leaving the United States in July, a drought of approximately 6 months, I drank a can of delicious Dr Pepper.  For that, I would like to give a big shout out to my local Spar grocery store that, at my request, worked to locate a supplier in Cape Town, and then transport the product all the way back to our small town of Warrenton here in the Northern Cape.  Happily for them, the shipment proved to be so popular, that they actually had to reserve a 6-pack for me because the others sold out so quickly.  If any Dr Pepper executives are reading this, my service is over in September 2013, and I would be happy to serve as international brand manager at that time.

Alright, like I said, I was tempted to devote an entire post just to the Dr Pepper event, but I had already planned and promised to start moving backwards in time to my days in Durban.  While the experience of tanning/burning on the beach, surfing, and eating good Indian food, was overall an incredibly enjoyable one, it was unfortunately marred by something that sometimes seems to be ever present here in South Africa: crime.  There were two episodes that not only knocked me out of my complacency regarding our security here, but also made me seesaw back and forth on the ethics of treatment of criminals.  Today, I will only focus on the first one and the first incarnation of my thoughts on treatment of offenders.

The initial event occurred on Christmas day.  Some of the other Americans and I were lounging on the sand with different people reading, chatting, and dozing, when all of a sudden, we noticed a commotion taking place a bit farther up near the boardwalk.  It seemed there was a fight going on (and who doesn’t love a fight), so another guy and myself got up and walked over to investigate.  As we did so, we saw what basically amounted to a mob, dragging and pushing a man along the pavement.  They moved him a certain distance and then stopped so that a large circle of people formed around the detained person.  While this was going on, I managed to discover that the man being forced around had just tried to steal something from someone, but had been stopped and now people were taking out their anger on this would-be thief.  We later found out that the man had tried to rob some one’s backpack, but had been unsuccessful and so had retreated up a hill.  An onlooker atop the hill had seen what had happened, so he stretched out his arm and clotheslined the thief to stop him.  After that the people around managed to catch up and get their hands on the perpetrator.

What happened next was almost unbelievable.  In the circle that had formed around the criminal, I watched as people, many who had nothing to do with the situation, started indiscriminately punching and kicking the man, while others prevented him from moving.  Even more unbelievably, men and women in yellow vests who were responsible for security on the beach stood by and watched, with some even encouraging the attackers.  The thief eventually fell to the ground, where the kicking and beating continued with comments such as “That’s what you get for trying to rob people on Christmas!”  I finally ran over and shouted at the security guys to cuff the man and stop what was turning in to sheer insanity.  At first they did nothing, but after continually screaming at them for several seconds, they stepped in and did indeed put handcuffs on the man’s wrists.

With that accomplished, though, they continued to allow the crowd to lay kicks into the prone perpetrator, again sometimes with encouragement.  When I saw this, I stepped through the crowd so that I was standing over the thief, and stopped those kicking him saying “That’s enough!”  By this time, the thief had blood coming from his forehead and mouth that was spilling onto the sidewalk and a look on his face of absolute terror.  I asked the security men why they didn’t take him to jail to get the man out of there, and one of them feebly mentioned that the police had been called and were on their way.  Knowing that the security would do nothing until the cops showed up, I continued standing over the thief, basically providing him protection.  Some of the other Americans who witnessed the scene, said that even in the midst of such a serious situation, it was a bit comical to see me, a tall, pale, White man, shirtless, and in Texas flag swim trunks, standing there in the middle of the large group comprised mainly of Blacks and Indians.   After several minutes, a group of mounted police on horses finally showed up.  Even then, when they asked who made the arrest, none of the security men and women in yellow vests spoke up.  I had to point at them before they actually acknowledged to the cops that they had indeed put the cuffs on the man.

The police then inquired as to what had transpired regarding the crime such as who was the victim, what the thief had tried to take, etc.  Like I said before, the guilty man was absolutely petrified as a result of the vigilante mob, so much so that he enthusiastically confirmed to the police which person he had robbed, just so that they would take him away as quickly as possible.  At that point, I knew that with the criminal in police custody, the man was safe, and I retreated beachside again.

Afterwards, though, when I reflected upon the whole situation, I was very surprised at myself.  I mean, I grew up in Huntsville, Texas, which is the headquarters of the Texas state prison system.  My dad works for that prison system.  It is not that far to walk from my house to the building where all executions in Texas take place (more than any other state in America).  Anyone who is familiar with Texas, knows that it is a place where not much sympathy is held for criminals, to the point that the term “Texas justice” can actually be colloquially used to indicate harsh and quick punishment for those who behave badly.

Yet here I was, finding myself, almost without thinking, running into to try to protect a man who was undoubtedly guilty of the crime, on Christmas day no less.  It was very strange to find this stirring of compassion welling up within me, but there it was nonetheless.  South Africa continues to suffer from terrible crime, and I know that the people here are absolutely sick of it.  For that reason, I can understand why, when they are finally able to get a hold of one of the bad guys, they want to take out their rage on him and make an example. 

Yet one of the aspects of a civilized society is that it has respect for the law.  That means that the one to mete out punishment is the justice system, not a bunch of angry vigilantes.  Not to mention, it just did not seem that the punishment fit the crime.  The man tried to steal someone’s backpack, which, given, is wrong.  But does it really deserve being beaten to a pulp so much so that if continued unrestrained the man goes into a coma or dies?  I just didn’t think so.

That being said, I am not trying to make myself out as some kind of hero that is more sophisticated and civilized than the South Africans.  I am undoubtedly not.  I have only been here 6 months now, and had, up to that moment, still had relatively little experience with crime.  Had I been subjected to the muggings, hijackings, rapes, and other types of assaults that so many South Africans I have spoken to have, I am pretty positive I would feel different about the matter.  Unfortunately, it did not take too long for me to get an answer to that question, as only a few days later, we once again had the reality of crime in South Africa shoved in our faces, this time in a way that hit much closer to home.  That is the second incident that I mentioned earlier in the post, and one that I will deal with in my next entry.  Until then, I feel it is yet again time to and regrettably relevant to repeat that cherished refrain from “Hill Street Blues”: Let’s be careful out there.