Intention to Heal: In The Aftermath of The Blacksburg Killings

Twenty-three year old Seung Cho was born in Korea, but lived in this country since the age of 8. In his graduating year at Virginia Tech, he lived in a dorm with 5 other suite mates, not one of who knew anything about him. His roommate said, "Sometimes I would come back and find him sitting in a chair, staring into space." A fellow student said, "I went to high school with him and it became a joke for us, if we gave him ten bucks, could we get him to speak?" Another student in his suite said, " He didn't say very much. I just thought he didn't speak English very well."
Over the past week of coverage, no fellow student has stepped forward to say s/he knew him personally or that he was a friend. Why? I ask myself if early in his life, Seung Cho's isolation was caused by racism or a mindset provoked by a racist incident. I ask that about my own experience of isolation in America.

My family had just moved to an upper middle class, predominantly white suburb of Detroit and for my sisters and I, this meant a complete change of schools and friends and social strata to fit into; we all experienced difficulty. Being novel at my junior high, I made a lot of friends quickly, but almost as quickly, a mysterious rumor was spread about me and, overnight, I was shut out and taunted for almost 2 years. My locker, inside and out, was the depository of hate words and notes and not one friend I had made looked at, spoke to or sat near me in class, lunch or gym; it was like I stepped into a parallel world and disappeared. I tried to speak to my mother about it but she brushed it off; she was overwhelmed with work, and in our family, paying heed to the children's experience was not the way things went. I began to withdraw and avoid contact with people in fear of the aggression or rejection that met me everywhere at school. I can't say my thinking remained in line with reality for racism -- or whatever motivated this systematic exclusion -- puts a spin on the mind that there is something wrong with you that you can never remove.

I started staying at home then, fearing school. I watched the television instead, 4-6 inches from the screen and began the odd habit of pulling out hairs from the front of my head. I also began an intense dependency on food, especially candy. Though eventually I found people I could join at lunch and gym, the awareness that things could go terribly wrong at the drop of a hat never left me.

Seung Cho didn't say "here" when present at roll call. He signed an attendance roster with a question mark, earning the identifier, "question mark kid". One day, in high school, when a teacher threatened an F, he read aloud and was met with laughter and the erroneous epithet, "Go back to China!" Humor and derision are ways to adapt to someone different, at first, but eventually he was removed from normal expectation of feeling and behavior altogether.

In his play, Richard McBeef, 13 yr. old protagonist, John, makes reference to being raped in almost every sentence he speaks. The accused, John's stepfather, McBeef, not listening, approaches him and touches him. Finally, John attacks him with a piece of food and in return is "decimated by a single blow". The stepson confronts and resists the stepfather who raped him and is killed for it.

In one video message, he states, "You had a hundred billion chances and ways to have avoided today...But you decided to spill my blood. You forced me into a corner and gave me only one option."

Quoting Romeo in the famous balcony scene to Juliet in a text message he sent to a girl who did not want his attentions, a CNN reporter summarized the missive as disturbing and violent. Yes, in retrospect, any communication from him must be felt as chilling; but how many boys and girls have crushes on people they don't know and how many times a day?

What I worry is that if we only characterize Seung-Hui Cho as alien we will lose the capacity to dialogue with the person out of balance. It's highly unlikely that his rage could have grown in a vacuum no matter how uncommunicative he was. The possibility of autism was raised by his aunt, but he wrote plays, he texted, he spoke. And when he did, it sounded like an utterly disassociated voice, that knew no place to land.

The lack of compassion for him is justified in punishment of someone who showed no regard for 32 brilliant, innocent lives. But knowing that his ultimate punishment was inflicted by his own hand, what, as a society, is our intention now? How do we, as so many have asked, "make sense of it"? If we wish to heal, I would like to propose this: we see all of the actions of the world, beautiful and horrible, mirroring what is inside ourselves, that, with the right set of circumstances, any of us is capable of.

Will we ever know what provoked this final, horrible act? It's unlikely. Can we look at the story of a human being, and the state of disconnection and suffering he was in before he committed it, and decide that the next potential person will be met with consciousness and unwavering compassion? I hope so. Understanding is our greatest tool for healing and if that is our intent, let's begin now.

Jacqueline Kim was born in America to parents of Korean descent. Her email is samadhi7@sbcglobal.net

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