What I do when I should be studying...or not taking part in a Reality Television show
Revenge films prevent people being sent to jail
Published on July 29, 2004 By notsohighlyevolved In Current Events
There she was, beaten. Knuckleduster beaten. Face all mashed up, hard to determine what she looked like before the assault, hard to measure what type of person before the act determined what we all think of her. I think she might have looked hard before the incident, but she looked harder after it. Someone said she looked like a “junkie”, as if that description made the whole thing acceptable, normal… with precedent, because such things are, of course, important. We would hate to see violence and not attribute it to the “normalcy”, the precedent, of junkydom, of the hard looking and worryingly thin, the criminal looking.

The young man had approached her, the plain clothed security guard, carrying a hotel’s takings to her utility, and hit her square in the face. It wasn’t a civilised robbery let alone a civil action, but what followed seemed barbaric in its slow deliberation, in the finality of its effect. She followed the man, walking slowly behind him with her hand in her jacket pocket (a chef was watching, was saying “she has a gun, she has a gun”), stoped two meters from the car he sat in and shot through the window.

According to reports he coughed and went into a fit. She aimlessly walked around the car park, bleeding and shocked, asking someone for a cigarette. Someone had screamed. Someone had been beaten. Someone had been shot. The money was safe in its bag. The money wasn’t going anywhere.

Now the talk begins. Should she be charged with murder? No charges have been laid and she isn’t talking. Not to the police. Not to anyone. Seeking legal advice, so the papers tell us, and so she should. Shooting someone, even someone who beat and robbed you, doesn’t walk away of its own accord. The dead follow you, especially if you’re the one that put a bullet in them. That dead man will follow her, guised in a judges robe, draped in the anonymity of a jury, like she followed him, waiting for her to speak, to incriminate, so he can pull the trigger, so he can take in kind what she took from him. Some say death is easier than jail. Some also say it costs the tax payers less.

We’re all talking. Some want her acquitted, not only of any charge that might be laid against her, but also of any responsibility she might bear in the publics mind for the death of a criminal, a violent criminal. Others want her to pay. They say she took it too far, that a beating doesn’t warrant a bullet, doesn’t deserve the annihilating punishment of death. Was the money worth it? Was the broken face worth it? How often have we wondered what the weight of a person’s life? What counterbalance does it offer to their deeds?

I have put the arguments on the scale and found that they are equal in weight. Whatever I add to one side has its opposite, of equal value, that can be added to the other.

He was a violent criminal that received his just desert during the act rather than after it.

She is a murderer that coolly sought vengeance, and found it, after suffering, relative to her punishment, a minor assault.

In his criminality, in the act of his criminality, he had crossed the line that holds on one side the protection of the law and society. He was no longer a member of society and had therefore rescinded his rights and privileges as a member of that civil society.

The woman, while not being responsible for the chain of events that lead to that final, terrible act, is responsible for that act. She did not choose to be the victim (and victimised she was) but she did choose how to react to being a victim.

It is not the woman’s fault but the fault of an industry (the security industry) that provides weapons to people barely trained to use them. An industry that expects a police-like response from a person who was trained over a weekend; who would hardly ever encounter a situation requiring training or skill; who, when in the face of deadly novelty, would react in novel and deadly ways, like shooting a man after following him to his car, after being beaten with a knuckleduster.

The tabloids want an easy answer and I suspect they’ll find it in history. There have been at least four recent cases of people killing criminals while being the victims of crime. All four were acquitted or never charged. We live in a city where crime is growing in visibility if not in actuality or statistically. We want someone to pay and the courts can be slow and inconsistent.

Case in point – four gang rapists might be let free, their victim called in for the third time to testify. Another mistrial because the defendants refused legal representation the first time around. She doesn't testify, they go free. A gun and a spluttering death seems just in comparison.

Death is the one jail cell you can’t walk out of on a technicality.

Comments (Page 1)
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on Jul 30, 2004
There used to be a time when revenge wasn't just legal, it was expected. Back in the good old days...

Excellent writing as per Marco.

Dyl xx
on Jul 30, 2004
Revenge used to be a growth industry, but always one that would witness diminishing returns. Sicily is almost barren, all the blood should have fed the vegetation, but that too has left, unable to absorb all that bitter salt. We still seek revenge, but it's only the fanatics that are shallow enough to believe that death, of all the acts of retribution (it's never about rehabilitation), is the worst.

Aren't you in Europe? And if you are why the hell are you talking to us

Marco XX
on Jul 31, 2004
marco, i saw the footage of that on the news. that woman looked like a 40yo that had been alive for 90 years. she looked hard, old, tired, and more than a little bit fucked up. the injuries to her face were pretty horiffic. she had a lot of stiches and both her eyes were black. i think she was in shock from the start of the incident to the end. i'd be willing to bet she had no clue what she'd actually done.

in my humble opinion, one of the issues here should be why do these barely-trained thugs get to carry firearms anyway ?. the recent spate of security guards being unlicenced or getting mugged for their guns is terrifying. half of them are just people who are too aggro to get into the police force anyway.

this is a very interesting issue point. i wish you were still here so we could natter about it further !


mig XX
on Jul 31, 2004

ps: hi dyl !
on Jul 31, 2004
I am here, but i have to go. you can have fun reading my responses to your friday five *read that with a liberal dose of sarcasm, i would rather read out ALL the Catholic catechisms*

You always raise valid points, don't you dear

Marco XX
on Jul 31, 2004
Oh yeah i forgot I'm too good for you people now. Thanks for reminding me..I could've really embarassed myself.

Blah Paris is lonely. I'm using JU for company....I've hit rock bottom . hehe.

Stay cool.Hi Vanessa!!

Dyl xx
on Jul 31, 2004
Blah Paris is lonely.


it's dirty, too. that surprised me. the only interesting thing that happened to me in paris was that we hired a sportscar (so i could rid myself of the nightmares i'd had ever since i'd listened to marianne faithfulls' "ballad of lucy jordan"), and i got knocked semi-unconscious by a low-flying pigeon and drove into a hedge. wonderful memories there. dyl, just go throw yourself on jim morrison's grave (have they dug him up yet ? ... they have been threatening to for years). sing the first lines from "the cyrstal ship" while you do it ... 'before you slip into unconsciousness i'd like to have another kiss, another flashing chance at bliss, another kiss, another kiss'.

oooooh. sorry, marco. forgot where i was. if this was anybody else's blog i'd delete that.

"miss you" mig XX
on Aug 01, 2004
When in Paris, people just seem to roll in, like a roulette wheel, into the arms of the dead. The Pantheon doesn't end at its walls, it spreads further, the whole city is a living epitaph to the dead. I think it is this that makes it so beautiful, its population being larger than the statistics tell us.

Marco XX
on Aug 01, 2004
hehe, Vanessa, you know I just woke up and your story already made me laugh my ass off. Thanks hon!! And thanks for the comment on my blog.

There's something eerie about Paris, like the whole city is just waiting for something, holding its breath.

*Off to hang out with dead people. *

Dyl xx
on Aug 01, 2004
hehe, Vanessa, you know I just woke up and your story already made me laugh my ass off. Thanks hon!! And thanks for the comment on my blog.


you're welcome, lovely. i thought of another cool thing that happened in paris, actually. the guy in the hotel (i'll say hotel, but it wasn't really) room next to us had some skanky reefer and when he turned on his tv, 'the cosby show' was on, and i was all "oh cool, the cosby show". then bill cosby spoke and he had this dubbed french accent in a voice much higher than his own. every time he 'spoke' i honked with laugher like a loonie. this went on for a full half-hour.

(the actual funny bit about that story is that there were 3 other people in the room, and none of them found it even vaugely amusing. they all just sat there. i rolled right off of the sofa and onto the floor at one point and nobody else even giggled. i think i annoyed the shit out of them all, but i still couldn't stop).

good luck visiting jim. say hi for me

mig xx

ooohhh. sorry marco. i did it again.

on Aug 01, 2004

the whole city is a living epitaph to the dead. I


It's funny you should say thatm because I've always thought the same thing.


And it IS dirty.

on Aug 02, 2004
Paris is so theatrical in nature, apartments as stages, open windows and uninterrupted views, cafes as box seats, the collision of the dramatic, voyeurism as lifestyle.

I recall staying in what could only be described as four walls held together by a homeostasis of pressure, the city wanting to get in and the occupants wanting to get out. Maids would always knock on my door at 10 in the morning, demanding i vacate immediately in a language I found, all at once, hypnotically beautiful and rhythmically vulgar. I often laughed because I had to, because it would be the only thing they could understand, the only thing I could understand, a hopelessly lost tourist laughing manically, refusing to leave his room at what they thought a perfectly reasonable hour. It never was. Never reasonable because the night would always extend itself beyond the last and i started to realise you only ever wanted to be awake in Paris in the morning and late at night, never in between.

And it IS dirty


Yes! But what a fine sensation on the skin, the feeling of moving through something thicker than air.


on Aug 02, 2004
Where in Paris did you stay Marco? I'm having trouble figuring out how to write about it. It's so ambigious for me. I feel like I'm all at once a part of the culture, looking and being and speaking French, but totally alienated from it by default and this damn American accent.

The city air is always oppresive in summer. In New York it will be sticky and suffocating but here it seems lighter. i think it's less dirty, more open.

Sorry to ramble on your blog but while I could ramble complete shit about New York till the day I die, I'm absolutely stuck when it comes to writing about this place.

Damn..

Dyl xx
on Aug 02, 2004
I stayed in Montmartre. It was easier for me. I didn't look or speak or feel French. That could be because i'm not and this allowed me to see the city in its three-dimensional glory as if it was still a postcard, still a Matisse shimmer, something with no null areas, all color and light, like a brush stroke without the pigment, without the canvass to bear the paint. I moved above and over, underneith and to the side, always missing something, never fixing the reality of the place so it could become less than a fantasy, an ideal.

Thicker than air because you don't only breathe what's necessary. Dirtier than thou because nothing is quite as sexy

It is strange, because Paris is the most "open" city i've been to. But it's not clean the way Sydney is, not light the way Sydney is. Sydney is too new, the dust is yet to settle. Paris seems to of been atomised in between monuments, like the city and inhabitants have been squeezed in somehow, as if Napoleon didn't have enough room for his subjects, only enough for his ego. It's a city that wants nothing but heros and dignitaries, thinkers and martyrs, art and discourse. I liked it because of that, because it left no room for "me". I didn't understand the city, hardly caught a glimpse, and that's why i'll return, knowing i'll never be satisfied.

Marco XX
on Aug 02, 2004
It's funny how two people can have such completely different impressions of Paris. Paris for me is too real, too close to home despite being a million miles away. The women all seem taller and more elegant and wear more makeup than me, the men are all too serious, with a disconcerting light in their eyes that implies something so much darker than that jokey lecherous New York gaze. You're right about the air, it clings in a way that is softer and more sensual than clammy New York's sweat. The city is open in that it misses those skyscrapers that make you hurt your neck attempting to find the rooftops from the ground. There is something cramped about the place, inspite of the spaces, but still I feel like it's open enough that I might be swept away, that I lack something to cling to, walls to lean against and people to brush by.

There is something about Paris that for me, is too formal, too cold. New York is cruel but friendly, like the kid who teased you in kindergarten because he had a crush on you. I don't think I'll write about it, because I just end up writing about me.

Dyl xx
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