Tuesday, March 08, 2005

The victim always becomes the abuser.

Top of the morning gents,

I followed Westlake and Octuck's suggestion of reading my old journals, diaries, and notepads; keeping an eye out for violence and fallout, cause and effect, and sonic boom repercussions throughout our communities due to extraordinary cruelty.

This morning, I’m gonna take you coppers on a brief trip back a few decades.

If I pull you back in time to the only brightly lit cell at the Kotzebue Jail, the day room immediately in front of central dispatch, 2:00am minus 10 years, you’ll see a convicted killer being interviewed, by another.

I’m grasping for the word to describe context interfacing.

We’ve been taught to see the bigger picture and look forward and backward generations to discern the destructive behavior or action that triggers so much pain and suffering, in concentric circles and decades.

I'll use a series of interviews previously dissected and analyzed, with all my primary data intact. The subject is an Inupiaq Eskimo by the name of Richie Reich.

Some of you may not know this person.

Or the person he killed.

Few years back, maybe the mid nineties, Richie Reich was transferred to our facility for a sentencing relief hearing in front of honorable Judge Erlich.

From the industry specific jargon, you may deduct Mr. Reich wasn't traveling under his own steam, but the State's, and I was working graveyard shift, as usual.

From my notes, after lights out and lock down, I sat in the day room with Richie Reich, and interviewed him for hours while he smoked cartons of my cigarettes and drank my good coffee. Tom Evans or Mike Kramer tended to the dispatch console and police/fire radio transmissions, while reading their books, and smoking cigarettes. Ya see, at all times, I'm always surrounded by winners in uniform.

Mr. Reich was rounding the corner on a 2-dime stay, with only months remaining. He and the Judge had a date to examine boxes of evidence and testimony, meaning they had to stare at some pretty fucking nasty photos together, but not hold hands.

Twenty years had nearly passed, and Richie can't speak the name of the poor muke that is named as the deceased. The only name he’ll mention is “that fucking faggot.” “He should’ve kept his hands off me.”

Even from the safety of nearly 2 decades, and from inside a warm and comfortable womb made of concrete, all that's mentioned was that he was stabbed a dozen or so times, carried out to an old 1972 Dodge Coronet and pitched in the trunk. Whereupon, his numerous stab wounds continued to leak, then freeze.

Existing North of the Arctic Circle is tough, but 30 below zero is a bitch. Chipping a frozen corpse out of a trunk is a real bitch. Dead or not, this muke's infected liquids quickly converted from blood to cement, permanently bonding him to frozen steel.

Fuck, only an axe and blowtorch is gonna clean out that trunk. Frozen in time, and in the boot. Guess that's the image we'll keep with us.

If you were passed out drunk and woken to nasty buggering, wouldn't you let the scissors to the talking, then pitch this cheeky bugger out with the trash?

This defies logic on many levels, thus is an event without logic.

Even if we apply Kotzebue logic, and Mike Tabor had molested us all; this still defies logic. But makes perfect sense.

Ya see, I'm of the opinion the wrong person ended up frozen solid in that trunk. Richie Rich laid the blame for this homicidal disaster at the feat of Mike Tabor, the link in a long line of child buggers that unknowingly, or intentionally created a long line of vicious rapists, and a killer. Richie Rich believed getting raped made him the monster he was. It also made him fearful he would become another child molester too.

He was wrong; it only made him a killer, with a justifiable hatred of homosexuals, specifically pedophile homosexuals.

You all remember Buckminster Fuller and his Geo Dome houses. He also forged the term "trim-tabbing", a nautical metaphor for detecting and correcting navigation to account for large ocean currents.

It also applies to recognizing large repetitive patterns and paradigms. See where I’m going? Mapping my way through generations of Eskimo children would be a hell of lot easier if I could eliminate the chronic child abuse so prevalent throughout our remote Alaskan aboriginal populations.

Listening through my daughter’s ears, victims of child neglect immediately become mean bullies. This is the behavior that triggers my curiosity; bullies and rapists are cut from the same cloth, hell they come from the same mold too.

As the twig bends, so grows the tree.

So what? Take a look at the repeating childhood violence setting the stage for homicidal violence. Violent little faggots are a product of poor nurturing, not a product of nature.

Something unnatural about our rural Alaskan child rearing processes that yield so many killers, corpses, and rape victims, who in turn repeat and expand this behavioral syndrome much like a virus cluster. Put better, like the growing center of an epidemic.

A process that is far too scary to discuss, or publish, even in the company of coppers and child advocates, you lot.

But that’s the situation we’re in. A cataclysm undermining ICWA (Indun Child Welfare Act) with thousands of damaged and broken Native children spilling into our inept and vicious foster care program that merely adds injury to insult.

The reasons Native foster care children commit suicides as often as they do are prenatal, postnatal, and the shitty life all foster children experience; all conducive for ill treatment further exacerbating previous trauma.

Incarcerate the offender, that’s easy.

How about incarcerating the victim, cuz he’ll be coming ‘round the mountain, adorned in misused tissue, when he comes.

I’ll stick to simpler topics. This composition was a bitch and made me a little sick.

Cheers mates. If we’re really good during this lifetime, we might get to live in a better place, next time around.

Like South of 70 lat.



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