25 November

Jesse’s Story: Pain And Perspective. Emotions And Wisdom. And Justice.

by Jon Katz
Emotions And Wisdom
Emotions And Wisdom

Sexual abuse is an intimate thing for me, I have been dealing with it my whole life, I take it seriously, when someone is accused of it, especially in our culture, it is a terrible thing, beyond a stigma. For years, the sexual abuse of children was often ignored or avoided, it’s perpetrators rarely exposed, treated or punished. That has changed, and like all change, it brings good things and bad, it stretches justice and weakens perspective.

When I think of people accused of sex crimes, I often think of the Salem Witch Trials, I think this period will be seen in that way one day in the future, the angry mobs, the packs of howling journalists, the ferocious crush of an overwhelming system, the unerasable black mark on a life, the Draconian sentencing and punishments, the horrors of prison.

Jesse Dailey, the subject of my book “Geeks: How Two Lost Boys Rode The Internet Out Of Idaho,” has been arrested for sexual abuse and the molestation of children – groping – his face and name spread across the media, his life in dreadful limbo, ugly clouds hanging over him. I talked with Jesse last night for the first time in several years, for the first time since his arrest. The story of his pursuit and arrest was hard for me to hear, the accusations impossible for me to believe. He is terrified, of course, stunned by the shattering of his normal life.

I remember every second that this is Jesse’s pain, not mine, this is his story, not mine, my discomfort and anguish is nothing compared to the challenge he faces and the dangers to his existence.

I spent several years researching my book about Jesse, I asked him thousands of questions – in person, on the phone, via e-mail, I asked him about every aspect of his life. Jesse never lied to me, never dissembled, never shaded the truth. He told me about his one arrest for marijuana possession, there was not a single statement he made to me that turned out to be a lie or untruth. The idea of him knocking an officer he knew was a police officer to the ground, kicking and beating her and dislocating her shoulder and fleeing is so far beyond the pale of my knowledge of Jesse that I simply could not accept or credit it. Jesse dreads confrontations, he is not a fighter, he avoids trouble in almost any way he possibly can.

A stranger demanding an identity – he says he did not know she was a police officer – would be especially frightening to Jesse, he would be thinking identity theft the whole way, he is a computer geek and programmer,  he knows the travails and pitfalls of the online world, he knows what identity is worth there. We didn’t talk about the details of the other accusations, it would not have been appropriate.

I was not there, I cannot tell anyone what happened or didn’t happen – this position of mine is hard for some of Jesse’s loving and very loyal family and friends to understand. It is simply the truth, I have learned to tell it. One cannot hear Jesse’s story and not be deeply frightened at the ferocity and power of what we call law enforcement – they swept into Jesse’s life, guns drawn, shouting at him to get down,  took him to an interrogation room, ignored him for eight hours while he waited for a lawyer, and when he emerged, he learned that his photo had been on every TV station in New York all day as the suspected “Park Slope Groper”, and his life was forever changed. Hard to even imagine it.

We seem, in our world, to be losing the notion of the troubled person – and I am not suggesting Jesse is that – we forget that the people pursued and charged with crimes are human beings too, not animals to be hunted down and displayed and thrown into dungeons and branded for life. I am confident that will not be Jesse’s fate, but I have to wonder about the people whose fate it is, whatever it is they might have done. I think sometimes we are among the most vengeful and uncaring people’s on the earth, we lurch from one hysteria to another, the fires fed by fickle politicians and  journalists who scream and shout, but rarely stop and think.

This may or not be justice, it also embodies the great Orwellian nightmare, the sanctity of the individual destroyed by the vengeful authority, the raging mob, unable to listen or wait, rushing to justice, destroying the notion of a life in the name of loving children.

Emotions and judgements are easy to come bye, wisdom and compassion are difficult to find. So, perhaps is true justice.  Does it really serve or children or protect them when they grow up in a world where mobs shatter and defame people’s lives almost with impunity – for people accused of sex crimes, the burden of proof is on them to prove they didn’t commit the crimes, not the accusers (Jesse now has to prove where he wasn’t on a number of days months ago)  –  but disturbed men with machine guns can walk into schools and butcher them in their classrooms? I don’t see any mobs of people or journalists rushing to ban the sale of lethal weapons to the mentally ill. I guess I don’t understand this kind of a world, our ethical compasses seem derailed, even our idea about what abuse can really be. No civilized country on earth treats people or children in this way.

I am no knee-jerk sucker for a story, I was a police reporter and journalist for many years, and I learned young and quickly that bad people do bad things and good people can do bad things. I am neither a judge or a psychic, any good reporter becomes a realist or folds in the process. The courts and his lawyer will decide Jesse’s fate, not me. I can say, though, that if Jesse is a child molester, then I am not the writer or journalist I believe myself to be, I am a blind fool.

I will be thinking hard on this over Thanksgiving, coming to terms with it, praying for my friend Jesse to come out of this dark tunnel and into the light, where he worked and struggled for so long to be. I know him as a good and brave and generous man, and that man will prevail once again, as he has before.

 

 

25 November

Love Is The Funeral Pyre: Border Collie In Pasture, Dusk

by Jon Katz
Border Collie In The Pasure
Border Collie In The Pasture

“Love is the funeral pyre

Where the heart must lay its body.”

– Hafiz.

Sometimes, when I am out working with Red, I see my life as a painting, or rather, as a series of paintings, it makes life timeless for me and reminds me that I am small and humble, my troubles are a microscopic speck in the universe. We all laugh, cry, suffer, love and die. It is the thing that binds us together and makes us one thing, not a thing of the left or a thing of the right, or a Christian or Jew.

When we forget this bond, we fall into argument, disconnection, spiritual emptiness, hatred and anger. It does not seem to be in our nature to remember this or keep it in mind, it is left to the quiet pleadings of the people on the edge, on the margins, that is always where the spiritual people seem to be, pushed aside by the loud, the political, the enraged. In the pasture with Red, I think of Hafiz and his wonderful poem, and I turn myself over to the pursuit of love and meaning,  they are the funeral pyre on which my body lies.

25 November

Gratitude: Holiday Plans

by Jon Katz
Gratitude
Gratitude

There is a second hand store on Main Street in Cambridge, my town, it sells all kinds of stuff, furniture lamps, old clothes, It has become a focal point of the holidays for me, I love the stories these lights tell the care that went into their display, there are so many parts to them. In the outside world, Black Friday is upon us, the air is filled with sales, specials, great deals and other lures, I can’t really complain, I’m doing the same thing myself for “Second Chance Dog,” offering books, photos, dog food, everything going but dancing seals.

I have nothing bad to say about people who wish to spend Thanksgiving scoping out mall bargains, they have fun, get stuff they want, this is America, buying stuff is in the national character, buying it at discount is practically the national religion. It is not my way of spending Thanksgiving, this week for me is about gratitude. Maria is celebrating Plaid Friday – the small business answer to the theft of Thanksgiving – by selling a whole bunch of wonderful potholders on her blog. I am hoping more people will buy my new book “Second Chance Dog,” from Connie Brooks at Battenkill Books.

I have so much to be grateful for, I could not begin to even list all of it. Maria, my daughter Emma,  the farm, my work, my blog, my books, the photography, the dogs, donkeys, Flo and Minnie, our wonderful town, my friends – I made another friend today at lunch, I have more good friends than I have ever had, more riches than I have ever known, I will be giving thanks all week for my life, this is the only holiday that asks that of us, and I am pleased to honor it’s spirit. Thanksgiving is our simplest holiday, our most American.

Wednesday, Maria and I will go off for two days to a quiet place we love to be together, read, rest and eat a good Thanksgiving meal, we will return on Friday morning. I will meditate on gratitude, think of it when we walk, when I wake up in the night. Life is mysterious, life is precious, crisis and mystery are always just around the corner, life is fragile and quick, I appreciate the chance to live it, so far I have a full life marked by joy, love, pain, growth, loss and gain. Life itself.

I am tired in the soul, my friend Jesse’s troubles have touched a deep chord in me, it is his crisis, not my crisis, but still Maria and I work hard every day, as most of you do, and we know when we need to rest. Bringing my camera only, no e-mail, no Ipad, no technology. Images sooth me, they are never tiring.

I’ll be blogging Tuesday and Wednesday morning, then off on my mini-gratitude pilgrimage and I wish nothing but joy and meaning for you all.

 

 

25 November

Book Talk: Warming Up The Crowd

by Jon Katz
Warming Up The Crowd
Warming Up The Crowd

Red is always working for me. Sunday, we drove to Chester, Vt., for a reading of “Second Chance Dogs,” and a talk about writing, rural life and the human-animal bond. It was brutally cold and windy but a large crowd made their way to the beautifully restored Universalist Church, the event was sponsored by Misty Valley Books.

While people came in from the cold, Red started working the room. This dog, who did not even live in a house until a little more than a year ago, fits into my world as if he has grown up there. When he goes to readings, he works the room, he goes up and down rows of chairs, says hello, offers his paw, if I left the room people would not have minded, as long as Red was there, he is the most wonderful dog.

The talk and signing was great, a good crowd, thoughtful and intelligent questions, the kind of reading I most love. I thank Misty Valle Books for arranging. My next reading will be at Northshire Books,  Manchester, Vt., at 7 p.m. Friday, December 6. Red is coming along there too.

 

 

 

25 November

Do Not Give Up On Love. Heart In The Shower.

by Jon Katz
Do Not Give Up On Love
Do Not Give Up On Love

When I was 61 and alone in the world, I went to Saratoga Springs and talked to an analyst, and he was deeply into Buddism, he advocated meditation and asked me what I wanted in life, and I said I wanted love, and he chuckled and looked dubious and said “at 61, most people are no longer looking for love.You are taking on an awful lot of change.” I said I was, and I did, and I found it, right across the street from me, in one of own barns.

This morning, five years later, I stepped out of the shower and turned to grab a towel, and looked into the window to see a heart with a smile drawn on the window in the steam – finger art. I thought of that day, of that talk, and I decided to send him a note and an e-mail to let him know what had happened and to remind him to never give up on love, or to ever encourage anyone else to give up on love.

It is a miracle to begin my day in this way, every day is a precious gift to me, a miracle.

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