Bullying: Another homicide-by-proxy

No one story about a victim of bullying represents them all. Miguel Rodriguez of Spring Hill, Fla., is one of the latest at this writing:



When I first referred to myself as having survived school (K-12), I meant it figuratively. I didn't realize that the word survived had literal meaning until I first heard of a suicide that stemmed from continual bullying. What struck a nerve for me was hearing a friend in the above video recall telling Miguel, "Just ignore it." Mind you, that friend is not to blame. She merely passed on what society tells us to say and what I've written on before (see posts labeled "Discounting Feelings.")

I call these cases "homicides by proxy" because I strongly believe that the torment that others subjected to the suicide victim are what drove the poor fellow to kill himself. It cannot be called "murder by proxy" unless the perpetrators intended the target to die. They're negligent. As public awareness about the effect of taunts and bullying goes up, however, their offense may go up to depraved indifference. Sadly, I don't think any jurisdiction recognizes homicide-by-proxy either in civil or criminal court. The folks who discount feelings fall into a grey area because they think they're being helpful: One more symptom of the disease of our culture in which stoicism is imposed on others. By now, a dozen years into the 21st Century, adults should have had plenty of opportunity to teach our children what not to say to others. Miguel's friend shouldn't have had to learn the hard way.

The latest data from the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention are that over 38,000 people committed suicide in the U.S. in 2010. Thirty-eight thousand! That is more than the populations of 87 of the 92 counties in Nebraska (A bit more than half the population of Council Bluffs, Iowa)! Of course, most of these involve situations other than schoolyard bullying (some followed workplace bullying).

Since the last time I blogged about this, little improvement if any has been made. How many more have to die before we shift our don't-let-it-get-to-you mindset?

A Long Overdue Tribute to Ted Andrews

Noted writer and teacher Ted Andrews passed away last October. I did not learn about it until some time later.

Ted's famous book, Animal Speak, inspired me to choose Skunk Totem as the name of this blog. It made apparent that the skunk is one of my major animal totems. I think if I were an animal, I probably would have ended up being a skunk. This often misunderstood (like me) animal teaches how to give and demand respect, and live peacefully among others. (Despite its reputation, skunks are pacifist animals and only spray in self-defense, usually as a last resort. They typically reciprocate how we treat them--good or bad).

Ted's legacy will live on.

OWLTHENA'S ROOST: Ted Andrews dies

Homeowner kills herself after bank foreclosed on her.

A tragic story about Carlene Balderrama, a foreclosed homeowner who committed suicide. While the bank can't bear all the blame, I can't help but wonder if they could have done more to work out a payment arrangement. How big was the mortgage debt compared to the bank's profits? It's hard to believe a spouse and parent would take oneself away from his or her loved ones unless one absolutely couldn't see another way out.

Sadly, this probably isn't the last time that a foreclosure turns lethal. I've written before on how our society could do a lot better at handling depressed and suicidal people. These deaths are preventable - but not by giving the person the message that there is something wrong with the way he or she feels.

I feel for Mrs. Balderrama and her family.

Storm claims several homes

Friday's extreme thunderstorm with its 80-mph winds spared my home. A neighbor wasn't so fortunate. Three uprooted 100-ft cottonwood trees hammered his property; one of them landed square on his house and the pickup truck in his driveway.

City crews swept in the next day and cleared much of the debris amid onlookers that came after media publicity turned my street into a twisted tourist attraction. (About half the city population was without electricity; the other half whose TVs still worked took turns driving by.)

It looks like only 1/4 of the house was destroyed; it is unknown whether it's repairable or if hidden structural damage has rendered the building beyond repair. The pickup truck looks as if a locomotive plowed into it.

My neighbor, R., is a good fellow who goes out of his way to help others and has kept his property well and provided assistance to others on the block (including myself) with our groundskeeping. Meanwhile, a nearby public nuisance and alleged "drug house" that collects graffiti and trash (the vehicular and human kind as well as what overfills the Dumpster) was untouched. The unfairness digs at me.

But the most important things were unscathed: R. and his beloved dog. Their survival puts a perspective on the whole disater.

Father's Day: In Memory of Dad

My father passed away this year following a losing battle with an antibiotic-resistant pneumonia. I literally heard him take his last breath when I was alone in his bedroom.

He had been in the hospital after an accidental fall and subsequent severe confusion that the doctors suspect was some kind of stress reaction, with symptoms like those included on this list from a CDC bulletin aimed at emergency workers. For unknown reasons, Dad's swallowing reflex disappeared, and despite attempts at special therapy, kept aspirating fluid into his lungs leading to the pneumonia.

After a fractured hip a few years back left my father (at least temporarily) unable to live on his own and take care of Mom (who had her own disabilities), both my parents spent the rest of their lives living in the in-law apartment in my brother's home. That meant dealing with a son and daughter-in-law who run a tight ship and pull no punches when it comes to criticism. (Brother: if you are reading this, if your inclination to speak harshly were inversely proportional to your material generosity and willingness to help those in need, you'd be the best damn brother anyone could hope to have.) Chronic criticism, even when given with good intentions, can form a black hole engulfing positive interactions and memories.

Mom passed away a year after the relocation and Dad lost his lifestyle piece by piece, including his driver's license. I think the fall triggered flashbacks of conflicts past and aggravated hopeless visions of the future.

Dad and I shared a lot in common: a love of animals (horses were to him what ferrets and skunks are to me), a talent for art and "handyman" work, a yen for motorhome travel, an eccentric sense of humor, a live-and-let-live philosophy. Why Dad instead of any of various people who have inflicted misery and/or death on others?

Dad, you were loved my many, and our memories of you will remain in our hearts. We miss you.