Sweet Summer Children
lessons about violence that I learned from violence
This post contains graphic stories of violence, both violence I experienced as a child and violence I committed as an adult. With regard to what I did as an adult, I have changed names and identifying details, but the stories are true. This post is disturbing and reader discretion is advised.
Mark 9:14-29 (NIV)
When Jesus, Peter, James, and John came down from the mountain where the Transfiguration had occurred, they found the other disciples in a large crowd, arguing with some teachers of the law. As soon as the people saw Jesus, they were overwhelmed with wonder and ran to greet him.
Jesus asked, "What are you arguing with them about?"
A man in the crowd answered, "Teacher, I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth, and becomes rigid. I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not."
Jesus replied, "You unbelieving generation, how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me."
So they brought the boy. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.
Jesus asked the boy's father, "How long has he been like this?"
"From childhood," he answered. "It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us."
"'If you can'?" said Jesus. "Everything is possible for one who believes."
Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"
When Jesus saw that a crowd was running to the scene, he rebuked the impure spirit. "You deaf and mute spirit," he said, "I command you, come out of him and never enter him again."
The spirit shrieked, convulsed him violently, and came out. The boy looked so much like a corpse that many said, "He's dead." But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him to his feet, and he stood up.
After Jesus had gone indoors, his disciples asked him privately, "Why couldn't we drive it out?"
He replied, "This kind can come out only by prayer and fasting."
How The Hunger Games Ends
The Hunger Games trilogy tells the story of an oppressive government, the Capitol, who brutalizes its subjects in many degrading, humiliating ways. Worst among them is The Hunger Games, an annual event where one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18 is chosen, by lottery, from each District in Panem. The tributes, as they are called, are unwilling participants in a reality show where they must fight to the death until one victor, traumatized and broken, remains as a show of the Capitol’s mercy.
At the end of the story, the Capitol has lost a war. The new president of the country, a woman named Coin, gathers the seven living victors — Katniss, the heroine; Peeta, her love interest; Haymitch, their mentor; and four others: Enobaria, Annie, Beetee, Johanna. This is the conversation they have just before Katniss, a magnificent archer, is to execute the prior dictator, Snow, with an arrow to his heart. Snow has been tried, convicted, and sentenced, and the sentence of death, in his case, is perfectly just. Here are two pages from the end of that book (obviously, spoilers abound).
“Sit down, please, Katniss,” says Coin, closing the door. I take a seat between Annie and Beetee, carefully placing Snow’s rose on the table. As usual, Coin gets right to the point. “I’ve asked you here to settle a debate. Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this.”
Through the water in the glass, I see a distorted image of one of Peeta’s hands. The burn marks. We are both fire mutts now. My eyes travel up to where the flames licked across his forehead, singeing away his brows but just missing his eyes. Those same blue eyes that used to meet mine and then flit away at school. Just as they do now.
“So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote,” says Coin. “What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power.”
All seven of us turn to her. “What?” says Johanna.
“We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children,” says Coin.
“Are you joking?” asks Peeta. “No. I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security,” Coin tells us.
“Was this Plutarch’s idea?” asks Haymitch. “It was mine,” says Coin. “It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may cast your votes.”
“No!” bursts out Peeta. “I vote no, of course! We can’t have another Hunger Games!”
“Why not?” Johanna retorts. “It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes.”
“So do I,” says Enobaria, almost indifferently. “Let them have a taste of their own medicine.”
“This is why we rebelled! Remember?” Peeta looks at the rest of us. “Annie?”
“I vote no with Peeta,” she says. “So would Finnick if he were here.”
“But he isn’t, because Snow’s mutts killed him,” Johanna reminds her.
“No,” says Beetee. “It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival. No.”
“We’re down to Katniss and Haymitch,” says Coin.
Was it like this then? Seventy-five years or so ago? Did a group of people sit around and cast their votes on initiating the Hunger Games? Was there dissent? Did someone make a case for mercy that was beaten down by the calls for the deaths of the districts’ children? The scent of Snow’s rose curls up into my nose, down into my throat, squeezing it tight with despair. All those people I loved, dead, and we are discussing the next Hunger Games in an attempt to avoid wasting life. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now.
I weigh my options carefully, think everything through. Keeping my eyes on the rose, I say, “I vote yes . . . for Prim.”
“Haymitch, it’s up to you,” says Coin.
A furious Peeta hammers Haymitch with the atrocity he could become party to, but I can feel Haymitch watching me. This is the moment, then. When we find out exactly just how alike we are, and how much he truly understands me.
“I’m with the Mockingjay,” he says. “Excellent. That carries the vote,” says Coin. “Now we really must take our places for the execution.”
As she passes me, I hold up the glass with the rose. “Can you see that Snow’s wearing this? Just over his heart?” Coin smiles. “Of course. And I’ll make sure he knows about the Games.”
“Thank you,” I say.
People sweep into the room, surround me. The last touch of powder, the instructions from Plutarch as I’m guided to the front doors of the mansion. The City Circle runs over, spills people down the side streets. The others take their places outside. Guards. Officials. Rebel leaders. Victors. I hear the cheers that indicate Coin has appeared on the balcony. Then Effie taps my shoulder, and I step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd. As directed, I turn so they see me in profile, and wait. When they march Snow out the door, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is unnecessary. He’s not going anywhere. There’s nowhere to go. This is not the roomy stage before the Training Center but the narrow terrace in front of the president’s mansion. No wonder no one bothered to have me practice. He’s ten yards away.
I feel the bow purring in my hand. Reach back and grasp the arrow. Position it, aim at the rose, but watch his face. He coughs and a bloody dribble runs down his chin. His tongue flicks over his puffy lips. I search his eyes for the slightest sign of anything, fear, remorse, anger. But there’s only the same look of amusement that ended our last conversation. It’s as if he’s speaking the words again. “Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”
He’s right. We did.
The point of my arrow shifts upward. I release the string. And President Coin collapses over the side of the balcony and plunges to the ground. Dead.
When I read The Hunger Games trilogy, this passage gave me the most intellectual and emotional catharsis I’ve ever experienced in my life from literature. I was terrified to read Katniss thinking, “Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now.” When she voted yes, I got dizzy with horror. No, I thought. No. No. No, goddamnit! No! Katniss is too smart. She knows what violence is, and does. She cannot turn into a monster now. I cannot live with it if that’s how this fucking book ends.
But then it didn’t.
I collapsed onto my bed with psychological and emotional exhausation, and finished the book through my tears.
Katniss killed Coin, sacrificing what was left of her sanity in the process, and in so doing saved both her country and herself.
She made sure the future would be worth living to see.
She picked the best of all her terrible choices because Katniss understood something about violence that I also understand.
That’s what this post is about: my five lessons of violence.
Lesson #1: Justified Anger is the Most Dangerous
Lesson #2: Every Human is Capable of Murder
Lesson #3: Anger Conquers All; Love Conquers Fuck-All
Lesson #4: The Most Dangerous of All Fools
Lesson #5: The Difference Between Good and Bad People