The pointed fingers of accusation sweep the community center and strike a common accord. The crowd passes judgment, the voices of many speaking the words of many more. “You. It’s your fault.” “You’re the reason this town has gone to shit.” “What are you doing for us? What are you doing for the community?” “You must be in league with the killers. You must be a killer, yourself!” For a drawn-out minute, the accused does not reply. They fold their hands and temple their thumbs and weather the barrage. Steadfast. They allow the poisoned words to bleed into the air. They permit the surge of castigation to flood in like the tides, to wash over them, and draw away, and leave them standing unharmed. Their castle is not a sandcastle. Their reputation does not so easily crumble. Finally, when the crowd has purged the greater part of its bile, the accused lifts a regal chin and speaks. And a hush settles over the room. “This kangaroo court has gone on quite long enough.” Nine words, nine softly-spoken words. Because rhetoric is a domain shared by more than amateur novelists. This sentence hangs in the air with the anticipation of a long fall, of a held breath, of a bubble straining to burst. The crowd does not speak. The accused does. “We have gathered in this room as neighbors, friends, and family, to discuss the tragedy that has befallen this town. We, every last human soul in this room, are hurting, and grieving, and suffering. We do not have to grieve alone. There is a comfort in union. There is a strength in union. There is a light in union that even these dark times cannot, will not extinguish. We stand together today to represent a town—a community—wounded, but who will never be broken. The legacy of humanity is one of overcoming adversity, of banding together and striving, despite loss, despite heartache, towards a brighter future. We have gathered in this room to seek solutions, and to seek them together. “But there is a vast difference between due process and mob justice. We do not heal by inflicting hurt. We do not bring back the dead by killing. Justice may be blind, but she does not mete out punishment blindly. Those willing to set the whole town aflame to smoke out a few rats will find themselves one day, alone, surrounded by bones and ashes. Every individual is welcome to their own self-destruction, but not to the destruction of others. I will protect myself, and I will protect my city. “There will be no deaths today. This meeting is adjourned.” The accused exits the room. Not a soul moves to stop them. |