Connections. Community. Fear.

Written April 16, 2007

A product of what some have described as the easy accessibility of guns within a culture of fear has eventuated today with the tragic shooting at Virginia Tech, just a short distance down the east coast. When the bubble bursts the world's cold air stings all involved. The families, the dead, the wounded, the friends and the bystanders. Nobody is immune to the deceivingly random devastation whose cultural veins are well hidden.

News broke as I entered the gym and noticed all eyes turned to the large plasma screens lining the walls. Body builders who, I have come to learn, sleep and eat at the gym paused briefly to have an outside moment explained to them. The death toll began at 21 and rose to 32 by the time my pecs, lats and glutes had been exercised. In a not uncommon display of community, I saw the same gatherings in the dining commons and lobby as I returned to blend my protein shake. Funny how mundane our rituals appear when something like this happens, isn't it.

Last Wednesday I had the privilege of visiting an Amish community in a small town about 45 minutes drive from State College. It's so easy to forget that we are literally in the middle of nowhere, but 10 minutes down the road it became evident. I knew we were in a small town when the single cash register at the general store displayed a "No checks [cheques] from" list for all to see. We also visited a market and cattle auction, where men chewed tobacco, women wore bonnets and I felt as though I was at the real Sovereign Hill or on the set of Ned Kelly. Interestingly, non-Amish locals have recognized the attraction of the event, and set up stalls outside selling everything from guns to discount pharmaceuticals. Another moment that sticks in my wind was when a well-meaning Thai exchange student suggested I get on one of the Amish's horses for a photo. While the parallel that I wouldn't want some stranger breaking into my car for a quick snap was lost, I did manage to persuade her that perhaps it wasn't such a great idea. Hearty Pennsylvanian-Dutch food was enjoyed, and I bought a faceless Amish doll (representations of human faces are forbidden).

Just last year another Amish town a few hours north endured a similar tragedy to todays. The town I visited wasn't the one where the shooting occurred; but the evident community-mindedness was probably comparable. While in their community I saw harshness and regiment through my money-making-consumer glasses, I also saw a genuine concern for the welfare of others, a cleansing forgiveness and a material equality that perhaps gives rise to them both. The community shares everything, and welcomed the widow of the gunman back into their lives with open arms. As someone much wiser than I once may have said, virtue can be seen as much in reaction as in action.

The weekend before that I had experienced a similar sense of community in Bethlehem, a small Pennsylvanian mining town, and birthplace of my good friend Keveau whose family was good enough to have me as a guest for Easter dinner. The home-cooked food was great, the conversation spirited. Keveau's grandmother told a joke that my recall will no-doubt butcher: In one of heaven's ballrooms, a man noticed clocks lining the walls, all showing different times, all hands moving intermittently. On them was inscribed a different U.S presidents name. He asked the reason for the different times, and the angel replied that each time a president lied, the hand moved. Noticing that there wasn't one for Bush, the man asked the angel where it is. The angel replied that was 'upstairs in Jesus' office; he uses it as a ceiling fan'. The joke was well received, and would perhaps have been even more so if she hadn't just shared her considered view that Prince Charles and most of the royals were "a bit retarded because of all the inbreeding".The previous few days had been spent in Brooklyn, New York City, just a short train ride from Manhattan. It was my first time to Brooklyn and I found that NYC begun to make sense. My impressions of Manhattan had been of a transit island; where it was as if the asphalt was turning to quicksand, and people seemed intent on moving somewhere, anywhere, quickly. This wasn't the case in Brooklyn, where wide tree lined streets hosted yards with clothes lines where people hung out the washing and watered the concrete. New York City now had a human face. Back in Manhattan, Central Park showed its human face in an extraordinary space gypsy/folk/opera singing androgynous performer called THOTH. Weaving magic in the centre of a European inspired wind tunnel, we must have stayed there watching THOTH for at least an hour. THOTH has created his own language and expresses it through perhaps the most hauntingly beautiful 'prayformances' I have ever witnessed. Google him.

Back in State College reality hits. There's study to do, essays to right and readings to read. Enjoying a few quiet ones in a local bar the other night, a friend and I start chatting to a well dressed man of non-descript age. As the mandatory 2am close approaches, we say that we'll 'facebook' him. Rejecting the offer he says he has his card here, and promptly dives in his pocket for two of them. They read: "First Name, Surname". New line: "Socialite". This is not a joke. Just when I thought I had seen everything I was proved wrong; I hadn't yet met my first self-proclaimed socialite. Now that one's a keeper.