Rosie Gilderthorp
Justice is blind. Isn't it? Photo: Tim Green |
Recently a
serving soldier, Lee Rigby, was murdered in Woolwich. The general public, willingly or not, became voyeurs,
witness to the murder in a way still unfamiliar even in the world of camera
phones and 24 hour news. With dramatic footage available, the media coverage
was extensive. In particular, there was a strong focus on the grief of the
family and the contribution he had made to the armed forces. Watching this
story unfold I had the feeling that something very particular was happening in
the way we were asked to view this murder. It’s something that happens from
time to time with high-profile crimes. Something about Lee Rigby had made us
take this one personally.
There has been
considerable focus on the fact that Lee Rigby was a ‘war hero’ and a ‘family
man’. I can’t help but wonder why it was inherently worse in the eyes of the
nation that he was a soldier rather than a say, plasterer or a cleaner or someone
who was unemployed? Would he have seemed a more palatable choice of victim if
he had been single? What about if he was
involved in crime or violence? By this I mean the kind of violence not
sanctioned by governments rather than the kind that gets you on the wrong side
of the law. Having spent a fair time working in the criminal justice system I have
been appalled by the number of horrific murders that are committed against
young men and women within the context of ‘gang warfare’. These victims attract
very little media coverage. It is as though the ‘gang’ label acts as a shield
against public sympathy while the label of ‘soldier’ or ‘police officer’ ensures
entry into the public consciousness. This is not purely a media issue. Recently,
speaking to the Police Federation, Theresa May announced
plans to alter legislation so that ‘life means life’ for those convicted of
murdering a police officer. This implies justice means different things to us
depending on the professional status of the victim. I can’t quite reconcile
this with my understanding of the United Kingdom as a country in which all subjects
are equal. I value the lives of the
police highly but no more highly than I value the life of anyone else.
The
inconsistency in the way we treat deaths implies that the general public, and
by that I mean people who do not know people in gangs, cannot assimilate the
frightening, chaotic and damaged side of Britain that gang culture represents. It is easier for us to ignore the horrifying
things that happen every week. This way of thinking is encapsulated in the
statements of our politicians. For example, David Cameron frequently alludes to
us being ‘broken’ as a nation, thus enabling us to conceptualise an underclass
as a broken limb, separate from the healthy whole. It’s logical then that
murders in the broken part of town are less important than those happening in
view of the middle class. It’s simple in-group, out-group psychology, as Tajfel and Turner’s
classic 1986 paper has described.
This sense of a
part of society that is a stranger to the rest unfortunately seems reinforced
by the media coverage. That some deaths
are deemed worthy of sympathy and some are ignored effectively removes our
choice. How can we decide what we think about these things when they are not
being reported? If a young man in a gang is killed who tells us about who he
was, what his family felt or what he might have become? There are some dedicated
charities out there, such as the St.
Giles Trust, that are flying the flag for these victims by helping those
involved in gangs to lead productive lives. Indeed, there are also some
government initiatives aimed at tackling this problem. However, it seems unfair
for these organisations to take the intellectual as well as the practical
burden while the majority of us never give the subject a second thought.
The murder of
Lee Rigby is a tragedy but there are others that deserve our grief too. For reasons of invisibility, perceived
difference or simply not wanting to know they don’t get it. Are we able to find
some room for them in our list of concerns?
Really interesting post. I wonder if there's also something going on about what that death represents in society. The murder of Stephen Lawrence, for example, highlighted the racial divide in the UK and caused (justifiable) outrage. Similarly, the murder of Lee Rigby highlights issues of Islamist extremism and (again) racial tensions. It's easy to feel moral outrage at these things because it's part of our cultural discourse to be offended by racism or extremism.
ReplyDeleteInterestingly, the death of Mark Duggan, which triggered the London riots a couple of years back was more easily dismissed. It's incongruent to feel outrage at his death because he was an alleged criminal and his killers were the police. Instead, it was more comfortable to dismiss him as a "bad guy" and to dismiss the subsequent riots as a symptom of "Broken Britain". Maybe it would be too uncomfortable for the press to openly show outrage at Mark Duggan's death?