It’s funny how it seems to be easier to remember what you were doing at catastrophic moments in history.
On September 11, 2001, I was a freshman in college. I vividly remember what the blanket I was rolled up in felt like. What color it was. The smell. The terrifying tone of the news anchor’s voice – not reassuring like I always viewed news anchors – as the second plane hit and the building collapsed. Looking around the room at my new friends watching this with me in absolute disbelief.
On April 20, 1999, I was on spring break from my Sophomore year of high school, with my best friend Christine. We had ridden our bikes to our local deli. The moment when the news broke about the Columbine High School Shootings, we were deciding whether or not we should have a “Graveyard” or just get one flavor from the slush puppy machine.
Much like those dates, I will always remember exactly what I was doing when the bombing at the Boston Marathon happened. I was sitting right here in this very spot, on my computer, starting my work day. It was sunny out and the waves were so peaceful. People were running on the bike path. Earlier in the day, I woke up and smiled at the posts on Facebook from a few people who were runners, who wished they were running, and those who were there watching. As I usually feel on Marathon Monday, I was just a tiny bit homesick. I was switching between checking my email, answering phone calls, and peeking at Facebook, when I noticed a horrible picture of blood everywhere, with a vague comment about Boston.
I immediately turned on my TV and watched in horror to the scene that was unfolding on live air. I let out some expletives that I’m sure my neighbors could hear loud and clear. And I sat on my couch, clutching my remote control, shaking, while trying to text my family members who live in Boston to make sure they were OK. Luckily, my family and friends were OK, but I was so shaken by what I saw that I simply stayed home from work.
While I did not grow up directly in Boston – usually only visiting on field trips or for concerts as I grew older, I still hold a lot of pride in the city. It’s something you just can’t avoid if you grew up in Massachusetts. Seeing this happen to a place I love so much was terrifying.
So you can understand why I, along with many other Massachusetts natives and residents, feel absolutely no pity for the people responsible for the bombing on that day, and the subsequent events in Watertown.
I am not a violent person. Generally, I’m extremely passive. This whole situation has induced some pretty violent emotions within myself, that I didn’t know I was capable of. I was angry when I found out they were moving the older brother’s body around to help him get a funeral. This man killed people. I know the things running through my head are controversial, but why did this man deserve to have a burial under his religion’s customs? Why did they spend money guarding his body? This man deserves NONE of our respect. He didn’t respect the families of the people that died at his hand. He had no respect for human life.
Today, the more I think about it, the more I become angry that a MUSIC magazine has featured the younger brother on their cover.
First of all, it’s too soon. This is such a fresh wound. It is disrespectful to the families of those who were innocent and killed and the communities this affected. It is even kind of disrespectful to the family of the person who did the killing.
Secondly, there are still sick individuals out there who plot things like this every day. The possibility that one of those sickos see this article, or even just the cover, and idolize these psychopaths is pretty darn high.
Magazines and newspapers do need to report the news. That is their function. But cover stories should really be reserved for role models and heroes, not people who have decided to ruin the lives of others. On top of that, if you are running a music magazine, your covers should be about MUSIC. The press needs to STOP publicizing the lives of those who have committed crimes in order to make more sales. These sick people deserve absolutely no recognition. They deserve to be humiliated and PUNISHED and then forgotten.
Rolling Stone Magazine, I am extremely ashamed of you.
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