Hope and brutality

[vaneramos]

After work I settled down to look up more career counseling opportunities, but the trail was cold, so I drifted over to Craigslist and found some entry-level writing and editing job postings I would theoretically consider applying for. It would serve me well to pick up some part-time work I can do in the evenings. I'll contemplate this theory for a few days, and search some more tomorrow.

We had planned a writing date at 8, but my partner phoned to say she was having dinner late; could we meet later or do it tomorrow instead? Feeling tired, I opted for the latter. Hanging up the phone, I immediately went and donned ceremonial slob-at-home garments: slippers, ratty sweatpants and pilled sweater. What luxury! I don't have to do anything tonight. I'll wash the dishes, continue warping the loom, and call Danny later.

Yes, I'm still working on the same weaving project I started in July, in fact I haven't actually started to weave yet. On several occasions in the course of threading the heddles and reed, I've discovered earlier errors and had to undo an hour or more of work to correct them. I don't mind. I'm learning a lot and enjoying the practice. Once the loom is warped, it should go quickly. I can hardly wait to finish the shawl so I'll have something cozy and personal for these chilly fall evenings at home.

On weekdays I always listen to radio news in the car, and read the Toronto Star at the restaurant where we eat lunch. I've followed the Colonel Russell Williams case. Murders fascinate and disturb me. Why does a victim's right to privacy end when he or she dies? Why do I want to know what happened? This case has given unprecedentedly graphic details of the final living hours of Marie-France Comeau and Jessica Lloyd. I want to know their stories. They lived and died in a society which cannot guarantee safety to the innocent. Comeau fought with her assailant. Lloyd complied. Both strove heroically to survive. I feel a debt to accompany them in facing the brutality that took them.

Comments

[paulintoronto.livejournal.com]

Why does a victim's right to privacy end when he or she dies?

This is an interesting question. My view is that once a person is dead, he or she does not require privacy, since privacy is meaningful only to people who who have the capacity to make decisions about their own lives, a capacity that ends at death. What is disclosed about a dead person makes no difference to that person.

It is true that other people may wish to conceal information about the dead person, for reasons of their own, but that is a separate issue. (I think that unless the other person's own privacy is affected, the desire to protect the "privacy" of the dead person has no justification.)

In legal cases, I think it is important for the public record to reflect the facts of a case to the degree that this is possible, without regard to anyone's wish to "protect the privacy" of people who no longer exist.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

As an atheist who believes that when we die we no longer exist, I agree with you. But the majority of people believe otherwise, so it puzzles me why society accepts that a dead person's privacy doesn't matter. And if something this terrible happened to one of my daughters (and knowing how private one of them is in particular) I admit I'd be uncomfortable about the details being made public. That's probably because, as a writer who does write publicly about my loved ones, I am constantly mindful of what I write and of their privacy. I suppose this question will always bother me, even though I have an answer.