I Must Say

The conclusion I come to when writing these posts is often that we, as people in community and in relationship, must actively conjure a sense of compassion for each other. Funny, how compassion seems to have become a word of the weak, the jargon of the tree-hugger; it appears in the roots of my sentence like an effeminate Buddha, gentle and seemingly powerless. Au contraire.

I write again of compassion today because of one of these pop cultural items that just screams for me to do so. Yes, I'm actually going to write about compassion for Michael Vick.

This morning I watched the "60 Minutes" interview between James Brown (CBS sports' JB) and Vick. I was filled with a sense of understanding. I was filled with--yes, I'll say it--compassion for this man.

Because I love football? No, though I do love the game. Because I always jump on the side of star athletes, thinking they get scrutinized unfairly and made examples of? No, but they do receive an unfair amount of scrutiny. For every one Kenneth Lay, there are twenty Kobe Bryants.

I felt compassion for Michael Vick because I got the sense that there was more to the story. There's always more to the story. Midway through the interview, he talks about his childhood neighborhood and its relationship with dogs. Older men had these fighting dogs, and they were respected, worthy of a kind of admiration. And the dogs? Mere symbols of their ferocity, like an accoutrement. You can see it, can't you? The police were called once and did nothing when they learned that the ruckus was due to dog fighting. Vick says that gave him a distinct understanding.

There are entire communities out there which think dog fighting is acceptable. Does that make it any less odious? No. It means that the problem goes far deeper than Michael Vick. We live in a TV-dominated society that broadcasts, nightly, UFC fights "in the octagon" that pit humans against each other just like dogs. And people act as if this is unimaginable? Sadly, all this proves is that people get more riled up about the mistreatment of animals (and I'm not saying they shouldn't) than they do about the mistreatment of humans. I sometimes watch UFC fights. It's like violence pornography. I couldn't watch a dog fight, or a cock fight, or a bull fight, but people do.

The bloodlust is human. It's real. And in the case of dogs, there are many people out there that have not had a lovely, healthy experience with another person, let alone a dog. In my own experience with the black community in the Bay Area, I've encountered many more folks who regard dogs with trepidation than with calm affection. Why should that be? Because dogs are frequently used as protection, and there isn't a lot of experience otherwise. Imagine if all your experiences with dogs was of gnashing teeth and growling. What would you conclude?

Therefore, and kudos to the Humane Society of America, using Vick as a spokesperson is a great idea. If you don't learn it, how are you supposed to know it? If you've only seen dogs paraded around your neighborhood as fighting trophy beasts, how are you supposed to know the difference? You might even sense the difference, but you don't know or understand it.

But, Michael Vick did know. At a certain point, it becomes obvious. Not to a child, maybe, though children have natural compassion for animals, but to an adult, even a callous adult who has treated dogs this way his whole life. Humans have compassion in the hearts, even when it hasn't been properly nurtured. It would take a great effort to steel your heart time and again watching dogs fight and not see it for its cruelty. They know what's up.

Michael Vick knew it wasn't right. But, he was on top of the world. He had a contract for 130 million dollars. One hundred and thirty million dollars. Just read that again. He was a playboy, a gifted athlete who didn't really need to work at it. So he had that swagger. Not Michael Jordan swagger, where talent meets determination, but the begrudging swagger carried by the guy who doesn't work hard and still comes out on top. Not this time.

Vick surrounded himself with childhood friends, his posse. He was the kid who made it, the boy king. Did anyone see City of God about the favelas of Brazil? The toughest young boy--ruthless, actually--makes it to the top. But after he's there, who really loves him? The story is one of our oldest; it's archetypal.

Yes, I can see it all very clearly. Can't you? In this society? Vick made good. In fact, not just good, he's perhaps the best they've ever seen. He's hip to bringing you all along, his friends, and because of it you all start to feel like you've got a little say, a little piece. Remember that time I beat up that punk around the corner for you? When you were nine and scrawny? But I knew you had them quicks!

Dog fighting is a part of a subculture. If members of that subculture get more influence, then the stakes climb. It's just like any syndicate. More money exchanges hands, more power and influence and prestige becomes available. In the interview, Vick alludes to this. Sure, he enjoyed some of it. Maybe a lot of it. But it looks to me that it got a little out of hand, too. That's how it goes sometimes. He was the "leader," but maybe it was all spinning out of control. Maybe he felt above reproach. There sure are a lot of people in our society who feel similarly.

Can any of us say, or really know, what goes on between people in certain communities? Who has what power, what's owed, what's feared? Why do you suppose millionaire athletes get caught up in weird violence all the time? Because violence is in those communities. I don't mean to oversimplify the matter, but that's the truth. If you go back to your old neighborhood in a Mercedes, you're going to be confronted by the other guys who are just as eager to show you what they've achieved. You're the quarterback? O.K., I'm the musician. I'm the fighter, the dealer, and others. Like the jealous. In my own North Berkeley neighborhood of the early eighties there were punks barely old enough to drive who were dealing weed, starting fights, and acting crazy. That's how it is. That's how some people forever define themselves.

Who knows, maybe your neighborhood didn't have anything like this. Perhaps for this reason it's more difficult to understand, more difficult to find compassion. I guess that's why it's important to write about, because compassion needs to be fueled by understanding, and that comes from learning. Because Vick is a human being and he made mistakes. (Seems this statement is made a lot these days.) We all have. And he seems to have learned a big lesson from his mistakes. Sometimes, that's what it takes, to finally get caught, to finally look at yourself in the mirror and say: fool, you knew that wasn't right. Now look at yourself. After that, you're never the same. A moment of clarity.

Life, as some say God, moves in odd and mysterious ways. If you don't get the wake-up call, what happens? If you do get the wake-up call, you should be allowed to prove it. We all deserve that chance.

You might be thinking: so, does this apply to that Governor of South Carolina Mark Sanford, or that Evangelical preacher Ted Haggard? In principle, yes. But distinctions can be drawn. It's another kind of ballgame when someone actively preaches against something that they themselves are doing. But, that said, there's always more to the story. That's my point. Find out what the truth is, remember to summon compassion, and work from there. If Vick turns out to be an ass (or more of one), well, he's had his chance. But remember: He also went to jail for two years. Mark Sanford, for example, is still in office. Ted Haggard, while disgraced, didn't do any time. There are distinctions, yes. But that's for another day.