Crazy in America

One of the problems with living in an open society like we have here in America is that it is not against the law to be crazy. In America, you can do anything and be anything you want, as long as you don’t hurt anyone. That’s where Cho crossed the line. His craziness led him to believe he was a Messiah, someone who should have been revered. Someone who should have been listened to. Someone who should have been hoisted onto a pedestal.

When society failed to worship him, then his craziness led him to murder and suicide. In the aftermath of his passing, I guess, we are supposed to miss him and feel sorry for ourselves, for having missed a great opportunity to know a great man.

Except that he wasn’t a great man. He wasn’t even a man. He was a boy who had to stand on tip toes to be heard because he whispered rather than spoke. He hid his impotence under a baseball cap and behind sunglasses, choosing to purchase his portable manhood at a gun store.

The so called manifesto that he left us, filled with fantasy pictures taken on his cell phone and pages of writings that would drive the Jabberwocky nuts, don’t tell us very much, except that he was crazy, and had been for a long, long time.

Interviews today from his relatives in South Korea confirm his craziness. His mother’s people said he didn’t talk when he was a kid. His grandmother said he was messed up from the time he was born. It seems, to coin a cliche, that he was a time bomb waiting to go off.

A legend in his own mind, he was a sad little boy who needed help and who was ultimately revealed to be a coward, sucker punching, attacking from behind, killing innocents and himself rather than face his demons and us.