Reports of a
kidnapping and multiple murder a few blocks from Main Street, along with the
escalating opioid epidemic, have left much of Ashland shaken this week. How can
this be happening in our community, where we’ve chosen to raise our children or
spend our golden years? We want our streets to be safe and our schools secure. We
live in the heartland of America, surrounded by corn fields, and yet here we
are again, with news helicopters churning up the September sky because a
horrific crime has taken place in Ashland, Ohio.
Social media
posts have been vicious as rumors have swirled before details were released. There’s
been a fair bit of blaming and shaming, accusing the police department, the
newspaper and City Hall – and probably President Obama – of turning a blind eye
to what’s been taking place here in small-town America. This particular summary
made me cringe: “Welcome to Ashland folks. The town full of heroine (sic)
addicts, child molesters, and kidnappers.”
We have had a
number of high profile crimes over the past few years that have garnered regional
and national attention, including domestic violence and human trafficking. The abduction
and killings on Covert Court are a terrible, terrible thing, and as one of the
victim’s relatives said, “no one should have to die like that.”
But beyond the
lurid headlines, what is really going on? I haven’t seen recent figures, but
it’s likely the murder rate in Ashland, although sensationalized, is similar to
other cities its size. And as the anti-drug rally last Saturday reminded us,
we’re not alone in the epidemic of drug overdoses. In Ohio, as of 2015, the
death rate due to drug overdose had quadrupled since 2002, and not one Ohio
county is immune from its far-reaching scourge. These are definitely not “only
in Ashland’ kinds of situations.
As one former
Ashland resident reflected, “Ashland has always had
a dark side, just like any city and town. As kids, we were likely just buffered
from most of it.” That’s how it was for me growing up. While I only lived about
ten miles north of Buffalo, my day-to-day existence in Tonawanda was definitely
protected from the violence that rocked many troubled urban neighborhoods That
was until one Sunday, when whispers of a massacre in the housing projects swept
through our church. The father of one of my schoolmates had killed his wife and
children, and then himself. A family was wiped out, and our quiet little
suburban community was shaken in much the same way Ashland has been shaken.
As one
Ashlander noted, no place on earth is immune to evil, and she’s so right. And
yet as a community we are not helpless in the face of evil. We can make sure
our safety forces have the personnel, resources and training they need. We can
institute the best practices of neighborhood watch programs. We can invite
dialogue with city officials about the vacant houses on our streets. We can ask
questions about police protocol for missing adults. We can advocate for improved
support for those struggling with mental health concerns. We can know where our
children are. We can report suspicious activity. We can talk with our kids, our
teens, our young adults and even our grandparents about the addictive power of
opiates. We can pay better attention to those around us, in the neighborhoods,
on the streets, and in our homes. No, we do not stand helpless in the face of
evil.
And, on the
days when we can’t prevent evil from spilling into our homes and our streets,
we can still keep vigil in its wake, as we light candles, pay our respects, extend
our sympathy and utter the ancient words of faith in prayer and comfort.
Before she was lost to the horror of the Holocaust, the
young Anne Frank understood: “Look at how a single candle can both defy and
define the darkness.” It’s been a dark week for us here in Ashland. We can sit
back and curse the darkness, or we can lift our feeble hands to grasp hold of a
candle, defying the darkness and defining ourselves as a people of light.
