Wash U and its Community
BY MADELEINE SHER
I was coming up the stairs from doing laundry in the basement when I hear a loud, raucous yelling from a large group of people. I went into the kitchen and looked out the window and saw them all in the street, just in front of the old Delmar Transit station. This was last Sunday, March 9th; the weather was gorgeous for the first time in ages and I figured the shouts were from people out enjoying themselves. I stood there gazing outside, and as I listened more closely, it became clear that these shouts were filled with anger. There was a knot of people in the center of the group, entangled arms and legs kicking and punching each other with fervor. On the outskirts, some held their phones diligently out in front of their faces, knowing they were recording something important. I’m not a complete stranger to this kind of violence; I had seen a few fights like this at both the junior high and the high school that I attended in the southwest suburbs of Chicago. The thought of running out there and saying something flew through my mind: “Stop it! Whatever it is, it’s not worth it!” I thought too of stepping out onto the balcony to get a slightly better view and to hear more clearly. There were but fifty yards and a glass pane that separated me from the brawl, but there still existed within me curiosity and an urge to get even closer.
I felt guilty for being a spectator, just standing there in my kitchen and watching it all unfold without any sort of power to stop the fighting. Then, within seconds, tensions seemed to heighten; the shouts became screams that expressed a true dismay for what was happening. Two men parted from the knot, running low to the ground. Running doesn’t even properly describe it; this was an arm-pumping, adrenaline-fueled, life-depends-on-it kind of all out sprint. The pair disappeared onto Des Peres, hardly half a block from where I stood. Another figure emerged; standing tall and taking a couple of steps forward, he raised his arm, something black in his hand. My mouth dropped open, agape in disbelief. I realized what was really happening. Two bright bursts of orange flew sequentially from the man’s outstretched arm, no doubt shooting at the two who had just run away. I turned and wailed. I clasped my hands over my ears as two more shots were fired. I rushed into the other room, the sound of the gunshots still resounding in my ears. I sat down and held my knees, rocked back and forth, and cried. I didn’t know what to do. Roommates gone, there was no one immediately around to whom I could talk. Going outside to seek the consult of neighbors was completely out of the question. Eventually, after I had seen police arrive on the scene, I gathered myself and called my boyfriend. I stuttered and stumbled over my words, still slightly in disbelief as I recounted what I had seen.
No one was hurt, but I don’t think that fact can at all alleviate any of the seriousness of this event. Someone could have lost their life. I could have been even closer to the shooting had I decided to go for a walk or a bike ride. I’ve heard of incidents like this a hundred times, both in St. Louis and back home in Chicago. This is real, this is serious, and it’s not the first time (nor will it be the last) that violence has occurred within the Wash U community. I say within because I am a student, and this happened in my backyard. Other students and faculty members live on my street, many more in my neighborhood. Just a few minutes away, Wash U is completing its $80 million Loop project that aims to bring an additional 550 students into the area. Freshmen orientation programs simultaneously urge students to explore the Loop and warn of the danger that exists in nearby areas. We receive the notorious crime alerts when a fellow student is mugged or experiences a near altercation. Why don’t we receive the same notifications when shootings occur? No doubt to save face. A student wasn’t directly involved, so it must not really affect Wash U, is how I imagine administrators justify their line of thinking. Isn’t there more that we can do as a community, as a premier institution, to assuage the violence that plagues our neighbors?