Reading the headlines this week from around Alaska was nothing short of depressing. A family was wounded by gunfire, six shot and one in critical condition. Another woman was robbed and beaten. A man stole a motorcycle and shot at those who tried to stop him. A woman stabbed her boyfriend. There was a domestic violence incident that turned deadly when the man allegedly turned a weapon on himself, then turned it on a female inside the home. He was shot and killed by police. Another young woman was allegedly killed by her Eagle River boyfriend. Even a dog fell victim to violence this week, beaten to death by a man with a flashlight. And then there was the infamous brawl involving the Palin family.
It's that time of year in Alaska, when the weather turns wet and cold, the daylight dwindles and we struggle to adjust to the reality of months and months of cold and darkness ahead of them. For many, it is make-or-break time. For Alaska -- especially rural Alaska -- it's the time when our reality as the state with the most people raping each other, beating up our domestic partners and killing ourselves comes into the spotlight once again.
There is plenty of speculation as to why Alaskans inflict such cruelty on one and other and why we are so prone to taking our own lives. Some say Alaska is somewhat like those countries founded as prison colonies -- it was populated in large part by men seeking their fortune in the fishing and oil industry. A large number of people came here with the military. But that doesn't really explain the high prevalence of rape, domestic violence and desperately sad violent crimes in small villages where community members go back generations.
It's true that a lot of Alaskans came to this state to get away from laws and rules, and maybe some of them came here with criminal intent or to hide from crimes they had already committed. But that hardly explains it all, either. Perhaps we'll never really unravel the mystery of how it came to be OK for uncles to try to fondle their nieces or for partners to turn to violence as an answer to their disputes. But the reality is that it is OK, and the way we say that it is OK is by not talking about it, by choosing to be embarrassed instead of outraged.
There are more than a few people reading this who will be outraged, but not for the right reason. They will be outraged that rural Alaska is being portrayed as a place with problems rather than a place that seeks solutions. They will be outraged that we aren't talking about the beautiful things happening in their villages.
But the problem is that all that tiptoeing around these problems hasn't helped anyone. Children are killing themselves before they even have a chance to live. There is so little hope for some that they choose anything over the pain of living with these secrets after years of being abused. And if they don't kill themselves, they numb out with alcohol and drugs. Just ask them. They will tell you.
It may be easy to point to the lack of law enforcement in some corners of Alaska and say that's the problem, and surely it doesn't help to have inadequate resources at your disposal in your deepest time of need. But even in communities with police departments and troopers in the area, the devastating violence goes on.
And don't think for a minute that this is just an off-the-road-system issue and the rest of Alaska can sit back on its heels and shake its head. There may be more resources in more-urbanized areas, more places to turn for help, but there are still people hurting each other and being hurt at an alarming rate. Alaska's urban hubs, in fact, make up a big chunk of those sad statistics we all know too well -- the ones that poke holes in our feeling of Alaska being a place where you have to worry more about the wildlife than about locking your doors.
So, as darkness comes to our state, and we all come indoors for the winter, we could pledge to do something differently. We could each pledge not to let it go on this year. Because the reason it goes on is us.
It goes on because we know all these people, we know their relatives, and we don't want to hurt them. It goes on because people are taught that it's just a fact of life, because of the shame and social stigma associated with domestic violence and rape. It goes on because we let it go on.
If every time these crimes were committed, the victims felt safe and protected enough to turn to their friends, family members, neighbors and ask for help, it would stop. If these crimes were reported, and the criminals charged every time, and faced penalties that were befitting of the impact these actions have on the lives of their victims, it would stop. If these people hurting other people knew that they would have to face consequences for their actions, they would stop. And then, slowly, Alaska would begin to heal.
Carey Restino is editor of The Arctic Sounder and Bristol Bay Times-Dutch Harbor Fisherman, where this commentary first appeared.
The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary@alaskadispatch.com.