“I’m a piece of shit, but I’m going to be famous now,” Robert Hawkins, 20, Omaha, Nebraska, December 2007 in a suicide note written before he killed eight people then himself.
“I thought that an opportunity had come for me to raise myself, that my name would make some noise in the world, that by my death I should cover myself with glory, and that in time to come my ideas would be adopted and I should be vindicated.” Pierre Riviere, 20, France 1835, in a memoir written at the request of the chief magistrate in a case in which Riviere is charged with killing his mother, his sister and his brother (from ‘I, Pierre Riviere, having slaughtered my mother, my sister and my brother: A Case of Parricide in the 19th Century,’ edited by Michel Foucault)
I was struck this week by these two statements, 172 years apart, but echoing one another, reflecting perhaps uniquely modern values, constructions and sentiments. Both young men, moving past adolescence into adulthood in societies and contexts–middle America, rural France–where hegemonic masculinity prevails, yet where it is being chipped at the edge. They participate in uniquely violent and brutal acts. Both young men aspire to greatness, yet perhaps that greatness is understood in the context of models from their time–for Riviere (like Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment) the memory of Napoleon the ubermensch, the man who has the ability to violate certain rules that common men cannot, may cast a shadow over his young life. Perhaps for Hawkins, being ‘famous’ means placing himself in the context of other young men of his age who have committed parallel acts–the Virginia Tech killer, the Columbine shooters. All have not only achieved fame, but they have also immensely impacted policy and rhetoric about youth crime, causes, and explanations.
A headline in the New York Times today struck me: ‘Searching for Clues to a Young Killer’s Motivation.’ Though Hawkins is dead and the violence and harm he committed atrocious, the search for causes, explanations, whys and hows continues unabated. It seems that this search is not necessarily a search that is conducted in an attempt to prevent further crimes, for there seems to be a kind of hidden consensus that these crimes are random, sporadic, vicious and unpredictable, but there seems to be a need to find out why in order to gain some sense of control over risk–a reaching out for ontological security, perhaps. I was struck by this line from the Times article: “Jessica Reeder, who lives in Bellevue and remembered seeing Mr. Hawkins at McDonald’s, said he never looked troubled. But, Ms. Reeder added, “you never know who lives next door.”” Ms Reeder’s statement suggests that she is not looking for a solution to whatever problem may have existed which led to Hawkins’ crime. Rather, the article implies that there may actually be no explanation, and that perhaps the only thing to do is to exercise more caution, more fear about others around you.
Michel Foucault, the French philosopher who discovered Riviere’s memoir and court papers, suggests that the question ‘What is this individual who has committed this crime?’ is a relatively new one and one that emerged out of a need to transform the individuals entering the medico-legal establishment after the 18th century…it became a ‘technique’ of jurisprudence (Foucault, ‘Prison Talk’ in Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, p. 49). Hawkins is dead, yet perhaps there exists a residual desire to draw his case into the folds of this system, to think about the ‘what ifs’ and the possibilities for justice, public vengeance perhaps. It is perhaps a way of expelling the anger and fear that has arisen from this incident.