What is it like to be truly frightened, to continuously feel as if your life is at risk?
Perhaps it involves going out of your way to avoid places where you could be perceived as a target. Or maybe it's as simple as being afraid to go to your dorm's bathroom by yourself at night.
As much as Sept. 11 shattered our nation's sense of security, the sniper shootings of the past two weeks in the Washington, D.C., area have terrorized the local community and have had an even greater impact on my behavior and that of many fellow Washingtonians.
During the drive home for fall break, I happened to get a flat tire 50 miles south of Washington. I had to pull over on the shoulder of I-95, approximately 100 yards from the highway exit where that morning's shooting occurred. Vain attempts to change the tire resulted in my car being towed to a Pep Boys in Fredericksburg. So there I was in a parking lot in suburban Virginia--a situation identical to that of several of the shootings--with nothing but fear running through my mind. My trepidation mounted every time I saw a white van or box truck pass by. I avoided standing in the same place for more than a couple seconds. I did not want to be the next headline.
When I finally returned to my home in northwest Washington, the sense of fear was palpable. No one knew when or where the sniper would strike next, but the consensus was that he would undoubtedly strike again. Although pundits stated that the chances of being the next victim were less than that of winning the lottery or being struck by lightning, people approached life with a renewed sense of fear. Everyday activities became matters of life and death.
Rather than get gas at the station two blocks from my house, I drove to one closer to downtown, aiming to move further away from the border with Montgomery County, where six of the shootings occurred. Even though I needed a new pair of shoes, I didn't dare set foot in the suburban Bethesda and Rockville stores I generally patronize. When I returned home late one night, I drove around in circles for 10 minutes, simply because a white van with a light out (matching the description given by police of a vehicle seen fleeing one of the crime scenes) turned behind me and followed me for several blocks.
My acts may be cowardly, but the sniper has turned an entire region of the country into cowards. The fear lies in the fact that the attacks are random, unprovoked, and occur during mundane, everyday activities. Anyone who leaves the house is at risk.
The fear engulfing the Washington region is eerily similar to the fear that struck Duke's campus after last week's assault in a Wannamaker bathroom. The day following the attack, several Wannamaker girls expressed their reluctance to sleep in their dorm that night. One of my friends told me that she will no longer go to the bathroom by herself, especially at night. It is a sad state of humanity when people cannot do something as simple as going to bathroom without feeling threatened.
What, then, can we do when confronted with this fear on an everyday basis? Perhaps the best message comes from an eight-year-old child. In an article published after the tenth shooting, the child was quoted saying to his mother, "If it's our time to go, it's our time to go, so why can't we just go on with our lives?" As much as I do not believe in the predestinationist, "our time to go" aspect of the comment, there is only so much we can do to minimize our risk for attack. Beyond those measures, our best option is to go on with our lives.
If we let fear dictate our behavior, the terrorists, rapists, and other degenerates of the world will have accomplished what they set out to do. Hopefully, the sniper in Washington and the attacker in Wannamaker will be caught. For now, we must tackle our fears and lead normal lives.
Ethan Schiffres is a Trinity sophomore.
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