WHEN SOMETHING SNAPS

Nicholas Garland compares

Bernhard Goetz's shootings to his own moment of violence

HEARING the story of Bernhard Goetz shooting down four muggers on the New York subway, my first reaction was of fierce pleasure along the lines of `Good, that'll teach the bastards.' Then as the full story came trickling out, doubt diluted the sense of vicarious elation. The shooting began to look like just one more example of the violence loose in New York. Goetz, it seems, was a brick short of a load, and once armed he became difficult to disting- uish from his persecutors. Both parties were disturbed, albeit in different ways. Both were extremely dangerous.

The taped interview that Goetz gave to the police after his arrest, in which he frankly describes his sensations and mo- tives during the incident, is to many readers the final stage in the progress he has made from hero to criminal.

But for me that progress was stopped dead by this sentence from his account: `You see, you don't know what it's like to be on the other side of violence.' I knew what he was talking about, in a small way. I know from my own experience that once provoked or frightened beyond a certain point, one will begin to act in a quite extraordinary way. The ordinary rules of civilised behaviour suddenly give way to something much more primitive. One can find oneself locked into a situation where the instinct to survive or fight for others' survival has taken precedence over all else. The long-term consequences of one's ac- tions cease to matter.

I only used my fists and knees and feet against my victim. Goetz used a gun, but my state of mind seemed, from his descrip- tion, more or less identical to his; if I scale down his experience to the proportions of the street fight I engaged in, I recognise every word of his taped account.

In my case, a man well known to be extremely violent, particularly when drunk, had for complicated reasons direct- ly threatened to attack me and another member of my family. It was the third or fourth time he had boasted that I was in for a beating, but it was the first time he'd included someone else. Someone who was very dear to me.

I fled from him in fear when he actually made the threats, but the following day I set out to confront him. I didn't know what I was going to do. I was afraid and I felt very humiliated, but I was certain that it was only a matter of time before he launched an attack on me or my family. So I was also terribly, terribly angry. I went to his office in the early afternoon but was told he was out, so I waited for him on the crowded, bustling pavement. My mind was not working well. I had no plan. It was as if a kind of mad calm had come over me. All I knew was that I was going to face someone I hated and feared, and I concentrated on that. A friend told me later he had seen me as I paced to and fro, and had been so struck by the odd look on my face that he'd almost stopped to ask what was the matter. I can remember saying hello to him as he went by. When I saw my tormentor walking towards me through the crowd, I stepped forwards to intercept him. He caught my eye and began to smile. In the smile I read contempt. He could not have provoked me more if he had actually repeated his threats.

Split seconds before I struck him, the blankness in my mind was replaced by sudden clarity. I even had time to be surprised at what I was going to do. I punched him as hard as I could, full in the face. It was a clumsy blow and I thought, `Damn, I missed,' but it landed with enough force so that, coupled with his attempt to duck, it made him stagger and fall. I can still see the shock that flashed into his eyes. Goetz's rambling statements about his experience connect with my memories.

He was enjoying himself, you see, and then he had a big smile on his face. At that point you are in a bad situation . . My intention was to do anything I could to hurt them . . .

I wanted to look at his eyes, there was such fear. You know, the look had changed . . . it was kinda like slowing down.

I was aware of citizens scattering in alarm, but I was listening to an urgent voice inside my head. 'Don't let him get UP.' I kicked and struck at him. I pulled his head up by the hair and I considered cracking it against the sharp corner of a nearby wall. My inner voice said, 'Don't kill him.' And perhaps that moment repre- sents the one qualitative difference be- tween Goetz and me. I'm not sure. Goetz said, `. . . my intention, you know, I know this sounds horrible — was to murder them.' One part of me at least was not trying to kill, but the difference between us is a fairly slight one. If I had been facing more than one opponent, I am not certain at what point I would have stopped. I knew I was breaking the law and I could not possibly have cared less about that. My purpose was to survive the predicament I was in and to destroy the threat that had caused it. Only I could achieve these ends and violence was my only way. I knew I had won when three men grabbed me from behind and pulled me back. I had survived the fight but I still wanted to destroy the future threat. I shook myself free saying 'OK, OK. It's all right, let go.' Bleeding and perhaps a bit dazed, the man I had attacked began to get up. I waited until he had almost made it and then hit him again, as hard as I could. A sigh went up from the people behind me and my enemy crumpled, mumbling, 'All right, all right, stop it.'

I had become a monster. I could feel how afraid everyone was of me. I felt their hatred and I exulted in it. No one inter- fered again. At last the voice that had been instructing me throughout broke through again in a different mode, let him go that's enough.' My hands were covered with blood and a bone in my right hand was broken. I allowed him to struggle to his feet and get away, I made as if to follow as he looked back, and he broke into a run.

Once committed to the fight I could not have escaped. I had changed. Or perhaps it would be more truthful to say that once frightened and angered enough, I had turned loose the hooligan in me and lost control.

As Goetz said, 'You don't know what it's like to be on the other side of violence.' It is a very disturbing experience, not least because it is not wholly disagreeable. So I know that I cannot feel morally superior to Goetz, just luckier. I am better off than him — I have a family, friends and a job - I was in less danger, and mercifully, I did not make the fundamental mistake of carrying a weapon.

In his long, sometimes incoherent attempt to explain his action he asks rhetorically, 'How can people like you be familiar with violence? Have you ever been beaten into the ground?' But perhaps that is the wrong question. He could have said, `How can people like you be familiar with violence? Have you ever beaten someone into the ground?'

I know he did wrong and that the law should recognise this. I say that, even though I have some sympathy for him and even though I know I am in my turn capable of countering a violent threat with violence.

There are two small details of this story I should add. The first is that a few weeks after this punch-up I had a silly quarrel with the features editor of the paper I then worked on. As he shouted rudely at me, the thought crossed my mind, 'I could just hit him.' Now that I knew how, it seemed a possible course of action. I didn't, but it shocked me that I'd even thought of it. It meant the incident had changed me: I knew something about myself I hadn't known before. The second is that although most of my friends thought the fight was all a bit childish, and a few rather admired me for doing anything so dramatic, one of them really disapproved. He was an older man and he said, 'You're no better than he is.' Which is what we now seem to be saying about Goetz.