The more I learn about Virginia Tech killer Cho Seung-Hui, the less I understand. Teachers, fellow students, even his family say they could rarely get him to say a word, that he was silent to the point that some wondered if he was autistic, but he put together a multi-media press pack complete with written statements, still photos of himself in “action” poses and self-produced talking-point videos.
Reported to be shy and withdrawn, Mr. Cho was nonetheless accused of making unwanted “annoying” advances toward two women on campus in the fall of 2005. The women’s complaints occurred the same semester he scared his fellow students so badly in an English class that many stopped attending. A professor, going above and beyond the call, volunteered to teach Mr. Cho one-on-one and urged him to seek counseling, even volunteered to walk with him to the counseling center.
After a short stint in a treatment center following the harassment complaints, Mr. Cho checked himself out; there was nothing school or civil authorities could do to compel him to stay.
I live in a college town; the news has hit people here hard. At the same time, there’s a sense of déjà vu among the student life staff. There are kids on every campus that give the willies to everyone around them. “A problem with these kids is we – the faculty, the staff – only deal with one part of the kid,” one professional told me. “We focus on getting them through to the end of the course, of having them get along with people in their dorm until the end of the semester. We don’t ask, ‘What’s going to happen to these kids when they get their diplomas and go out in the world?’ because clearly they can’t function. Unless they’re willing to accept counseling, there’s not much we can do.”
I remarked that it’s been reported that Mr. Cho was taking medication related to a mental-health issue and that perhaps that should have raised a red flag. “Find a college student who isn’t,” the professional replied. “If it’s not Ritalin, it’s Xanax or Paxil or Zoloft.”
Maybe Virginia’s lenient gun laws are to blame. Even though I think handguns are far too available in our country, there’s no evidence to show stricter laws would have deterred Mr. Cho. The painstaking detail he lavished on his press pack and the fact that he chained the doors to the academic building where he carried out most of his murders indicate he was methodical. If he’d had to wait 30 days to clear a background check or had been compelled to complete a shooter-safety course before buying a handgun – both of which are good ideas – he may well have cleared those hurdles before launching his attack.
Maybe it’s the culture’s fault. Culture surely played a role. Mr. Cho now belongs to a regrettably identifiable American sub-culture – campus mass murderer. He was true to many of the sub-culture’s traditions and rituals: he isolated himself from others, nursed grudges, obsessively played violent video games, indulged macabre imagery in his schoolwork and carefully planned his crimes. In his “manifesto,” an idea he perhaps borrowed from Ted Kaczynski, he referred to Columbine killers Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. In doing so, he honored their wish to be notoriously remembered after death. Then he set the psycho-killer bar higher by mailing his press pack to a highly rated network news program. Then he set a new carnage record and – according to custom – took his own life as the police closed in.
If I had to pick one determining cause, from this distance, from what little I know – I’d have to say isolation. Certainly Mr. Cho chose isolation, even when people reached out to him, but isolation – social isolation – is all too easy in our world of headphones and road rage, trigger-happy homeowners and cops and presidents, unanswered e-mails and jammed schedules that leave us little time to reach out to those around us, especially those who don’t seem to fit in and resist our efforts to say hello.
Tomorrow is the eighth anniversary of the Columbine shootings. I worry about the other copycats, freshly primed by Monday’s killings, who might be out there cleaning their guns tonight, counting incidents of perceived disrespect and preparing to slouch toward the school cafeteria.
Through the Cracks
The more I learn about Virginia Tech killer Cho Seung-Hui, the less I understand. Teachers, fellow students, even his family say they could rarely get him to say a word, that he was silent to the point that some wondered if he was autistic, but he put together a multi-media press pack complete with written statements, still photos of himself in “action” poses and self-produced talking-point videos.
Reported to be shy and withdrawn, Mr. Cho was nonetheless accused of making unwanted “annoying” advances toward two women on campus in the fall of 2005. The women’s complaints occurred the same semester he scared his fellow students so badly in an English class that many stopped attending. A professor, going above and beyond the call, volunteered to teach Mr. Cho one-on-one and urged him to seek counseling, even volunteered to walk with him to the counseling center.
After a short stint in a treatment center following the harassment complaints, Mr. Cho checked himself out; there was nothing school or civil authorities could do to compel him to stay.
I live in a college town; the news has hit people here hard. At the same time, there’s a sense of déjà vu among the student life staff. There are kids on every campus that give the willies to everyone around them. “A problem with these kids is we – the faculty, the staff – only deal with one part of the kid,” one professional told me. “We focus on getting them through to the end of the course, of having them get along with people in their dorm until the end of the semester. We don’t ask, ‘What’s going to happen to these kids when they get their diplomas and go out in the world?’ because clearly they can’t function. Unless they’re willing to accept counseling, there’s not much we can do.”
I remarked that it’s been reported that Mr. Cho was taking medication related to a mental-health issue and that perhaps that should have raised a red flag. “Find a college student who isn’t,” the professional replied. “If it’s not Ritalin, it’s Xanax or Paxil or Zoloft.”
Maybe Virginia’s lenient gun laws are to blame. Even though I think handguns are far too available in our country, there’s no evidence to show stricter laws would have deterred Mr. Cho. The painstaking detail he lavished on his press pack and the fact that he chained the doors to the academic building where he carried out most of his murders indicate he was methodical. If he’d had to wait 30 days to clear a background check or had been compelled to complete a shooter-safety course before buying a handgun – both of which are good ideas – he may well have cleared those hurdles before launching his attack.
Maybe it’s the culture’s fault. Culture surely played a role. Mr. Cho now belongs to a regrettably identifiable American sub-culture – campus mass murderer. He was true to many of the sub-culture’s traditions and rituals: he isolated himself from others, nursed grudges, obsessively played violent video games, indulged macabre imagery in his schoolwork and carefully planned his crimes. In his “manifesto,” an idea he perhaps borrowed from Ted Kaczynski, he referred to Columbine killers Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. In doing so, he honored their wish to be notoriously remembered after death. Then he set the psycho-killer bar higher by mailing his press pack to a highly rated network news program. Then he set a new carnage record and – according to custom – took his own life as the police closed in.
If I had to pick one determining cause, from this distance, from what little I know – I’d have to say isolation. Certainly Mr. Cho chose isolation, even when people reached out to him, but isolation – social isolation – is all too easy in our world of headphones and road rage, trigger-happy homeowners and cops and presidents, unanswered e-mails and jammed schedules that leave us little time to reach out to those around us, especially those who don’t seem to fit in and resist our efforts to say hello.
Tomorrow is the eighth anniversary of the Columbine shootings. I worry about the other copycats, freshly primed by Monday’s killings, who might be out there cleaning their guns tonight, counting incidents of perceived disrespect and preparing to slouch toward the school cafeteria.
© Mark Floegel, 2007