Where are you, Columbia? The town is undone and perhaps the problem is us
Dearest Gentle Reader,
This author must confess she sat down to pen a lighter message this week: perhaps a bit of tittle-tattle regarding whose hedges need trimming, or which neighbor's dog has escaped to court scandal among the trash cans. Alas, the state of our fair borough will not permit such frivolity. For it seems, Dear Reader, that Columbia — our beloved, history-soaked, pride-drenched Columbia — is coming rather badly undone.
Homicides. Assaults. Robberies. Fear and grief hang over our streets like a cloud that refuses to lift. It has taken up residence in our homes. The elders among us murmur that it was not always thus, that in years past such things did not happen, or certainly not to this degree. Whether memory flatters the past, this author cannot say. But the unease is real. As of this posting, killers are still at large.
And where is our esteemed Mayor through all of this?
One might expect him to address his frightened constituents directly, to post a message, perhaps, on the borough website. Heavens, no! That's far too pedestrian! Instead, His Honor has seen fit to grant a few quotes exclusively to the mainstream press, which not every Columbian reads. One wonders what the borough website is for, if not to speak to the people who fund it.
The Mayor laid the blame at two doorsteps: parents who don't mind their children, and poorly managed rental properties. Now, this author shall not pretend that children don't require supervision, and lack of parenting may indeed be one of the roots of the problem. But "poorly managed rental properties" is a curious phrase, coming from a man whose borough has a codes department. If the properties are so poorly managed, one might inquire: who, precisely, is meant to be managing the management?
Perhaps most telling of all, though, is that the Mayor reportedly once agreed with the sentiment that "the problem with Columbia is that it's full of Columbians." One can only imagine the composure required not to spit out one's tea on hearing a town leader concur with such an assessment of his constituents.
And yet, Gentle Reader, isn't there an old and uncomfortable truth rattling about our town like a loose shutter in a storm: "Columbians love their town but hate each other." If there is even a grain of truth in that weathered old saying, then perhaps the trouble is not merely rental codes, nor absent parents, nor an aloof Mayor. Perhaps, Dear Reader, the trouble is us.
For Columbians do love to complain (and at great length online) about wanting precedence to speak at public meetings. And yet attendance by residents at those very meetings remains curiously, embarrassingly, sparse. Where are all the Columbians, when the chairs sit empty? Where are you Columbia?
How can a community refuse to engage constructively and then claim to care deeply about the town? Residents are complicit — not in crime — but in the town's inability to fix itself, because they gripe from behind a keyboard instead of showing up to meetings where they could actually push for change, leaving the field open to landlords, an evasive Mayor, and drift.
So what, then, are we to do?
This author, who is rarely at a loss for opinions, must confess she has none to offer here. Perhaps there is no tidy answer, no ordinance to pass, no committee to form, that mends what ails us. Columbia has, by many measures, crossed a line, and no quantity of "Columbia Pride," or talk of our rich history, will paper over it. The town finds itself in a downward spiral, and this author, cannot in good conscience promise otherwise.
All that remains, Dear Reader, is to hold on tight, and hope, somehow, that the ride is soon over. In the meantime, lock your doors and do not go out after dark, because the safe streets the mayor promised us are anything but.
Until next time, I remain,
Faithfully yours,
Cassandra Whistletown
