I'm going to take a break from lady-issues to talk a little bit about what it's been like to live in Ward 3, Northampton these past couple of days. I don't think the topic is all that thoroughly unrelated to what I usually write about, since the motivation for most of my posts comes from a desire to see an even playing field, a world where even the remnants of gender inequality can't be seen, and as long as they can, someone has to point them out.
Excuse me for being literal here, but the remnants of Saturday night's fires are plain as the nose on your face. They smell, too.
By all accounts, the fires are at least "suspicious." This means that no one "official" wants to "officially" commit to calling the fires arson. But it's pretty clear to me and most of the people who live around me: some imbalanced person or people are burning down our neighborhood for kicks. He [or she] or they have taken advantage of a mass-comfort. It's the day after Christmas, we're tired and happy, and there's a good movie on before bed. The expression might have more weight if instead of "he pulled the rug out from under me," it went, "he lit my bed on fire while I slept."
My fiancé and I just purchased a multi-family home about two blocks from the Fair St. fire that killed two people (before we moved in September, we lived on Market St., about two blocks from the Union St. fire). When we heard on Sunday of the fires, we walked down Route 9, past the roadblocks that prevented cars from disrupting the investigations going on at the time. The house looked as if its top half had been blown away, ashed off like the head of a cigar. Neighbors were talking to news cameras. As a journalist I wanted to ask questions. As a neighbor myself, I wanted to be left to deal with my fear privately, and couldn't dream of prodding.
After Fair St., which drew the attentions of most officials and citizens alike, we walked past the Bridge Street School and down Union St. This is when it really started to stink. I smelled the familiar scent of charred wood and, unconsciously, it stirred feelings of comfort and familiarity. There was something a bit more chemical about this smell though, and as soon as its nostalgic effects to a hold of me, they were gone. I knew what I was smelling was someone's burned clothing, electronics, wallpaper, wiring. This site was deserted compared to the Fair St. fire. This blaze was not the fatal one, but it took the home of three people.
After that we walked to a store on Market St. owned by a woman who lives near the location of the Crescent St. fire. Her mood was like ours: confused, inarticulate, sad, on-edge.
By bedtime, all the lights were on outside. My previously hyper-frugal and energy-efficient fiancé forgot the impending electric bill. There weren't enough lights.
Today, I've been checking the updates, the few that have been made, and learned that the state is offering a $5,000 reward for information. The consensus online seems to support the opinion that the amount is too low and does not reflect the severe nature of the suspicious event/crime. It should be symbolic of the seriousness of officials to root out the cause of the fires. It should pale in comparison to the value of lives and homes lost, but not this much. I am compelled to wonder if the reward amount from the state would be the same had the fires happened in an Allston neighborhood.
If people in this town weren't so nice, the response may not be to organize a benefit concert on Facebook (so far there have accumulated six venues and thirty-six performers) but to demand an explanation from town officials for the lax nature with which arson has been treated in the past. But it's not the people's responsibility to be enraged. It is their right, but not their duty. If instead they tend to soothe each other and find proactive ways to handle the tragedy, then we're better off for it. But the city-officials must live up to their city official-status and deal with this with the appropriate level of vitriol. I'd rather good, old-fashioned outrage from them than this milquetoast version. In this same neighborhood over the past two years, multiple fires (click here to see a map with all the locations, broken down by date and type), not including the eleven from last night, have been attributed to arson. When is someone official going to say, officially, fist-pounding-on-lectern, "enough is enough?"
Earlier this year, Ward 3 lost its darling, its sobering bastion of no-nonsense, Bonnie Ascher. Last weekend, our confidence was taken from us. This is not just suspicious. This is arson, murder, and theft. The city officials should appropriately mourn, with powerful rhetoric, their citizens, both those who have passed away and those who remain, shaken.
