Editorial views from across the state

Horrible crimes can catalyze a community

SOME prospective jurors being interviewed for the Kevin Coe civil-commitment trial remember in detail what it felt like to walk the streets of Spokane during the time when a rapist was loose in South Spokane. They remember the constant state of alert. Women worried for their personal safety. Husbands and fathers worried for the safety of their wives and daughters.

Coe was charged in 1981 with six rapes. He ultimately served a 25-year sentence on the one conviction that stood up following appeals. The civil-commitment trial has begun; jurors are being selected now. The trial will determine whether Coe is at risk to rape again and should be held in custody indefinitely. (The judge in the trial ruled that prosecutors cannot label Coe the South Hill rapist.)

The story of the "South Hill rapist" is one that old-time Spokane residents often tell to newcomers. It is not one of the city's positive stories. But a community's darkest stories matter, too. According to the Center for Digital Storytelling, "Every community has a memory of itself. Not a history, nor an archive, nor an authoritative record. A living memory, an awareness of a collective identity woven of a thousand stories."

Spokane has its share of horror stories.

In 1959, Candy Rogers was selling Camp Fire mints door to door. She was kidnapped, raped and killed. She was 9 years old. This incident ended Spokane's sense of innocence. People started locking their doors. Children no longer sold things door to door alone. The state passed a "Candy Rogers Bill," strengthening criminal sanctions against adults who communicate with children for immoral purposes.

In 1979, when a series of rapes began to occur on the South Hill, rape was a taboo topic, a source of secrecy and shame for victims. The high-profile South Hill rapist case helped people understand that rape is not an act of sex, but of extreme violence. Programs were created to help victims report the rapes and recover from trauma and shame.

In 1991, Nicki Wood, 11, and Becky West, 12, were abducted in the West Central neighborhood. Nicki's body was later found; Becky never was. The struggling neighborhood organized in rage and pioneered community policing.

In 2000, Robert Yates, a factory worker and former military helicopter pilot, confessed to killing 13 people, including 10 in Spokane County. The serial killer targeted prostitutes. The law-enforcement officers working the case, as well as the media, made it a priority to tell the stories of the victims as women, mothers, daughters and friends. They believed that every victim deserves protection from predators, no matter the victim's chosen lifestyle.

A community is ultimately judged, not on its worst stories, but on how people react to the stories. Obviously they can't bring those murdered girls and women back to life. They can't erase the horror of rape.

But that doesn't make them helpless.

In Spokane, people funneled their pain and anger into child-safety measures, rape-prevention programs, victim awareness and neighborhood action. That's the power of the stories woven into a community's collective identity.

— The Spokesman-Review, Sept. 22

Students stand against gangs in Grandview

ONE thing we love to do is to showcase all the good things about the vast majority of our young people, even though it is sometimes overshadowed by the attention-grabbing, mindless violence of a few bad apples.

So, you bet we welcome the opportunity to salute all those Grandview High School students who gathered Monday to decry gang violence in general and in particular a nearby shooting that led to a lockdown of Friday's football game between Grandview and Selah.

The rally was attended by about 65 students and was held before classes so it did not interfere with the education efforts of those who want to make something of their lives.

"We are asking those around us and those in gangs to stop and see what they are doing," senior T.J. Hecker told the crowd. That's certainly a reasonable request.

What a powerful message the rally sends: Gang bangers are not cool, they and their senseless violence are not welcome nor respected in our communities or by their peers.

Fans of high-school football games should be able to take one in without fearing harm from wayward bullets.

The rally is the second of its kind in as many weeks. Last week, residents of 15th Street in Sunnyside organized a block party to kick-start a neighborhood-watch group after 16-year-old Juan Ramos was killed during a shootout there earlier this month. The crowd was estimated at 100 to 150 people.

How about more of those kinds of grass-roots efforts to not only protest gang violence in our midst, but to pledge more eyes and ears to back up authorities with reports of suspicious activity in neighborhoods?

As we reported earlier, Alex Santillanes, director for Yakima Valley Barrios Unidos, a nationwide nonprofit community group working to reduce gang violence, sees such efforts as big first steps toward dealing with a growing problem.

"It takes a lot of guts for them to come forward in front of their peers," Santillanes said of the students.

Indeed it does, especially for young people, to speak out against a menace that thrives on pack violence. But block-watch efforts can certainly add to resources needed for law enforcement to crack down. And disdain from the vast majority of young people who just want to be left alone to pursue their lives and goals is also a powerful ally in efforts to take back communities from gangs.

While a number of different Yakima Valley police agencies have banded together to fight drug trafficking with the formation of a drug task force, no similar group has emerged to fight gang violence. Yakima Valley police chiefs and the Yakima County Sheriff's Office have been trying to organize a countywide gang task force. We find much merit in that kind of official approach to the gang problem — backed by get-tough legislation in Olympia in the January legislative session.

When students and neighbors in Grandview and Sunnyside are fed up to the point they're not afraid to stand up and speak out, then individually and collectively we owe them all the support and backup we can muster.

— Yakima Herald-Republic, Sept. 24