The Disgust of Inaction

I want to purge sizable chunks of disgust and slimy, wilted leaves of disappointment, and I want every last morsel to stream down the face of every Penn State coach, former coach and administrator who stood by and said nothing. I want to sit them all down on a bench in the locker room and force them to listen to every excruciating detail Jerry Sandusky’s victims endured, and I want them to dry heave and convulse as they wrestle with the images unfolding in their imagination. Then, I want to ask each man—face-to-face—if he can sleep at night knowing there were so many boys who could have been spared if he would have had enough decency to speak up.

And, while this is all unfolding, I want a camera crew there to film it, and broadcast it to an auditorium where every single Penn State student who pounded cases of beer and took to the streets to riot will be committed to a seat and forced to watch the entire exchange, piece by horrifying piece.

As soon as the broadcast ends, I would like to look into their sober eyes and ask them to honestly determine if Joepa should have kept his position. Ask them if they could have worn their Penn State football garb with pride knowing their institution did not take action—didn’t recognize how absolutely despicable it was for their hero to keep his mouth shut when he most needed to open it.

The entire scandal at Penn State is but one example of a much larger issue in society. It is but one example of a hyper-sensationalized culture focused more on “me” and less on “community”, more on money and less on morality, more on saving one’s own butt than saving our vulnerable children.

Nothing about this is okay. Jerry Sandusky’s actions are obviously abominable, but so is the widespread epidemic of inaction. It is not okay that Mike McQuery walked in on a 10 year-old boy propped against the wall, screaming out as a grown man violated him from behind and he did nothing to stop it. It’s not okay he called his dad and not the police. It is not okay that Tim Curley failed to insure Sandusky was harshly punished. And though it may not be against the law, it is not okay for the most powerful man in Pennsylvania to keep Sandusky on his staff, to avoid following up, and to fail the kids who needed someone to stand up for them.

Mostly though, it’s not okay that the majority of the hoopla surrounding this case has focused Joepa’s sad story, rather than on the damage Sandusky’s action, and Paterno’s inaction, caused for the boys who were violated, vilified and shamed. It’s not okay that in every interview he seems to focus more and more on himself—and very little on the bigger issue. It’s not okay that he doesn’t seem to understand what is so very wrong.

Seething with hubris, Joe Paterno fell like a greek hero—but perhaps all of us are a little bit to blame. We crown sports heroes with jewels of idolatry, worshipping them, abetting them, dangling money in front of them, hoping to get “in” with them because the affiliation breeds envy and status. But the moment they are caught, we throw our hands up and wonder what’s wrong, wonder why this keeps happening, why our heroes keep collapsing. We wonder why they think they’re infallible even though we are the ones who propped them high on ivory towers.

Paterno might have been a great coach, he might have built an empire, he might have made a difference in a lot of lives—but when it mattered most, he let everyone down. He let down the potentially dozens of kids who were sodomized by Sandusky. He let down his players who bought into his myth and lost the purity of their dream. He let down his loyal fans, his community, his institution. And he let down all of the kids who are missing out on the lesson he could be teaching right now—the lesson of fully owning one’s mistakes, and promoting the cause of action, of speaking out, of realizing that we all have the responsibility to protect each other.