By: Sarah M.
Updated: Aug. 22, 2015
Originally Published: May 19, 2015
As I stepped into the lobby of my building, I was greeted by my neighbor who lived across the hall. “Your student received the death penalty,” he remarked. For a moment, I stood frozen, unable to respond. Tears welled up in my eyes, emotions I struggled to comprehend myself. As we walked toward our apartments, I managed to express that while I believed the young man deserved punishment for his horrific actions, I did not support the death penalty.
In the weeks leading up to this moment, I found myself grappling with the potential outcomes of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev’s trial. The thought of life imprisonment sometimes felt more harrowing than death itself. I was reminded of the tragic story of Oedipus Rex, where the burden of exile became more unbearable than death. If Dzhokhar felt any remorse during his trial, he certainly did not show it.
Later that evening, I turned on the television, absorbing the commentary surrounding the verdict. It was evident that the jury had carefully considered their decision, associating the death penalty only with the specific actions for which they deemed Dzhokhar solely responsible: the placement and detonation of a bomb at a finish line crowded with innocent bystanders, resulting in the deaths of Martin and Lingzi. Although he was separated from his brother during the act, Dzhokhar did not reconsider their deadly pact.
By 4:30, as I began to accept the jury’s conclusion, tears streamed down my face once more. I thought of a close friend whose children survived the bombing, losing their limbs and undergoing numerous surgeries. Despite their suffering, the family opposed the death penalty for anyone involved. I sent her a message, expressing my thoughts and hoping for healing for all affected.
When I realized the verdict had been announced at 3:00, after classes had concluded at my school, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. My colleagues at Cambridge Rindge and Latin School (CRLS) had also been affected by this trial in various ways, some having taught the Tsarnaev brothers. It was impossible for us to distance ourselves from the situation; they were our students, and we were their teachers.
This connection is what fuels the intense emotions surrounding this case. I often refer to the brothers by their first names, a stark contrast to how I speak of others like Timothy McVeigh. It’s a reminder of the human connection we share with our students, who remain kids in our eyes, even as they grow into adulthood. The question of when children truly stop being children is one often debated, and I find myself struggling to reconcile Dzhokhar’s young age with his horrific actions.
Many of my colleagues have lamented the unfortunate circumstances Dzhokhar faced in life. While I empathize with the challenges he faced, my heart aches more for those he harmed. Life may deal unfair cards, but those hardships cannot excuse murderous actions.
Public high schools often serve students who have faced significant adversity, and this raises the question of how we, as educators, can effectively address their needs. As students grow older, they often become adept at concealing their struggles. I have witnessed many students oscillate between revealing and hiding their true selves, caught between the desire for connection and the fear of vulnerability.
Some students leave their burdens outside the school, seeking refuge in the classroom. For them, school becomes a sanctuary from their struggles, a place to momentarily escape. Yet, the challenges they face often loom larger than we realize. When students do share their challenges, we can sometimes merely provide a space for discussion and guide them toward constructive choices.
Ultimately, we are not accountable for what we cannot see or influence. We cannot bear the weight of Dzhokhar’s actions, even if we wish we could have intervened during his time at CRLS. The tragedy of April 15, 2013, is a haunting reminder of our limitations as educators, yet it instills in us a desire to improve. We must prioritize our students’ holistic development, encouraging them to feel connected to the greater community we strive to build. We can’t control every outcome, but we must persist in fostering positive growth and understanding within our students.
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Summary
This article delves into the emotional complexities surrounding the case of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, a former student, and reflects on the responsibilities of educators in addressing the challenges faced by their students. It highlights the struggles of those affected by the events of April 15, 2013, while emphasizing the need for connection and support within the school community.