A VIRGINIA TECH MFT ETHICS CLASS REFLECTS ON THE SHOOTINGS AT VIRGINIA TECH

Journal of Marital and Family Therapy, Apr 2008 by Piercy, Fred, Banker, Jamie, Traylor, Ryan, Krug, Sarah, Castanos, Carolina, Cole, Elise, Ciafardini, Anthony J, Jordal, Christian, Rodgers, Brandon, Stewart, Shelley, Goodwin, Annabelle

If I continued to meet with this client and I had some time to heal myself, it could have been helpful to share this loss with my client, both for her and me. My client could have experienced my empathy in a more significant way and I could have used my own struggle to talk about our mutual issues of grief and recovery. While my dilemma was unique on one level, on another it reflects one that all therapists must face-how best to assess and balance self and client care.

WHO WILL DEFINE A HOKIE?1

Brandon Rodgers

My wife and I made our rounds, like hundreds of others from Virginia Tech, to the memorial site in front of our central campus building, Burress Hall. The mood was composed and tranquil. It feels good here in April, with sunshine and the smells of spring. The open memorial we saw included vibrant flowers, burning candles, and even a birthday balloon celebrating one of the fallen student's birthday.

A Hokie stone, the natural limestone used to build our campus buildings, had been laid on the ground to commemorate each one of our deceased students and faculty members. Thirty-three stones were arranged in a semi-circle. Among the sea of maroon and orange2 colored memorials, my eyes kept coming back to one dreary white letter. One sentence resonated: "You will not define us!" These were the liberating words placed near the remembrance stone for Seung-Hui Cho, the gunman.

Cho's Hokie stone had been stolen and later replaced. Throughout our mourning process, many in our community have expressed rage at Cho. For some, it was for the loss of loved ones. For others, the rage may relate to this new identity Cho seems to have given our community.

One local church put up a sign with "We Remember" and the number "33" on it. The next day, someone spray painted the second "3" into a "2." A week later, the church changed it back again to "33." As confusion continued within our own community, many of us began wondering if a gunman's action would forever define us. For whether we can forgive Cho or not, spray paint will not erase the fact that Cho was also a fallen Hokie.

Our identity was further challenged with the onset of an extravagant media frenzy. Every major network focused on the campus within hours of the shootings. In a heartbeat, the world had come to Blacksburg. With interviews of heartache and confusion, finger pointing and 2020 hindsight, we were watching the media attempt to define our beloved school, community, friends, and family. By the end of this tragic day, the world was hearing a number of stories unfold, stories portrayed through colorful opinions and dramatic images.

We heard stories insulting our police force, attacking our university president, questioning our mental health professionals, and even words suggesting that our students should have done more. We heard that we should have been different, that we may have been to blame, and that our ignorance was blinding. We even experienced cameras within inches of our faces, zooming in to catch a closer shot of the next falling tear.