The one percent perspective

This sign is down the gravel road from my parents house
 in Dexter, Minnesota, and I find it no help at all when I'm
out on walks and seeking solutions to the big questions.

It was a windy September day in a city park  outside of Rochester, Minnesota, when a man’s throat closed up as he sat in his car in the parking lot. Apparently he was having an allergic reaction to a bee sting. There were about 40 of us gathered there for a family picnic and the only reason I knew something was wrong was this: while I remained under the pavilion of tables splayed of potluck food, oblivious to the crisis at hand, at least a dozen of my family members ran towards the man whose face turned blue. They RAN. It was a group run, like they all knew instinctively what to do.

That’s when I realized how many first responders were in the Mork family (my dad's family). As I recall, I can count at least five nurses. A cousin who had his EMS radio on him called in the ambulance. Two of my brothers did CPR, one a paramedic, the other a volunteer fireman. (Proud and impressed sister, here.) Seems like there were even more helpers who ran to the parking lot, rendering their first aid know-how. (Feel free to correct me, if any of you dear readers happened to be there that day.)

As for me, I stood by the jello salad. I stayed as far away as I could because I have a fear of killing someone while trying to save them. I’ve been trained on CPR more times than I can remember and at one point I was a certified EMT, but I’m too scared to provide assistance in medical emergencies. (I know these days they say just push on the heart, don’t worry about the counting and the mouth to mouth. Still, I pray I never have to do it.)

A friend of mine’s dad is a retired physician at the Mayo Clinic (the employer of many of my family members). He said he dreads the thought of being on an airplane and hearing on the loud speaker, “Is there a doctor on the plane?” and then he’d be compelled to identify himself as an MD even though he’s not trained to handle emergencies. Instead, what they should request is this: “Is there a first responder on board?” That’s what you really need in a medical crisis – a nurse, a paramedic, an EMT, a firefighter.

I thought of that family picnic today when all the stories came out about the people in Boston running towards the epicenter of the bombing to offer assistance, and not away from it (as I would’ve done).

As always after a tragedy, there’s a lot of discussion about the nature of humanity – are we all going to hell in a hand basket or will the heroes prevail? If you know me, you know I believe in the latter. I believe goodness is stronger evil. I believe there will always be the first responders – both literal and metaphorical – who will be there to help, whatever the crisis.

Here's the proof of the family picnic.
It was a glorious day and at leat one life was saved.

However being the good grant writer I am these days, I’d like to back up my assertion with evidence. I am calling it “the one percent perspective” and it goes like this. One percent of the population can be classified as clinically psychopath. I’ve seen this statistic in several other places, but here’s one compelling source I found today, a fascinating article from the New York Times Magazine by Jennifer Kahn. (May 11, 2012, “Can You Call a 9-Year-Old a Psychopath?”)

Kahn writes: “Psychopaths are estimated to make up 1 percent of the population but constitute roughly 15 to 25 percent of the offenders in prison and are responsible for a disproportionate number of brutal crimes and murders. A recent estimate by the neuroscientist Kent Kiehl placed the national cost of psychopathy at $460 billion a year — roughly 10 times the cost of depression — in part because psychopaths tend to be arrested repeatedly.”

She also cites a source who suspects Bernie Madoff is psychopathic. (I also found several sources citing research that says there’s a higher incidence of psychopathic tendencies among CEOs and politicians, but that’s not my point for this blog post. I shudder to consider the link between psychopaths and domestic violence, but I digress more.)

I find the idea of 1 percent of the population being psychopathic both chilling and hopeful.

Hopeful because, obviously, that means 99 percent of the population is not psychopathic. Most people will want to help. Most of us 99-percenters have our own issues, but will feel empathy for others when we know about their suffering. (Our biggest problem is ignorance.)

Chilling because, well, do the math. That would mean there are 2,065 psychopaths in the city of Des Moines alone. If that’s not a case for rule of law and strong regulation I don’t know what is. Consider what happens when you blend the one percent psychopathic population with a failed state – you got yourself a Somalia, Afghanistan, sadly now, Syria, and/or the perfect breeding ground for international criminal activity.

I wonder if those who have suffered most
feel the most empathy.

My heart bleeds for the losses in Boston. The story of that little eight-year-old boy who died is too much to absorb and my thoughts and prayers go with that family. And my heart bleeds for the losses every day, everywhere. For all the chest thumping we do for “not enough guns” and “too many taxes” and name your complaint, I wish we could all get passionate and run like first responders towards the 25,000 children who die each day from simple, preventable diseases due to lack of daily food. Run towards all the little girls who get sold into slavery. Run towards all the women who die in basic childbirth. Run to all the young boys who get conscripted into armies. (In fact there are many people who are "running towards" those issues and I feel priviledged to have met some of them, and see their work up close.)

Oh yikes, this post started with a nice little family picnic and ended with global catastrophe. (You might understand why Bob deserves extra gold stars.) This got quite rambling and if you’re still here, I thank you; you also deserve gold stars. I’ll end with a paraphrase of Stephen Stills – even if you’re not a first responder and can’t do CPR and save people’s lives, at the very least, love the ones you’re with. Make your son popcorn, listen to your daughter's cheerleading adventures, give thanks.

With love from yours truly,

Natural Born Bleeding Heart