P1 First Person: Countering complacency

By Synnova Inscore
Pulaski County Sheriff’s Office
Little Rock, Arkansas

September 11, 2001 sparked a moment of change in the lives of nearly every American. The change brought us together yet vulnerable as we watched the most horrific event on American soil since December 7, 1941. The differences between the two events were the era of their commencement, the type of victims who were attacked, and the terrorists creating the havoc. In the interim between 1941 and 2001, Americans fell into a sense of complacency, especially at the end of the Cold War and the destruction of the Berlin Wall. In an even shorter span of time, Americans are once again falling victim to their own egos with the thoughts that “it will never happen here.”

I have been a law enforcement officer in Arkansas for 12 years, and I too have fallen victim to complacency in my day-to-day life. I’ve been trained to pay attention to my surroundings and be prepared for anything; however, I let the cop mindset slightly slip from my personal life away from home. I have trained my children to answer with “mom’s just a homemaker” when asked what I do for a living — they never tell anyone, especially strangers, that I am a cop. Because of my complacent attitude, I rarely carry my firearm when I am off duty, an action that may prove to be my downfall unless I change my mindset.

I do not enjoy crossing the river into Little Rock and only do so when absolutely necessary, but on the morning of June 2, 2009 I took my 17-year-old high school graduate into Little Rock for errands, a movie, and lunch at our favorite Indian restaurant. Our first stop was a small store in a popular strip mall on Rodney Parham Road.

As I entered the parking lot I stopped and waited for a vehicle — a black SUV — to back out of a parking stall and drive South through the parking lot. I did not know why at the time but I had a gut feeling that something was not right with this vehicle. I shook off my anxiety, told my son to remember the license plate and continued on to the store, my son joking that I was going to take him to the U.S. Coast Guard office to enlist him against his will. He has learned to not ask questions when I tell him to remember some detail or jot down a license plate — he just does as I say.

We parked and went into the store where we remained for less than ten minutes. When we came out of the store there were police cars everywhere in the parking lot, an ambulance rolling in code 3, and a lot of commotion in the area. My son asked what was happening and I said, “probably another robbery” because such incidents have happened frequently in the Little Rock area over the past few years. I told my son we would be best to just leave and avoid all the hoopla in the area, so we headed to the Indian food restaurant to carry on our plans. Later that evening, we were watching the news when the top story of the day was a shooting in Little Rock.

“See, I was right, someone was shot,” I told my son as we stared at the television. But our stares turned to wide open gapes as we discovered the two men who were shot were my son’s age and were home on leave from basic training and working at the local recruiting office as an added incentive to make rank faster.

These were not just “any local thug” — they were children in my book. They were the same age as my son — they could have been my son. I found myself strangely okay with the fact that any random person may have been shot, but this was different. This was NOT okay. This was an act of terrorism by a deranged individual with ties to the Middle East who has been on the FBI terrorist watch list. I felt bad for the families of those two men and I felt sorry for myself. Then I became angry with myself for being complacent in thinking that terrorism was a “big city problem” that was so far away from our mundane lives here in Arkansas.

What would I have done if I had not let that vehicle back out? Would those boys have finished smoking and went inside before the man opened fire? What would I have done if I had pulled into the parking lot while the shooting was taking place? I had no gun, no handcuffs, no CPR mask. I was not prepared for any type of exigent circumstance. I could not have helped those boys because I was not prepared.

I vowed not to ever leave home without “Annie” (my gun) ever again. I was not doing my family justice if I could not protect them.

While I was reveling in anger and self-pity I overlooked the fact that my son was stricken with fear over the day’s events. It was late that night when I realized he was not acting himself and I sat him down and asked how he felt about the incident. He revealed that he was afraid and that it just did not seem real that a terrorist attacked in his home town, and that he was there when it happened, in that short block of a strip mall and that we really were going to go to the Coast Guard office but decided against it after we saw all the commotion.

Then he said the inevitable, “Mom, that could have been me!”

We spent the remainder of the evening talking about the incident and discussing ways he could be prepared for the unknown. I told him the best thing he could do was be aware of his surroundings. Vehicles, people, and objects were important in personal safety. Most importantly, I told him not to ever let his guard down like I had. I had the gut instinct to notice the vehicle but I did not follow through on my instinct.

I now know that terrorism can take place anywhere, even in a small town, and I did not do my children justice by shielding them from the possibilities. Just because I grew up being constantly in fear of “the Russians” and nuclear bombs did not mean my children had to be afraid throughout their childhood. I finally found a way to help them feel safe yet aware — I talk to them.

I do not hide things from them anymore because they will lack the skills to deal with life. They do not necessarily need to know the gruesome details but they do need to understand the possibilities. We all need to understand that terrorism can happen anywhere.