Getting justice

Justice. Isn't that a vague word? It's flung around as if it means something quite specific, but far from it. Is it even attainable?

People talk about a demand for justice, but what exactly are they demanding? What do they mean by the word?

If my child was knocked down and killed by a drunk driver, what sort of justice could I ever achieve? Whatever the consequences - the driver jailed, or banned from driving, or more roadside alcohol tests for drivers - it wouldn't bring my child back to life, it wouldn't lessen the grief, it wouldn't stop the feelings of rage and helplessness and despair. So where is the justice?

Or what about the pregnant woman whose baby dies because of some fatal mistake by a nurse? The hospital can issue a profuse apology, training can be tightened, the nurse can be reprimanded, but that doesn't lessen the sense of misery and loss the woman is going through. What form of justice could possibly make up for this tragedy? Her baby is gone and nothing can change that.

Justice is more an anguished hope than a reality.

To be or not to be

Much controversy over the proposed demolition of Grenfell Tower, the 24-floor London tower block that was consumed by fire on 14 June 2017, killing 72 people and injuring many more.

Some people say it should stay there to recall the tragedy and all the careless mistakes that led to the inferno. Others say it should be demolished as it's an unwanted reminder of a dreadful disaster, forever traumatising those who want to put it behind them and have some kind of closure.

My opinion is neither here nor there as the tragedy never affected me personally, but for what it's worth I'm in favour of demolition.

Surely keeping the tower there acts as a disturbing trigger for any sensitive person who walks past it or sees it from their window, and would rather not have the awful reality of that day constantly thrust at them.

Those who want to preserve the tower say its presence stops people from forgetting the disaster, but did New Yorkers forget about 9/11 after the remains of the twin towers were destroyed? Of course not.

Apart from anything else, the tower requires regular maintenance to ensure its structural safety. Can it withstand really strong winds like those of Storm Eowyn a couple of weeks back?

Those who favour demolition are planning a remembrance garden or a memorial to mark the tragedy. That seems more sensible than maintaining a burnt-out and rotting shell for years on end.

PS: The Ministry of Housing says engineering advice is that the tower is significantly damaged and will get worse with time.

Pic: Grenfell Tower

A tragic past

Would you be unable to live in a house where some terrible tragedy occurred, or would you be able to ignore it and carry on with life as usual?

Kincora Boys Home in east Belfast (just down the road from here) is currently being demolished to make way for a new housing development.

The home was once the scene of serious organised child sexual abuse, causing a scandal and attempted cover-up in 1980, with claims of state collusion. It has been quietly rotting ever since, with a lot of people wanting nothing to do with it.

But one developer isn't put off by the site's seedy reputation and work is about to start on a £1.8 million apartment block comprising nine flats.

It's hard to say what my reaction would be if I actually set foot in one of the new flats, but I'd like to think I wouldn't be put off. If the building itself has gone, and the scandal happened over 40 years ago, I'm sure I could easily ignore the history and just get on with my life.

But would it be as simple as that? If I actually lived in one of the new flats, would I be constantly reminded of the past to the extent that it haunted me and forced me to move out?

Certainly a lot of people wouldn't even contemplate living there, given the site's associations. The very idea would horrify them.

Jenny is quite sure she couldn't live in a place that had such a dark pall hanging over it. She couldn't possibly ignore what had gone on there previously.

It remains to be seen whether the new apartments will be sold easily or whether prospective buyers will give them a wide berth.

Pic: Kincora Boys Home

You have to laugh

A tricky thing, a sense of humour. You have to be careful how you use it. It can lighten the mood and cement a friendship. Or it can so seriously offend someone they never want to speak to you again.

As you know, I have a well-developed sense of humour which I apply to the most unlikely situations. I see the funny side of everything, no matter how grim or disastrous, and I often have to restrain myself to avoid causing offence to someone in a highly sensitive state who absolutely doesn't see a shred of humour in what's happening.

Mind you, sometimes people are too over-sensitive, ready to take offence at just about anything, and then however carefully I tread I can still prompt horrified glances and stony silences.

Some subjects are a complete humorous no-no unless you know your companions very well and are confident they'll take the joke in the spirit it was intended. If not, then keep well away from religion, disability, transgender, death, abortion, terminal illness, or anything where there's the slightest hint of condemnation, callousness or sheer ignorance. Your flippant witticisms will not in any way be appreciated.

I think it's often assumed that because I'm joking about something deadly serious, I have no sympathy or concern for people who're facing hellish experiences and hardly know if they're coming or going. On the contrary, I have huge sympathy but every situation has its comical side, however macabre or grotesque, and I can't help noticing it. Gallows humour, anyone?

If someone at my own graveside suddenly saw the funny side of my departure from planet earth and couldn't help tittering uncontrollably, I wouldn't object. I'd rather that than a pall of gloom and misery.

Of course a sense of humour can sometimes be used as a defence against the shocking reality of a situation, a way of blotting things out and not letting your feelings overwhelm you. But perhaps that's okay as well if it enables you to process your emotions in your own good time.

By the way, did you hear the one about the undertaker and the gravedigger?

What if?

I'm not very prone to the What If scenario. What if I'd taken different decisions in my life? What if I'd never met X? What if I'd won the lottery? I don't think like that. But it must be really hard not to ask that question if your life has been torn apart by some quite hideous tragedy.

However determined you are to accept what life has thrown at you and come to terms with it, if something appalling has happened right out of the blue, surely you're bound to dwell on the circumstances and whether they could have gone differently.

If your loved one has been killed in a shocking air crash, aren't you bound to speculate? Suppose she'd taken a different flight? Suppose the flight had been cancelled? Suppose she'd been ill in bed? Suppose she'd been going somewhere else?

I reflect on this because of the recent inquest into the 7/7 bombings in London, and how many of the bereaved relatives are still traumatised by what happened. They must still be thinking frequently about that dreadful day and the tiny twists of fate that led to a horrific death rather than a lucky escape.

How could they possibly shrug it off and say, what happened happened, there's no point in brooding on it, you can't turn the clock back? The fact is there's a huge hole in their life where that person used to be and they desperately wish that hole had never opened up.

And they must also ponder that other version of What If - Why Me? Why did this calamity hit me and not some other person? Why was I singled out when other people are happily carrying on their lives, feeling safe and secure, confident of what the future holds?

Most of us take for granted the route our life has taken and assume we're travelling safely, but for those struck by tragedy suddenly the route is like a dangerous road on a cliff-edge. One careless manoeuvre and you could go straight off the edge into oblivion. All at once life isn't a springboard but a roulette wheel.

A lethal lapse

If ever you needed proof of the devastation a moment's careless driving can cause, the heart-rending story of the Beachy Head suicides really brings it home.

As Josephine Elias, a property consultant, was driving at top speed round a blind bend on a country lane in 2005, she smashed head-on into the car driven by Kazumi Puttick, whose 16-month-old son Sam was sleeping beside her.

Sam was thrown through the windscreen and across the road, severing his spinal cord and leaving him quadriplegic.

His distraught parents gave up their jobs to care for him and were totally dedicated to giving him the best possible quality of life.

Two weeks ago Sam developed pneumococcal meningitis and died. Kazumi and Neil Puttick were so shattered they threw themselves off Beachy Head in Eastbourne, with Sam's body in a rucksack.

This catastrophic chain of events was triggered off by one simple act of carelessness by a self-absorbed driver. According to reports, she was also distracted by dogs in her car.

All she had to say this weekend, in a statement from her solicitor, was that she was "deeply saddened". An amazingly cool reaction to the trail of damage she has left behind her.

I can guarantee that at this very moment there are other drivers hurtling down country lanes at breakneck speed, equally oblivious to who or what might be round the next corner.

If it was a food product that was causing this level of carnage and tragedy, it would be taken off the shelves. Unfortunately cars are too necessary to be banned, so idiotically reckless drivers will continue to ruin other people's lives for years to come.

Photo: Sam Puttick