The Story of Malachi Ritscher
by Kristen Chauvin
Just three years ago, Malachi Ritscher was a well-known member of Chicago’s avant-garde jazz scene. He made live recordings of bands at local clubs like The Empty Bottle, at little or no cost. He was also a passionate participant in Chicago’s anti-war and free speech movement and had been arrested several times for protesting peacefully. On November 3, 2006 he doused himself in gasoline and lit himself on fire beside the Kennedy Expressway next to a sculpture called “Flame of the Millennium”. People in cars going into and out of the Windy City saw this. They read the handmade sign he had staked into the ground near him, protest style: “Thou Shalt Not Kill.” His corpse was so badly charred that coroners could not even identify its gender. It took several days and a dental record to put a name to the body.
Despite the gruesome (and therefore newsworthy) nature of this event, it received minimal media attention. Among those who were aware of Malachi’s suicide, especially family and friends, heavy debate erupted concerning his motives and state of mind at the time of his death. While some point out his admitted battle against depression, the man himself was very clear about what he felt to be his true intent. Hidden among the hundreds of files on his webpage Chicago Rash Audio Potential is his self-authored suicide note (which he titles as “Mission Statement”) and obituary (titled “Out of Time”). In both texts he speaks largely about our country’s state of affairs, particularly the war in Iraq. He mentions feeling a deep sense of personal responsibility for lives lost and damage done, and makes it clear that “anyone who pays taxes has blood on their hands.” It would seem that all speculation concerning intent could be quieted by reading one line mid-page: “Here is the statement I want to make: if I am required to pay for your barbaric war, I choose not to live in your world. I refuse to finance the mass murder of innocent civilians, who did nothing to threaten our country. I will not participate in your charade—my conscience will not allow me to be a part of your crusade.”
Ritscher’s suicide is one of only nine reported incidents of self-immolation performed as an act of protest in American history. Was it the result of madness, or the ultimate sacrifice? Likely it was a little of both, but perhaps we are missing the point. Why is it that the same media that in the past has been so eager to report—and report and report and report—stories of a shocking nature barely acknowledged Malachi’s death? And why is it that when the issue is touched upon at all so many people both within and outside of the media are oddly eager to chalk the whole thing up to an unstable mind? It seems almost as though the general belief of many Americans is that in order for a person to feel so passionately against his country’s actions (however disgraceful they may be) that he uses his death to protest these actions, he must be insane. No one could care that much about the suffering of the world and his role in it without being nuts, right? Any cause, however important, is just not worth your life. Agreed? Maybe. But then again, maybe not.
Buddhist monks thought it was worth it. Civil rights activists and Vietnam War protesters thought so too. And modern day “terrorists” think so as well. So why don’t modern Americans think so? Is it because the war is happening over there instead of here? Is it because the concept of real and deep suffering is so far removed from what we usually experience in our everyday lives that we just don’t understand how much it sucks to live in a war torn country? Or are we simply ignorant of the damage inflicted? Of course, the true answer is a complicated one that has many contributing factors, not just one. And although no one person can pinpoint exactly why Americans are so apathetic when it comes to speaking out against current atrocities, it only makes sense to take into consideration the many changes that have occurred in the country since the ’60s and ’70s. (You know, back when people actually cared enough about the world to try and improve it?) One difference that comes to mind is the way we now learn about world events versus the way in which we used to. Take media coverage of war for instance.
World War II was the first war that people ever saw images of. However, it was the Vietnam War that really felt the full effects of televised coverage. TV in every home was still a fairly new thing at the time and no one anticipated how it would shape people’s views about what was happening in Vietnam. Live footage of battle zones and demolished villages aired on the nightly news. Protests were not ignored. The American people were given their first look at the horrors of war. In contrast, we don’t see a whole lot of live action footage of the war in Iraq, and what we do see is often not very graphic. Images of missiles landing from far away through the green tint of night vision goggles that make us feel more like peeping toms than informed viewers likely contribute to the lack of “realness” surrounding this war as opposed to Vietnam. It is also now illegal to televise the coffin of a U.S. soldier.
The fact that we don’t really see what goes on in Iraq may lead many to believe that nothing is going on, despite the increasing number of casualties. It leads one to wonder, even with the lack of effective (truthful) imagery on the nightly news: how is it that in the so called “information era” we don’t come across these images (and this information) through other mediums such as cable and, especially, the Internet? The answer is that we do. More so than ever before. But there is another crucial difference in the way we view information about world events opposed to the way we used to. We view it alone. In past decades, we watched war coverage on TV, after dinner, most likely with our families. This created a sense of community. A community where there was real-life, person-to-person dialogue. And even though we may not have always agreed with each other, the interpersonal contact encouraged people to feel real emotions about the war, most importantly compassion for those affected by it. They didn’t see it alone at two in the morning on YouTube. They saw it with other people, and it reminded them that human suffering and pain are real things, not just something you come across in a video game or blockbuster movie.
Dissent emerges as a result of suddenly imposed grievances—or other catalytic movements—that cause unbearable psychological strain. We live in a world where nothing affects us as it should. In America one has the sense of living under a sneeze guard, forever protected against the woes of the world. For right or wrong, perhaps what Malachi Ritscher was really trying to protest was our lack of feeling. He attempted, however vainly, to atone for a nation’s worth of carelessness. There is no denying that a change in our attitudes towards activism has occurred. Apathy reigns, and I dare say to be politically active is downright unpopular these days.