Nurse Lucy Letby
The recent case of the nurse who took rather than saved lives has gripped many. It’s a disturbing tale on so many fronts. A nurse who does the exact opposite of what she should, who betrays the trust we place in her, and takes the lives of innocent children.
We watch on with morbid fascination. Real crime is click bait and a ratings winner. Some theorise that we desire to understand the ‘who’, ‘what’ and ‘when’ of the criminal mind so we can better protect ourselves and our loved ones. Apparently, women are more drawn to true crime than men – and this strange fact seems to support this theory.
Others suggest that these stories help to clarify and reinforce our moral presuppositions. We take comfort when evil is called out, justice is carried, and we feel lucky to have avoided an unfortunate misfortune.
Still others suggest there is a dark side (to some) of us that voyeuristically imagines how it might feel to commit such unnatural atrocities. Given other circumstances, could I do that?
Finally, others might play couch detective, and imagine if we could have caught the offender earlier, and saved a life or two in the process.
I also suspect another dynamic is at play. We imagine Lucy Letby and her peers to be thoroughly evil. There is nothing redeemable – no graciousness, no mercy, no compassion in her heart. By comparison, we conclude we are basically good – we wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a defenceless baby full of potential and hope.
These binary categories are appealing, but in the end unsustainable. In my weakest moment I am greedy, self-absorbed, easily offended, and even menacing. I am not alone. The fact that there are others worse than me does not make me incapable of evil.
We all desire to live in a world free of evil. A world not just free of Lucy Letby’s – but a world free of people like me at my worst.
A free society is necessarily on the assumption people are some combination of good and bad, and we require encouragement to do good, and restraining when we do otherwise.