Cecil New pleaded guilty last month to kidnapping and killing a 4-year-old boy in 2007. During his sentencing hearing this week, Mr. New’s family took the stand to talk about the abuse he suffered as a child, sometimes taking beatings for his siblings to protect them from their alcoholic father.
Finally, as his siblings and his mother testified about his childhood, Mr. New showed emotion for the first time. Pitiful, heart-breaking emotion. I saw the broken little boy, and imagined that part of what I saw in that breakdown was gratitude for being vindicated. Whether or not what I imagine I saw is real, the story was too twisted, and my emotions too raw to feel anything less than heart-wrenching sympathy for this man – as well as for his siblings, and the family of the child he killed. If I have any sympathy for his mother it remains hidden.
I read a string of comments left by people who saw a newspaper article about his story. Some demanded an execution, as though that will bring back the dead child, take away the hurt anyone feels, or make them more able to sleep at night. One person damned him to hell, as though she is a god. And I wondered, at what point do people start hating victims of abuse? Is there a cut-off age? Is it only the ones who go on to abuse others? Does it matter how they abuse? It definitely happens; one day people love abused children but then, at some point, they lose that compassion and hate them for not being able to heal themselves.
To those who think I disrespect the family of his victim by feeling compassion for the murderer, you are wrong. It isn’t necessary to choose a side. I can feel deep sympathy for everyone involved.
To those who think Cecil New should have been able to overcome his abusive childhood, I offer this tiny comparison. My mother was a screamer. I hated her when she screamed at me and swore I would never do that to my children. Never.
But I did. When I screamed at my children, I hated myself more than I hated my mother, and it was much harder to forgive me than it was to forgive her because I knew that I knew better. I wasn’t so sure about her. My mother’s screaming was nothing compared to what this man suffered at the hands of his father. I cannot imagine the guilt and self-hatred this man must feel for not being able to control what I’m sure he must have promised himself he would never be.
I do not want Cecil New released so that he can harm another person. His crime was horrendous. He sexually abused and murdered a four-year-old boy, and then put his body in the trash. I do not believe this man should be allowed near another child – or adult, for that matter. But, I cannot believe that he needs to suffer. I think living with what he has done, and with what has been done to him, is punishment enough.
I would like to see Cecil New live comfortably in a prison cell. I would not become his pen pal, visit him, or want to marry him (those stories disturb me) but I would send him books, or puzzles, or something to help him keep his mind busy.
Unless he wants to die. My thoughts about death sentences are that they should be options offered to offenders. If this man would rather die than live with his pain, I think we should allow him that option. Otherwise, I think putting this man to death would be the same as killing an abused child who is stuck living in an adult body.
I had a similar conversation with friends a couple of years ago. A couple of them haven’t spoken to me since. Maybe that’s why I wanted to write this – but I really don’t need anyone’s permission to cry for Cecil New. I’ve done that already, without shame, and will probably do it again.
Finally, as his siblings and his mother testified about his childhood, Mr. New showed emotion for the first time. Pitiful, heart-breaking emotion. I saw the broken little boy, and imagined that part of what I saw in that breakdown was gratitude for being vindicated. Whether or not what I imagine I saw is real, the story was too twisted, and my emotions too raw to feel anything less than heart-wrenching sympathy for this man – as well as for his siblings, and the family of the child he killed. If I have any sympathy for his mother it remains hidden.
I read a string of comments left by people who saw a newspaper article about his story. Some demanded an execution, as though that will bring back the dead child, take away the hurt anyone feels, or make them more able to sleep at night. One person damned him to hell, as though she is a god. And I wondered, at what point do people start hating victims of abuse? Is there a cut-off age? Is it only the ones who go on to abuse others? Does it matter how they abuse? It definitely happens; one day people love abused children but then, at some point, they lose that compassion and hate them for not being able to heal themselves.
To those who think I disrespect the family of his victim by feeling compassion for the murderer, you are wrong. It isn’t necessary to choose a side. I can feel deep sympathy for everyone involved.
To those who think Cecil New should have been able to overcome his abusive childhood, I offer this tiny comparison. My mother was a screamer. I hated her when she screamed at me and swore I would never do that to my children. Never.
But I did. When I screamed at my children, I hated myself more than I hated my mother, and it was much harder to forgive me than it was to forgive her because I knew that I knew better. I wasn’t so sure about her. My mother’s screaming was nothing compared to what this man suffered at the hands of his father. I cannot imagine the guilt and self-hatred this man must feel for not being able to control what I’m sure he must have promised himself he would never be.
I do not want Cecil New released so that he can harm another person. His crime was horrendous. He sexually abused and murdered a four-year-old boy, and then put his body in the trash. I do not believe this man should be allowed near another child – or adult, for that matter. But, I cannot believe that he needs to suffer. I think living with what he has done, and with what has been done to him, is punishment enough.
I would like to see Cecil New live comfortably in a prison cell. I would not become his pen pal, visit him, or want to marry him (those stories disturb me) but I would send him books, or puzzles, or something to help him keep his mind busy.
Unless he wants to die. My thoughts about death sentences are that they should be options offered to offenders. If this man would rather die than live with his pain, I think we should allow him that option. Otherwise, I think putting this man to death would be the same as killing an abused child who is stuck living in an adult body.
I had a similar conversation with friends a couple of years ago. A couple of them haven’t spoken to me since. Maybe that’s why I wanted to write this – but I really don’t need anyone’s permission to cry for Cecil New. I’ve done that already, without shame, and will probably do it again.
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