Subway Vigilante.

At the age of thirty-seven, he appeared slender, almost frail, with a receding hairline and glasses. He was an electronics enthusiast. Despite his law-abiding and timid nature, he defied the typical profile of a vigilante. However, this incongruity didn’t deter the American public. Bernhard Hugo Goetz became an instant hero when he thwarted four potential muggers in a New York subway. A surge of support followed, including a “love and kisses” telegram from a popular actress and the emergence of “Thug-buster” T-shirts in New York City. People gave and raised money to go toward his defence. Episode two of Netflix’s docuseries ‘Trial by Media’ is dedicated to the 1984 New York City subway shooting and Bernhard Goetz. Goetz, who became known as the Subway Vigilante, shot four Black teenagers in a subway car in 1984 after claiming they were going to mug him.

Radio talk shows were inundated with callers discussing the incident, highlighting a broader sentiment. Bernhard Goetz embodied a nationwide, and perhaps worldwide, anger—a fervour for revenge. People were tired of being bullied, harassed, and intimidated. The support for Goetz was a manifestation of a collective frustration, a desire to fight back against perceived threats. Yet, beneath the surface, a question lingers: Is this truly the solution?

Let’s think about our anger for just a minute.  Anger. It’s a peculiar yet predictable emotion. It begins as a drop of water. An irritant. A frustration. Nothing big, just an aggravation. Someone gets your parking place. Someone pulls in front of you on the freeway. Someone lets you down. A waitress is slow, and you are in a hurry. Drops of water. Drip. Drip. Drip.   

Yet, get enough of these seemingly innocent drops of anger and before long you’ve got a bucket full of rage. Walking revenge. Blind bitterness. Unharnessed hatred. We trust no one and bare our teeth at anyone who gets nearby. We become walking time bombs that, given just the right tension and fear, could explode like Mr. Goetz.  

Anger is a gradual buildup, starting with minor irritations that eventually culminate into a reservoir of rage. This anger, left unchecked, transforms individuals into walking time bombs, ready to explode under the right circumstances. Revenge and hatred can’t bring any good or create hope. The aftermath of Goetz’s actions prompts reflection on whether such acts truly reduce crime, make subways safer, or eliminate fear from the streets. In 2004, Goetz was interviewed by Nancy Grace on Larry King Live, where he stated his actions were good for New York City and forced the city to address crime.

There is, however, an alternative perspective, Luke 23:34, where Jesus forgives those who crucified him, saying, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” There are stark parallels between the anger in society and the forgiveness Jesus exhibited, suggesting a need for understanding rather than retaliation. Uncontrolled anger won’t improve the world, but sympathetic understanding will. As I write we are witnessing the uncontrolled anger of revenge in Gaza. Jesus would tell us that we need to shift from a posture of anger to one of compassion and concern, emphasizing the power of constructive actions over quick, retaliatory measures.

Have you ever wondered how Jesus kept from retaliating? Have you ever asked how he kept his control? Here’s the answer. It’s the second part of his statement: “for they do not know what they are doing.” Look carefully. It’s as if Jesus considered this bloodthirsty, death-hungry crowd not as murderers, but as victims. It’s as if he saw in their faces not hatred but confusion. It’s as if he regarded them not as a militant mob but, as he put it, as “sheep without a shepherd.”  “They don’t know what they are doing.”  And for the most part, neither do we. We are still, as much as we hate to admit it, shepherdless sheep.

All we know is that we were born out of one eternity and are frighteningly close to another. We play tag with the fuzzy realities of death and pain. We can’t answer our own questions about love and hurt. We can’t solve the riddle of aging. We don’t know how to heal our own bodies or get along with our own mates. We can’t keep ourselves out of war or feed the hungry.  Paul spoke for humanity when he confessed, “I do not know what I am doing.” (Romans 7:15)

There is something about understanding the world that makes us want to save it, even to die for it. Anger? Anger never did anyone any good. Understanding? Well, the results are not as quick as the vigilante’s bullet, but they are certainly much more constructive.