No Justice, No (but we must find) Peace

I got my parents out of the house on budget-priced Tuesday to see the newest adaptation of, "Murder on the Orient Express." My mother loves Johnny Depp. My father doesn't like to be left behind. I love Hercule Poirot. How I felt about the film is kind of irrelevant to what I was thinking about after it was over.

There's a scene in the very beginning (and I really wish that I could find the exact quote) where Branagh's Poirot talks about how maddening it is to instantly see every detail about every situation and know what is right and what is wrong. It is a foreshadow to his eventual walk from the train and from a group of broken people complicit in a murder. Although David Suchet's portrayal of Poirot's moral choice in the Masterpiece Theater version is, in my opinion, so much more devastating - I understand Branagh's rewrite of a more blatant emotional ending for (to be honest) less emotionally sophisticated audience. Poirot's moral conviction seems so easy until the idea of justice is presented. Justice has always been my most admirable foe (dramatic, I know). 

I took the Clifton StrengthsFinder test a bit ago and found that my top five strengths (in this order are):

Individualization

Input

Strategic

Responsibility

Intellection 

And it shouldn't have surprised me, really. I lacked so much confidence in my abilities for so much of my life that it almost killed me, but in this time in my life I know that I can scrutinize the facts, the situation, the people, and the way it all got this way to create an outcome that makes sense with the resources that are available. But that thing - Responsibility - is where I lose myself in the ideas of vengeance and justice. Add that to gathering all of the data and creating the perfect reasons to be totally pissed off...and damn. 

You tell lies and you think that nobody knows. But there are two people who know. Yes - two people.  One is le bon Dieu - and the other is Hercule Poirot. - Agatha Christie

I assumed for much of my life that everyone took responsibility for their behavior all of the time. In Strengths Finder 2.0 it makes it all seem so noble,

Your responsibility theme forces you to take psychological ownership for anything you commit to and whether large or small, you feel emotionally bound to follow it through to completion. Your good name depends on it. If for some reason you cannot deliver, you automatically start to look for ways to make it up to the other person. Apologies are not enough. Excuses and rationalizations are totally unacceptable. (Rath 2007).

Mistakes happened but that lessons that could be learned would be learned and that apologies and better behavior would always prevail. And they just don't. And I remember writing (as a child, a preteen, a teenager, in the hospital and now) and feeling so sick from the injustices of the world and my microcosm within it that I felt like the never-ending disappointment that I felt in everyone would just swallow me up. In my darkest moments, I wished that it had. People older than I would talk about Karma and about how the injustices and the untruths would catch up, but sometimes it just doesn't.

I had a manager that once told me that there is integrity in all of the work that I produce. More so, than anyone he's ever known. That had to be the greatest awful compliment that I have ever received. My integrity leads, in many instances, to my momentary destruction. Because of the hurt that I feel when justice isn't served. When life isn't fair. When Karma seems to be so far away. The destruction is really about the anger.

When I was in college, there were so many passionate people that seemed so focused on their careers or their eventual lives. The women that wanted to have families and teach. The women that wanted to go to law school and kick some ass. The men that wanted to be coaches and bring up their communities. The men that wanted to slide gracefully into their family businesses. All of it was passionate. And then Jess.

I was never passionate about anything - except Justice. And even more so about the anger that never ended in the face of Injustice. Thinking upon it in this momentary peace and clarity, it seems so fruitless. But that doesn't mean that when I am at my worst in my head I won't cry out in response to my indignation: those that have lied, those that have cheated, those that have marginalized, those that steal to make it harder for the honest, those that mistreat and those that deceive. All of it. Even if the history is true and these injustices are real outside of my depiction. It makes me no different than many. What must set me apart is how I react to even those most devastating of situations.

Mary Debenham: When you've been denied justice... you are incomplete. It feels that God has abandoned you in a stark place. I asked God... I think we all did... what we should do, and he said do what is right. And I thought if I did, it would make me complete again.

Hercule Poirot:  And are you?

Mary Debenham:  … But I did what was right.

Poirot grapples with the reality of the plan of the passengers of The Orient Express. The injustice of the Armstrong family and the vengeance of the mourners is real and leads to what most would consider the ultimate comeuppance for Cassetti: his life for the lives that he destroyed. But whether it be Branagh in 2017 or David Suchet in 2010, imprisoning all of the passengers in the plot would be no more punishment than what they have put themselves through and what they must live with in the rest of their waking moments. Does Mary Debenham every really find the respite that she seeks in the vengeance? Do any of them?

There are those that will not allow themselves to find remorse in the injustices that they create (that is, if they know that they've even committed them), but allowing anyone to further victimize me after the initial affront is my own fault. If I give myself the mercy of creating a space for passionate vengeance that eats me up (AND YOU KNOW I DO), then I surely must give space that there are those that commit injustices because they are also broken people - for whatever reason. Right? It doesn't mean forgiveness. It doesn't even mean acceptance. It just means that the victimization is not only about the original offender but also about my own offense of allowing myself in the cycle of vengeance that never seems to be quelled.

I mean, fuck those guys. But - don't let them fuck you over for good.