A few days before Christmas, community activist Devin "Dutchie" Robinson put out a call for a territory-wide ceasefire on New Year’s Eve, and asked for local leaders and law enforcement to get out into the communities to help prevent the now traditional firing of gunshots into the air once the clock struck midnight.
A few minutes before the ball dropped, it appeared that his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. In my Altona neighborhood, the gunshots lasted for at least two hours, filling the air with the consistent sounds of everything from automatic weapons to what seemed like bombs falling in the streets.
Last year, the volleys were shorter, with the hailstorm of bullets lasting about half an hour. A few of the shots ended up hitting a transformer and blowing out the power for a few minutes, but after a while, my husband and I were able to venture outside and watch the fireworks over the harbor. But this year it was impossible to do so.
To tune out some of the noise, some of my neighbors started blasting their radios. On one station, a local commentator covering the celebrations downtown said the shots were heard everywhere, and that he had been getting reports from neighborhoods across the island, where residents were running back into their homes instead of going outside.
In my house, my husband held my hand while I clutched my pregnant belly and waited for my unborn child to stop kicking – he’s most affected by loud noises, and the vibrations of the gunshots, coupled with the radios and the sounds of our dogs howling on the porch set him off for hours.
At one point, there was a brief flash of sirens on the Waterfront, but all was silent in the yards of the two police officers living in the neighborhood. The cops’ marked units – bearing the moniker “Home Fleet Program” – instead gleamed in the moonlight, parked up until morning.
There was no way to know when it was finally safe to move. My husband eventually felt comfortable enough to walk around, but at some points, our house felt like it was right on top of the noise, so I stayed where I was. Instead of enjoying the moment, I turned up the television and tried to close my eyes and fall asleep.
Waking up New Year’s Day, the sun was shining and the breeze was cool, but the fear of the night before lingered, and when I went out driving, everyone seemed to have a similar story to tell.
"I can’t believe they didn’t find anyone shot up," one woman said, talking to a friend outside the Schneider Regional Medical Center Saturday morning. "And I didn’t hear the police or anyone out there trying to stop it – but I guess with that much bullets flying around they weren’t going anywhere in the middle of the night."
Other members of our Source staff chimed in from St. Croix, with one saying, "around here it sounded like a busy night in Kabul."
"Here, too – about half an hour of steady gunfire," another said. "But I was thinking: I hope everyone used up all their ammunition and are starting the New Year without any bullets."
I think that was Robinson’s hope, too, when he put out his call, and said that a united front or "strong presence" from the community’s leaders could send the "neighborhood villains" back into their homes, keeping them from hurting anyone.
"This has been happening so long that our residents have come to expect this reckless behavior," Robinson said in his Dec. 22, 2010, statement. "But it’s dangerous to have bullets sailing around in our skies while families are moving about the community, returning from church or attending gatherings."
I’ve heard that no one was injured on Friday night, or early Saturday morning, though there has not yet been any confirmation from the Police Department. But while we’re all grateful for that, it is heartbreaking that we all now have to be fearful of all the people out there toting guns and shooting them off carelessly, without even thinking that someone — maybe even an innocent, unborn baby — can get killed.
As Robinson said, "this kind of activity holds our citizens hostage and forces up to accept this dysfunction as the norm."
