06/11/2002

I tried to picture Jeffery Owens' murderer returning to the scene on Sunday night.

He would have seen hundreds of people -- from the gray-haired mayor to a green-haired young man in the crowd -- mourning the death of, quite simply, one of us.

He would have heard himself branded a "coward" -- a domestic terrorist, really, whose hateful attack silenced one man but may have awakened a city.

He might have sneered at the candles, speeches and hand-written messages on a sprawling "memory cloth." But his gut might have knotted with the first faint flicker of uncertainty: He could pay dearly for what he had done. Eventually, he will.

Yet, this scene-of-the-crime memorial -- a parking-lot gathering beneath the ornate steeple of Riverside's historic First Congregational Church -- was free of calls for revenge. As the RPD sought to question a young Hispanic male with a shaved head and a Raiders wardrobe, Riverside tried to absorb yet another violent, senseless death.

We have traveled a rough road from Tyisha Miller to RPD Detective Doug Jacobs to Jeffery Owens. We have not always traveled it well -- or together. We have compiled an uninspiring history of spin doctors, made-for-TV rhetoric, racial distrust and AG decrees.

But it strikes me that things are different now, and not just because the Riverside police are neither "heavies" nor victims in this case.

Mayor Loveridge condemned this murder right off the bat. Sure, who wouldn't have? But he didn't allow a vacuum to take hold. Though not a gifted speaker, he showed up at Sunday's memorial and there was comfort in his words. His presence is what counted most.

Things are different now because Riverside police have regained some of the public confidence they lost in the Tyisha Miller days.

"Accept us as your police department because we are," RPD Chief Russell Leach told The Menagerie parking lot crowd. No boos, hisses or snickers. "Help us solve this case."

Things are different now because Riverside is hearing from its newer voices -- Leach and Temple Beth El Rabbi Harold Caminker. Openly gay, openly eloquent and openly determined that hate crimes will not go unanswered, Caminker repeated time and again, "Silence equals death."

This echo of the "No Justice, No Peace" incantations of recent years accompanied the rabbi's stern warning: "It can destroy a community if people refuse to speak out."

But a mayor, police chief and rabbi can do only so much. Word circulated that gay men have been repeatedly attacked in this parking lot, but the incidents are never reported. If true, this can only embolden attackers. Silence, quite literally, may have equaled death.

I didn't know Jeffery Owens. I'm not sure how many who attended this memorial ever met him. I am sure his death cannot be allowed to slip into the mists of memory. If silence emboldens attackers, tragedy must embolden a community.

The mayor spoke of the "friendship and fellowship" a mere stroll through downtown Riverside on a pleasant Wednesday night holds for so many. These are priceless gifts we so willingly and effortlessly exchange with one another. They are the essence of a city; we hoard them at our peril. Keeping this friendship and fellowship alive may be the best way to honor the memory of Jeffery Owens. We can't give in, if only for his sake. After all, he was one of us.

Reach Dan Bernstein at (909) 368-9439 or dbernstein@pe.com

Dan Bernstein's column appears on Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Call (909) 782-7532; fax (909) 782-7572; Write: Box 792, Riverside CA 92502; e-mail dbernstein@pe.com.