Tania Perneel’s story is a remarkable one. Perneel, for those unfamiliar with her ordeal, is the woman who has screws in her ankle which makes it difficult to stand, and two bulging discs in her back that make sitting a
Tania Perneel’s story is a remarkable one.
Perneel, for those unfamiliar with her ordeal, is the woman who has screws in her ankle which makes it difficult to stand, and two bulging discs in her back that make sitting a chore.
Those injuries were the result of a hit-and-run accident, a crime Perneel eventually solved on her own.
The fact that Perneel turned into a detective and tracked down the suspect alone is worthy of headlines. But another part of the story that deserves a good look is how Perneel never lashed out, never lost her cool. Nor did she begrudge her assailant, in this case a 23-year-old woman who hadn’t been on the wrong side of the law before.
That’s where the story ends, with Perneel hugging the tracked-down driver, Jennifer Tabura, outside of the courtroom after Tabura was sentenced to probation and lost her driver’s license for a year.
“I am not mad at you,” Perneel said as the two embraced. “I am mad at what happened and wanted you to accept responsibility.”
That’s what real forgiveness looks like. That’s the actual human moment those rubber bracelets, WWJD, are supposed to symbolize.
It’s much easier to wear a band around your wrist than to forgive, that’s for sure. But who’s to say Perneel’s forgiveness hadn’t been diluted with celebration, or relief, because the suspect had been caught?
Maybe.
But a couple of other clues in the story point out that the courtroom hug was Perneel’s MO.
Let us explain.
The story starts on Dec. 26, 2012, in the Kukui Grove area when a pickup truck crashed into and crumpled Perneel’s Ford Fiesta. The truck, with its pink sticker, drove away, but not before leaving its tow loop embedded in the Fiesta.
Perneel went to police, who told her there was little to no chance of catching the suspect.
Stop right there. How many people would lash out here?
Sure, we bet money Perneel was frustrated. She’s a taxpayer, she pays the officers’ salaries, the argument goes. But we also know for fact she didn’t send The Garden Island an email to complain or name call the department.
Instead, Perneel kept plugging away. And how did the case get solved?
When Perneel saw a pink-stickered truck parked outside a body shop, she crawled under the tuck and, lo and behold, saw it was missing its tow loop.
What did she do?
She found the truck’s owner, and the rest of the pieces fell into place.
But after she found the truck, no nasty notes left on the windshield, no kicks to the truck’s door. That show of respect by itself might not be that remarkable, but add up all three glimpses of compassion, and we see a pattern here. We also hope that Tabura noticed, too. In terms of court punishment, she got off very lightly for what she did. So perhaps the real end result here is embracing a learning moment.
Because that hug outside the courtroom, even with Perneel’s injuries and insurance headaches, was genuine.
And that’s what those bracelets mean — in human form, not rubber.
