Like most people, the mass murder of children makes me physically ill. With every news clip, every tweet, every Facebook post, every banner scrolling across news pages related to the tragedy in Connecticut, I feel like I got punched in the gut. There is a reason why our reactions strike at the core of our beings--most of us actually give a damn about other people. Most of us actually care about the children. Most of us do see ourselves as our brother's keeper. So seeing these events unfold elicits a visceral response that leaves us in tears, or angry, or confused, or wanting to do something at a time when for all intents and purposes, we are helpless.
We each have our own reasons why we react so personally to tragedy states away. The common denominator is that we have a moral compass--a gauge inside of us that says, "This is the most extreme form of wrong I have ever seen." Aside from that common denominator, our reasons stem from our personal life experiences.
For me, I think back to my time working as an Xray tech and standing there in the trauma room waiting for the ambulance to pull up. My colleagues and I would ready ourselves in anticipation of the victim who was about to be wheeled into the room, mulling over in our heads what needed to be done first. When the paramedics would radio in that they were transporting a kid to our facility, we would concentrate even harder on our coming tasks--most likely to keep ourselves from losing it at the thought of a harmed child.
Another scene that is as fresh in my mind today as it was 15 years ago or so, are the eyes of a child slain in a triple homicide. Getting called to the morgue to Xray victims of heinous crimes was one thing, but looking into the eyes of a murdered child was another. I will never forget that face. Never.
How many images must we see to conjure up real feelings in the wake of tragedy? Well, for me, it only takes one.
I feel compelled to share this with you, dear reader, because yesterday we saw something horrific occur in our own back yard. We saw the unexplainable happen. We saw a senseless act of murder happen as a cauldron of mental illness, accessibility of guns and a deeper demon we may never understand stewed until it boiled over, claiming the lives of 26 people who could never have seen that coming.
In our online world, we saw the cybersphere immediately erupt with expressions of grief, of outrage, of sympathy, and confusion. And just as our own visceral responses were expressed, the visceral response of others quickly followed. As quickly as one person would post a call for action on gun violence, another would retort that now is not the time to talk about that topic. As quickly as one person would post a call for meaningful discussion on the needs of the mentally ill, another would respond that this was an act of a terrorist, or a purely evil being, and not someone to be pitied. As quickly as one person would speak to larger issues at play in our culture that might drive senseless acts of violence, another would retort that it is only a few bad apples, so why punish the whole lot?
I, myself, was accused of relishing in the deaths of children if only to advance my secret liberal agenda to abolish gun rights. I can only take pity on the fellow twitterer, as this person does not know me personally. Maybe if this person knew my life experiences, he would know that when I see these tragedies unfold, I see the same lifeless eyes staring up at me as I did 15 years ago. I see those same eyes that seem to ask, "why are you doing this to me?"
This person does not know that, nor does he know that I have several nieces and nephews the same ages as the victims in Connecticut. This person does not know that the thought of such a horrific thing happening to Ben, or Luke or Ruby, or Oliver, strikes at the core of my being and makes me physically ill. This person does not know that I do, in fact, care about the children.
How could he?
For the ignorance that is forced upon us by an online existence, I will forgive my fellow twitterer, and apologize for being presumptuous about his life experiences.
In our online world, we saw all of this and will continue to see it in the coming days. We will also see the names of the victims and their families released. We will see photos of the children playing, laughing, posing with family or with arms stretched around the family pet. We will see politicians debate topics such as gun violence, school security and care for the mentally ill. We will see posts of prayers for the innocents. And yes, we will see people argue that one is right and the other wrong in their responses and beliefs in the wake of tragedy. Sadly, we will see all of this.
What we won't see is 20 children waking up on what should be a typical Saturday morning. We won't see 20 children watching cartoons over breakfast, laughing until the milk snorts from their noses, making them laugh even harder. We won't see 20 children lacing up their gym shoes before their Saturday basketball games. We won't see 20 children getting ready to go to see Santa at the local mall or city park. We won't see 20 kids witness the closing ceremonies of Hanukkah. We won't see 20 children get excited in anticipation of the yearly Christmas parade. We won't see 20 kids plead with their moms and dads to spend the afternoon baking cookies. We won't see 20 kids mark off another day until winter break on their calendars. We won't see 20 kids waking up safe, in their own homes, surrounded by love and warmth and hope for the future.
We won't see any of that.
And neither will their parents.
We each have our own reasons why we react so personally to tragedy states away. The common denominator is that we have a moral compass--a gauge inside of us that says, "This is the most extreme form of wrong I have ever seen." Aside from that common denominator, our reasons stem from our personal life experiences.
For me, I think back to my time working as an Xray tech and standing there in the trauma room waiting for the ambulance to pull up. My colleagues and I would ready ourselves in anticipation of the victim who was about to be wheeled into the room, mulling over in our heads what needed to be done first. When the paramedics would radio in that they were transporting a kid to our facility, we would concentrate even harder on our coming tasks--most likely to keep ourselves from losing it at the thought of a harmed child.
Another scene that is as fresh in my mind today as it was 15 years ago or so, are the eyes of a child slain in a triple homicide. Getting called to the morgue to Xray victims of heinous crimes was one thing, but looking into the eyes of a murdered child was another. I will never forget that face. Never.
How many images must we see to conjure up real feelings in the wake of tragedy? Well, for me, it only takes one.
I feel compelled to share this with you, dear reader, because yesterday we saw something horrific occur in our own back yard. We saw the unexplainable happen. We saw a senseless act of murder happen as a cauldron of mental illness, accessibility of guns and a deeper demon we may never understand stewed until it boiled over, claiming the lives of 26 people who could never have seen that coming.
In our online world, we saw the cybersphere immediately erupt with expressions of grief, of outrage, of sympathy, and confusion. And just as our own visceral responses were expressed, the visceral response of others quickly followed. As quickly as one person would post a call for action on gun violence, another would retort that now is not the time to talk about that topic. As quickly as one person would post a call for meaningful discussion on the needs of the mentally ill, another would respond that this was an act of a terrorist, or a purely evil being, and not someone to be pitied. As quickly as one person would speak to larger issues at play in our culture that might drive senseless acts of violence, another would retort that it is only a few bad apples, so why punish the whole lot?
I, myself, was accused of relishing in the deaths of children if only to advance my secret liberal agenda to abolish gun rights. I can only take pity on the fellow twitterer, as this person does not know me personally. Maybe if this person knew my life experiences, he would know that when I see these tragedies unfold, I see the same lifeless eyes staring up at me as I did 15 years ago. I see those same eyes that seem to ask, "why are you doing this to me?"
This person does not know that, nor does he know that I have several nieces and nephews the same ages as the victims in Connecticut. This person does not know that the thought of such a horrific thing happening to Ben, or Luke or Ruby, or Oliver, strikes at the core of my being and makes me physically ill. This person does not know that I do, in fact, care about the children.
How could he?
For the ignorance that is forced upon us by an online existence, I will forgive my fellow twitterer, and apologize for being presumptuous about his life experiences.
In our online world, we saw all of this and will continue to see it in the coming days. We will also see the names of the victims and their families released. We will see photos of the children playing, laughing, posing with family or with arms stretched around the family pet. We will see politicians debate topics such as gun violence, school security and care for the mentally ill. We will see posts of prayers for the innocents. And yes, we will see people argue that one is right and the other wrong in their responses and beliefs in the wake of tragedy. Sadly, we will see all of this.
What we won't see is 20 children waking up on what should be a typical Saturday morning. We won't see 20 children watching cartoons over breakfast, laughing until the milk snorts from their noses, making them laugh even harder. We won't see 20 children lacing up their gym shoes before their Saturday basketball games. We won't see 20 children getting ready to go to see Santa at the local mall or city park. We won't see 20 kids witness the closing ceremonies of Hanukkah. We won't see 20 children get excited in anticipation of the yearly Christmas parade. We won't see 20 kids plead with their moms and dads to spend the afternoon baking cookies. We won't see 20 kids mark off another day until winter break on their calendars. We won't see 20 kids waking up safe, in their own homes, surrounded by love and warmth and hope for the future.
We won't see any of that.
And neither will their parents.