As a writer, I try not to repeat posts; I actually think this is a flaw, probably, because repetition provides a kind of consistency. You become the writer who, everyone knows, writes about "this," when you repeat yourself. But I find repetition boring, and really, I think, once I've said something, what else is there to say?
It was the shooting at Virginia Tech that was my moment on mass shootings. I said what I needed to say, and since then, I've been surprised at how, as shootings happen again and again, much of what I wrote then basically holds. There's an argument that we become inured to violence, but I find it's not the horror and sadness that goes away; it's the sense that we will re-embark on the same conversation we have, over and over in the aftermath.
For me that conversation starts not with the guns, but with the mental illness. Over and over, these young men with serious illnesses and disabilities wind up committing astonishing acts of violence, yet we either throw up our hands, or say, "never mind that, the problem is guns." There is a gun problem to be sure; but the disastrous state of mental health services and the stigmas around dealing with mental illness is so essential to the state we're in, I can hardly breathe when I hear these things. "How did this happen?" people wail, each time. And each time, we discover, sadly, that there were people who did know, people who saw a disturbed person in need of help, and watched a system filled with cracks fail them. Over and over. And over. And over.
And yet... of course, the problem is guns. Guns that shoot multiple shots in a second, rounds and rounds of bullets fired in seconds (why don't we regulate and tax the bullets?). Clearly, at least some (and yes, I agree, much) of this stuff is madness. Gun controls will not stop these incidents... but lord, let's start somewhere and try to do something. The alternative, as we keep seeing, is chaos.
What was so weird about Friday, to me, was how the totality of the event became clear in degrees, even in the face of a sloppy reporting situation that may be one of the most embarrassing exercises in recent journalism (the misinformation and untruths bandied about all day Friday were honestly staggering). By the time President Obama spoke, the enormity of the event was unavoidable. So many children, so much death... so little meaning or point. Even a President noted for his coolness and near stoicism, could not fail to weep in public.
As Americans, our moments of collective connection in these splintered times is difficult, but a slow news week, difficult times and a truly horrific event brought us together as few things could. The killing of children, in a school, is inhuman. It defies every sense we have of being a human society. And, just for a minute, perhaps, we cut through the clutter of left and right and us and them, and all that, and for a minute we were all, just, human. And maybe, if we stick with being human for a bit... we can do something about this. I don't entirely believe this myself, but all this crying ought to result in something, shouldn't it?
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