A Boston Moment

 
Like most people around the world, my heart is both broken and rejoicing over the Boston marathon tragedy. I am stunned by the devastating mindlessness and loss, and by the incredible acts of kindness and bravery—the sad, beautiful, surprising extremes of which humans are capable.

But I’m also stunned by the venomous, vengeful rhetoric about the two suspects, circulating on TV and online media: Crowds cheering over the death of one young man and the serious injuries of another. Facebook posts and comments explaining in graphic, gory detail what the commenter would like to do to the hospitalized suspect. Dehumanizing the brothers by referring to them only as shooters, terrorists, gunmen, enemies.

I understand that sometimes we feel helpless, frustrated, and in shock, and that sometimes this deep sense of fear comes out looking a lot like hate. I understand that we feel a kind of kinship with and loyalty to those killed and injured in the bombings, and we feel somehow traitorous if we show any tenderness for the Tsarnaev brothers. I understand that some people have already stopped reading this.

But my heart is broken for these boys, too. When I see their faces (over and over and over again), I want to cry. The oldest brother was the same age as my son. The youngest brother is the age of the students I teach. I am profoundly saddened that two young lives could go so horribly, unalterably wrong. That all that amazing potential is lost. That there will be no redirecting, no chance for them to learn from their mistakes and move forward. I have nothing but love for the brothers’ friends, children, parents, grandparents, and extended families, whose lives have now been permanently scarred by these events.

Please don’t mistake this for acceptance; what these young men did was unspeakable, absolutely beyond my comprehension. I honor and mourn for those whose lives these boys have taken, and I trust the Universe to protect and give strength to those injured, whose lives will never be the same, even if their bodies heal. For most of us, compassion comes easily for the victims.

Compassion is harder to muster for the Tsarnaev brothers, I know. But compassion for ALL our fellow humans (yes, the brothers are my fellows, as well as their victims) keeps us human. In this age of violence, divisiveness, and narcissism, maybe compassion is the only thing that can keep us human.