Desperate Hope and Willful Ignorance

Please don’t think about it.  Oh, it’s horrible. Let’s not think, even to ask why or even how.

That seems to be the message coming from Howard Troxler.  Perhaps the first time I disagree with the man.

It does not matter to ask, “What was this 16-year-old thinking?”

Who knows? Who cares? Maybe he shot to kill. Maybe he shot wildly thinking he could somehow get away. Maybe he had played too many bang-bang video games.

Who cares?

Really? Who cares why some 16-year-old’s life is fucked because of a gaping, puss-oozing sore* on the surface of our society?  Are we not supposed to wonder where that sore came from, nor what to do about it? Simply because acknowledging there’s even a sore there would be admitting that we are, in some way, sick?

I suppose the crux of Troxler’s argument is that this is not the end of society as we know it.  Three officers in 31 years is a grim statistic, but far below average and still a marker of a very safe community.  In that sense, panic about safety in St. Petersburg is unwarranted, I agree. But to close:

For the love of everything holy, may the next kid see this and not buy the gun. May he not carry it that night. May he never pull the trigger. May he miss if he does. May the police take him safely. May the police go through a day, a month, a year, a lifetime, without this happening again. God bless them and keep them. The rest of us, too.

Blind hope. A call into the darkness for protection from the puss-oozing sore on the back of our neck that we know is there but are too terrified to admit might possibly need to get looked at a little more closely.


*The puss-oozing sore, for those that can’t keep up, symbolizes the plight of kids falling through the cracks because of tremendously hard-to-reconcile socio-economic problems, race issues, etcetera. Something that asking the pretend space-man in the sky to solve can only help in the sense that asking your imaginary friend to get you a glass of water will actually materialize said glass of water.

“It’s all bullshit, friends. And it’s bad for ya.”


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