At what point, I wonder did humans killing humans become honorable, at least from the killers point of view?
The culture from which the killers arise are lionized and call them heroes, but they are killers none-the-less.
They think themselves protectors, the preservers of their way of life, but what is preserved in the slaughter and the blood and the broken bodies that breathe no more?
The world has heard of yet another angry, frightened, man choosing to murder … it was not a ‘mass-shooting’ … it was murder, just as they all are, no matter what the socially acceptable ‘objective’ phrase of the day is.
I find in my heart no compassion for the murderer. He made his choice. No compassion for the belief systems he espoused, or the culture that encouraged the demonization of the ‘other’. That too is a choice.
This is my choice. To reject them utterly. To condemn their enablers. To refuse the fence-sitters the luxury of their ambivalence. To deny them any place in my life, in my heart, in my world.