We go to the ends of the earth to find out why. We believe there’s a reason, a purpose to this madness. We think everything has a purpose, no matter how destructive. We believe fervently that if we retrace the steps that led to this horror, if we can find out what he was thinking, then we could at least make some sense of this senseless act.
And if we could make some sense of this senseless act, then maybe we would have a clue on how to stop the next slaughter.
And we’re desperate for clues because we know it will happen again. Every stranger on a train could be a murderer. Our anxiety heightens in public places. Our thinking has been altered forever. It’s the way we have to live now. Even the threat of terrorism doesn’t make us feel this way.
Mass killings are commonplace. Why do they do it?
How many are out there planning their murderous acts?
…and stockpiling their guns
We live with the fear that someday, we will be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And then people again will ask why?
Did he really shoot some of these babies eleven times?
As he killed again and again, the why is meaningless, because the shooter’s brain, for reasons beyond our understanding, had already transformed into something so alien to the rational basis from which we ask the question… WHY?