The verdict in the Boston Marathon Bombing was rendered today.
I wonder why we put such events in capital letters. Does it help us learn from them? Or does it just amplify their awful glory? (If I were still a reporter, I’d explore that question.)
I wonder if a jury verdict really resolves anything, for anyone – the accused, the victims, the aggrieved. Does it provide what modern society calls “closure?” Does it mete out whatever it is we think of as justice? Or is it more about revenge? (I’d explore those questions, too, without any expectation of a definitive answer, but hoping the questions would prompt deeper thinking, and maybe better answers for the future. I hold on to a shred of idealism that way.)
But tonight I’m thinking of the late Monday afternoon almost two years ago, just a few hours after the bombings. I was rushing to my writing class at the Missouri School of Journalism. A young man followed – chased – me down the hall.