Thoughts And Prayers

(Image copyright Radio Free Babylon, and used by permission.)

Once again, some poor dumb schmuck blew himself up along with a bunch of innocents.  And once again, all we can do is send our thoughts and prayers.

His name was released, but I can’t be bothered to look for it.  We all know who he was anyway; it’s always the same:  a loner, picked on in school, frequently humiliated, timid, introverted, had trouble communicating, was severely depressed.  Your basic loser, picked up by a group that preys on losers, mildly brainwashed (often by a close relative), and sent off to die — by a bunch of people who would be embarrassed to be seen with him in public and who are glad to be rid of him.  (Anyone with that much social anxiety would be a liability to The Cause, after all — easily broken under questioning, and not to be trusted to do anything complex.)

I want to pity this guy; I really do.  Maybe in time I can, but right now all I can think of is the poor people who were killed, the hundreds who will end up forever scarred both inside and out, and the ten thousand peaceable Mancunians of Libyan origin who may now get looked at sideways by their neighbors, people who were until now justly proud of their “Curry Row” and inclusive culture. Such senseless destruction, and for what?  Headlines?

Also, I can’t stop thinking about the people who built the bomb (this twit would’ve had trouble tying his shoes; he didn’t build it), and the ones who preached at him, venerated other suicide bombers, primed him and sent him off to die.  Some of these people invest organization funds in the markets, profiting off the financial hit that always accompanies a terror attack; I can’t think of anything more contemptible.  Except that (likely) family member, the parent or uncle or older brother who manipulated this poor schmuck into pureeing himself for the benefit of a bloodthirsty press.  Now that man’s a real piece of work.

There it is:  I can finally pity the guy.  Poor dumb murderous brainless twit.  Salman Abedi was his name.

And now all I’m left with is slow burning rage, pure visceral hate toward those nameless faceless manipulators, the people who got this kid and two dozen innocents killed for their self-righteous satisfaction.

Which is a bad thing.  Because what I want to feel is compassion for the victims.  I want to pray for them, fervently and effectively, to plead intercession on their behalf from a loving and compassionate God, a God who in times like this can be so very hard to believe in.  I want to keep these poor people in my thoughts and maybe send help of some kind to the families of the dead, some way to ease the burden a little — except of course I remember that every time this happens, a dozen fake charities pop up begging to defraud the compassionate.

Every time, I come up with a way to donate to Covenant House, so maybe we can somehow protect the next young loner from being picked up by a sociopath.  We’ve had some successes; it’s enough to give me hope.

And, every time, I write, and you read — and, hopefully, it’ll help us both, even a little.

The criminal profile at the top was drawn from “Mindhunter”, by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker.  More current sources include:

You should also read yesterday’s article on the link between ISIS and the Drug Wars for some context and an idea of what you can do to help fix things.

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