I live in a part of New York state that doesn’t normally get a lot of headlines. We’re somewhat rural with a few smaller cities scattered across what is called the Southern Tier that runs along the NY/Pennsylvania border.
We have Corning which is known for its glass industry including a world-class museum. There’s Ithaca with Cornell and Ithaca College. Then there’s my hometown of Elmira where Mark Twain spent his summers, writing many of his books from his study overlooking the valley, and is buried here. Home of the late, great Ernie Davis. We’re also known for our prisons. I can barely contain my pride.
Then a little east there’s Binghamton.
It was primarily known as the birthplace of IBM but after yesterday will be known in the national mind as the location of yet another murderous rampage.
14 killed.
I don’t know much about the assailant and I really don’t need to hear a lot. I’m sure there will be all kinds of new info today and in the week ahead, all profiling a troubled soul. Unfortunately, we’ve heard it all before. Too many times.
I don’t have any answers to the scourge of mass killings. I have sympathy for the families who lost members. I have empathy for those who witnessed and survived, many immigrants to this country. Their terror and bewilderment that such a thing could happen in their chosen home is palpable.
And I have a degree of sorrow and empathy for the killer. While I can’t understand how a person could be driven to such violence , I can imagine the alienation and rage that ran through his mind. I don’t know his circumstances or what might have possibly tripped that final switch but he obviously lived in a troubled state of mind without the necessary coping mechanisms.
That doesn’t excuse or justify his actions. It only brings to mind the scores of people that live among us with that same anger, that same sense of separation. The vast majority live this side of the line but more and more cross it and we’re left watching the news, horrified.
And you hope and you pray that this time will be the last.
Redtree Times 