In 1986 I was on a train in Cuzco, Peru that was blown up by terrorists.  Somebody put dynamite in a backpack and stuck it up on a luggage rack.  It killed the people I was sitting with-  a German boy and his mother and father.  It killed others.  I had a cut artery, brain damage, blown in ear drums and should have died but I didn’t.

Just like in Peru, somebody set a bomb off in Boston.  Maybe two or three.  They  killed some people.  Maimed some others.  Just like in Peru.  Just like all over the world. The blood, smoke- the broken glass.  It is the same all over and it is some kind of madness.

Anyone who blows up people sitting on a train, sitting in a cafe, running down the street, cooking eggs for their family-  any one who does that- I don’t have a word for it.  Is it evil? I am not sure what that word means but killing kids has to be evil.  Blowing up innocent people is vile.  There is no justification-  no matter what the cause.

My deep empathy to all who were hit and terrified and deep appreciation for those who rushed in to help the wounded and dying with so little regard for their own safety.


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