Words. Do they comfort, heal, help? I don’t know.
Now it’s Nice and the suffering continues. The recriminations and the blame, mostly muffled after the previous terrorist attacks, are out in full force this time. Accusations of poor planning, insufficient security, even naiveté regarding risks for “soft targets” are playing out in the French press with experts weighing in offering after the fact apologies and speculation.
It’s not my place, nor within my competence, to debate the polemics.
All I know is that there is a pervasive, palpable feeling of sadness and dread. Time and time again we are stunned by the cruelty of these acts and the suffering of families that have lost their loved ones.
Even with the hope and happiness we can conjure up, there is a lingering apprehension that floats over our sense of wellbeing. And we have the realization that it appears life will never be the same, that the lightness and easy conviviality of a night with friends watching the fireworks on a warm July 14 evening on the Côte d’Azur has now become a cautionary tale for our world.