Like most people who monitor the news, I was aghast at the attempted mass-murder at Ohio State University the other day. The incident seems to have involved a young man, who was born in Somalia, came here as a refugee, and was admitted to the university. For one reason or another, he decided to run his car up onto a sidewalk, ramming into a group of students, then hopped out and attacked them with a large knife.
Luckily for everyone involved, a young police officer, who happened to be in the area, shot the attacker, limiting the damage he caused and probably saving lives. Due to confusion in the first moments of the incident, this was reported as a ‘mass shooting’, and the usual suspects roused themselves to fling poo and squawk about the need for gun control in our nation. I’m not going to comment on that. They were playing to type, reacting on instinct and reflex, and better minds than mine have already beaten them back into their cells.
Then, this crossed my screen:
Now, I am not a Buckeye, so I won’t comment on whether or not the piece of ungrateful trash, who betrayed our hospitality by trying to murder as many of us as he could, deserves to be considered part of that particular tribe. I will say that I have no compassion for his life, and I’m glad that it ended as quickly and brutally as it did. My only regret is that he didn’t use the car and knife to kill himself and save us all the trouble.
That useless waste of of a broken condom was a refugee, meaning that at some time in his life we, as a people, decided that we cared enough about him to invite him into our home. We sheltered him, fed him, clothed him, educated him, and allowed him to attend one of the more prestigious public universities in our nation. In an interview that he gave earlier this year, he expressed anxiety about practicing his faith in public, but I can find no evidence that he was actually harassed for doing so.
In return, he decided that he wanted to murder us and used the tools he had at hand to do so.
Now, Ms. Thompson, who is an assistant director at the university, wants us to feel “compassion” for what the murdering son of a swineherd has gone through. She wishes we would consider his “pain”. To top it off, she ends her missive, which she seems to have wanted to remain private, with the hashtags for the Black Lives Matter movement and a hope that we will humanize the attacker by saying his name.
As for compassion, I hope it hurt. I hope the policeman shot him center mass, so that he had to bleed out internally and feel every heartbeat. I hope that time dilation stretched it out as much as possible in his mind, and I hope he had time to realize that he had failed in his mission.
I refuse to consider his pain in my judgement of him. Instead, I will consider the pain of the people he harmed. I will feel compassion for them and their families as they try to deal with the consequences of this choir boy’s crime.
As for BLM, and ‘saying his name’, I’ve got news for you: If your political/social movement wants to claim this scum as one of your own, have at it. I refuse to say his name and humanize him, because he resigned his membership in my species the moment he jumped that curb.
Instead, I will venerate the name of Alan Horujko, who ran to the sound of the screams and put this bastard down in the most effective manner I can think of. Long after the murdering excrement who caused all this has rotted in his grave and is forgotten, he will still be rightly hailed as a hero.
There is a time for compassion and understanding. There is also a time for tossing the trash in our society over the walls for the dogs to feast on. I can’t tell anyone else how to feel, but as for me, I hope this ex-human tastes good to canine palates.