Who did you vote for?

I was, sadly, home sick yesterday. (Hopefully when you read this I'll be back at work slangin' books and droppin' that sweet sweet knowledge.)

As is common when I'm home, I was on one of my IPTV services, watching the BBC. In this case it was BBC Four. It was broadcasting a documentary on the 2017 Las Vegas mass shooting, still the worst mass shooting in a country all-too-inured to them.

The documentary makers were very effective. They conveyed the horror of the immediate aftermath, bodies strewn all over the Strip, reports of still-active shooters being called in from every hotel on the Strip and from McCarran Airport. It was chaos. It was nightmarish.

And it sucked me in. I felt what they were feeling. I mourned. I was sickened.

But then.

But then this nagging question started forcing its way into my consciousness. This niggling burr in my saddle. This pressing pebble in my shoe.

Who did they vote for?

Who did they vote for? What did the survivors do in the months and years after to make sure such a tragedy never befell anyone else? What actions did they take to begin the steps to, if not eliminating, then at least greatly lessening the occurrence of gun violence?

When they sat with themselves, images of friends and family with their faces half-blown off imprinted on their minds like DNA, what did they tell themselves? What did they say to those around them? 

God forgive me that I've come to this place. But it was inevitable.

Daily we see videos of Trump voters tearfully bemoaning the cuts instituted by his regime which are overturning their lives. There, it's easy to say, "Well, you chose this."

But then we see similar videos where political affiliation is unclear or unsaid. And when I watch those, my thought is: Who did you vote for? Did you even vote?

Make no mistake: All of us on this blog are going to suffer because of decisions or non-decisions others made. We, who did what we were supposed to, are going to suffer because our fellow-citizens are selfish and uncaring. Therefor, when I hear a tale of woe, I am within my rights to ask: Did you do anything to bring this upon yourself?

Empathy and sympathy are finite. No one has an inexhaustible supply. "Compassion fatigue" is real. So I'm not going to spend that limited compassion on someone who voted to do it to me first. 

I think of the Las Vegas shooting. What did you do after? Was that the wakeup call, at last, if you had been of the opinion that guns were not a problem? Or did you latch on to mental disease, or "God's will"? Did you, like the mother of a child who died of measles, metaphorically urge everyone to not get vaccinated? "My other kids are alive."

Goodwill and fellow-feeling are wonderful. But, at this moment in history, I know there are many who wish me dead. Or if don't actively wish so, are at best indifferent. And my wariness may last the rest of my life. For ten or twenty years from now, when I hear another story of misfortune, I will think to myself: What did you do? Who did you vote for? I am scarred. And I will not give my goodwill and fellow-feeling for no consideration as to whether you deserve it. I will be tired for the rest of my life.