A bomb explodes. A gun fires. It is always the same. The traumatized, injured, and dead need tending. What nation, ethnicity, religion, political affiliation does not matter. Tragedy breaks us open to the primal and personal. In these moments, we experience our humanity. The blood, burns, and brokenness are ours, the deaths counted, mourned. It all matters. Here.
In short order, we need more than the first response. We need truth, meaningful stories, and justice. This, too, is always the same. Everywhere.
Blood on foreign soil runs red to death, too, if left unchecked. Faceless, uncounted citizens maimed or killed by air strikes or ground attacks are grieved by someone. There.
Identifying terrorists as domestic or foreign matters less and less, as hate embodies and inflames both. Plant a bulb, fire a gun, or drop a bomb, we co-create this world. Every action rippling out to seen and unseen consequences. And if my terrorist attack is your collateral damage, then justice is another bombing victim and the only blood we see is our own.