Of damnation, and staring back

"We must probe to the bottom of our collective wound. As men, as Americans, we can no longer cringe away and lie. Are we not all warmed by the same sun, frozen by the same cold, shone on by the same lights of time and terror here in America? Yes, and if we do not look and see it, we shall all be damned together."

- Thomas Wolfe, You Can't Go Home Again

MONDAY felt like damnation. Again, someone attacked the core of us, sending the cruel message that years may pass and memories fade, but evil is eternal. It is also random and greedy, ripping through a brilliant spring day to claim unwitting and undeserving victims. First we are shocked, although after 9/11 and Newtown, not as much. Then we are angered, vowing to hunt down the inhuman beings who make incoherent statements with the blood of innocents. And through it all, through tears, we see the smiling face of an 8-year-old little boy and think that this time is the one that finally breaks the spirit.

But then, like all the times before, we roll up our sleeves, take a deep breath and stare back, defiant.

We did it in New York a decade ago when the unthinkable flew out of the skies and shattered our sense of normalcy. We did it, more slowly, last December when a well-armed lunatic turned a schoolhouse into a battlefield. And we will do it now, with Boston and for Boston. We will set aside any superficial rivalries and stretch our hands out to those fellow Americans and sibling city-dwellers who share our hopes.

This is who we are. We are the marathoners who keep pushing our exhausted bodies and run to hospitals to give blood, with miles to go before we sleep. We are the father who, having lost two of his own sons to tragedy, jumps across a safety barricade to render triage to someone else's. We are the first responders, civilians and professionals, who rush toward the violence and the smoke to carry our stunned brothers and sisters to safety. We are the doctors trying against all odds to save limbs and lives while foregoing sleep. We are the ones who refuse to point fingers at Muslims or right- and left-wing radicals before having all the facts, mindful of the danger of making enemies of fellow Americans.

It may not be easy to look on the better side of things, given the eulogies that will have to be said for innocent bystanders, given the prospect of five-year-old amputees, given the knowledge that we are still so capable of being surprised and humbled. But it is possible, and it is necessary, and it is inevitable for people like us.

This week, I accompanied a client to her asylum hearing in Lyndhurst, New Jersey. "Mariam" is from Mali, a country that has recently become embroiled in a civil war and, for much of its 53 years of independence, has treated women like chattel. Mariam is a victim of female genital mutilation, which is a type of violence that few American women have ever faced. It is precisely because Mariam's American daughter would be threatened with that medical torture if her mother is deported that we filed for asylum. We still don't know the outcome of the case, and we hope for understanding and a letter that says "welcome."

But talking to Mariam on the drive to Lyndhurst, I learned yet another reason why the massacre in Boston failed in its intended goal. The bombers wanted to crush us, make us feel their anonymous power to threaten and to maim. They wanted to make us feel as if these principles we cherish and the strength with which we defend them are irrelevant. They wanted to make us regret our open society.

But Mariam said something that will remain with me every time I hear some depressed and defeated American say that we have reached the end stages of civilization. Mariam said that living in this country, even at its margins, is more comforting and secure than living in a country like Mali which doesn't even pretend to value freedom and the intrinsic value of each human being regardless of color, religion or, in her case, gender. As Mariam noted, "You in America are not perfect, but you move toward perfection. Where I come from, people don't even bother to try."

Something horrible happened to us on Monday. We did not deserve it, and we were unable to avoid it this time. But we are not changed by this act of terror. If anything, it has simply confirmed that evil exists, but it will always be met by exceptional, courageous and resilient Americans. Thomas Wolfe's fears are unfounded. Far from damned, we are blessed.