One week ago, Boston’s NPR radio station ran a piece called “The ‘Beauty’ of the Marathon.” After the events on Monday, this title would surely be replaced with a phrase portraying chaos, casualties, terrorists and explosions. Surely it was a tragic day. But despite the horrors, there was beauty to be found. To quote wise words from the late Mr. Rogers: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”
Indeed, within seconds of the blasts, people were rushing to give aid. Fortunately, there were dozens of EMTs and police already on the scene. But photos and videos also show military veterans, doctors and other civilians rushing to aid the victims, whether that meant applying tourniquets, clearing fences to allow ambulances and paramedics to access the scene, or comforting the wounded.
One of these responders’ stories is particularly touching. Carlos Arredondo, an immigrant from Costa Rica, had already amassed quite the life story before Monday’s events. In 2004, his eldest son died in battle while serving our nation in Iraq. Shortly after being notified of his son’s death, Carlos doused himself in gasoline and lit himself on fire, after which he was rescued but not after suffering severe burns. After his yearlong recovery, he joined other families of deceased soldiers to advocate for peace, only to be beaten in 2007 by members of a right-wing group at an anti-war march. And just four years later, Carlos’ younger son, coping with depression stemming in part from his brother’s death, took his own life. Since then, Carlos has also been a promoter of improved suicide prevention policy.
Despite having countless reasons to despise this country, Carlos (now a citizen) passed out American flags for the first four hours of the marathon. And when the bombs went off, he rushed towards the scene and helped in whatever way he could. In the iconic photo where Jeff Bauman – in grave condition – is being carted away in a wheelchair with both legs severed, Carlos is by his side.
Carlos, with an intense look of determination on his face, is holding shut what appears to be an artery with his ungloved hands. Today, Jeff is alive and in stable condition; Arredondo, who also applied a tourniquet to Jeff’s other leg, almost certainly saved his life. While the three lives lost should not be forgotten, the fatality count would have been higher were it not for the bravery and resolve of Carlos and other first responders.
Following our survival instinct, many of us would have turned from the blast and ran. If this were not enough, we are taught to avoid danger- a tenet of basic first aid courses is to only approach the scene once it is determined to be safe (the Boston sidewalk was anything but safe at that moment). And yet, as Mr. Rogers’ mother told him, there will always be people running towards chaos, ready to help. Sometimes, these first responders are doing their job. But, like the principal at Sandy Hook who rushed from relative safety to defend her children, they could be people like you and me.
Some people reacted to the bombing in Boston with utter gloom: “F*** this world” was a common phrase posted on Facebook and Twitter. Although there is a time for grief and anger, if we constantly approach humanity with pessimism, we will surely not be lost to find countless other unexplainable, tragic events; a fact of life is death, and few among us are fortunate enough to die peacefully in old age. Indeed, with media outlets that push the gloomy stories front and center, it is easy to overlook moments of beauty. It is easy to forget that for every one perpetrator, there are countless other humans supporting and loving each other. For every one bomber in Boston on Monday, there were scores of people who rushed into danger to give aid, hundreds – including exhausted runners – who swiftly donated blood, thousands who attended candlelight vigils in memory of the victims, and millions who made sure to call their loved ones.
If we allow it, the world can be a beautiful place. Whereas some may see a wounded soldier, I saw a corridor in Midway Airport a few months ago erupt in standing ovation as he returned home. Whereas some may see a Stanford student with alcohol poisoning, I notice how there is almost always a friend, or even a stranger, comforting her. These moments are easy to forget, but they’re there. And while they do not bring those lost back to life – nothing will – they give the survivors, all of us, reason to not only endure, but also appreciate what we still have.
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