When a mass murderer comes from you

The perpetrator of the mass shooting in Buffalo is from where I’m from. His town is about 13 miles south of where I grew up, just over the low hills that mark a sort of border between the rural-suburbs of Binghamton and the farmland areas. How to describe the feeling when I read last night that he’s from where I’m from? Because it’s shocking, and also not surprising. I was just up visiting there at the end of March, and the countryside between my parents’ house and the Finger Lakes, for example, is littered with all kind of “FUCK BIDEN” and other MAGA signs and bumper stickers. At the bar in our little hamlet, a woman walked in with a t-shirt that said, “EVEN MY DOG HATES NANCY PELOSI.” These seem like straight-up electoral politics messages, but are actually

Read →