I know that the contexts are vastly different, but this reminded me of a time in the ’90s when I was playing with Lincoln Logs in my grandparents’ basement, after which I got up and stepped on a needle. I wept quietly as I limped upstairs, no doubt tracking blood on the floor, and I struggled to reach the kitchen for help. As soon as I was there I repeatedly screamed ‘Give me a band‐aid! Give me a band‐aid!’ at everybody in the room before I fell unconscious. It was the only time in my life when my body went into shock and I passed out.

The difference, of course, is that I was privileged enough to receive help for my unintentional injury. Most of these innocents lack that privilege, and their injuries are not only severer, but very intentional.