Responsibility, Blame, and Gratitude

In Minneapolis over the weekend for a wedding, we found our way to various viewing angles of the collapsed I-35W bridge. It was an eerie awe -- cars still perched on unnatural slopes; a semi truck still aimed downward into its fiery deadend. And the immensity of it all. Like so many others have already reflected, I've driven over that stretch countless times with no conscious realization that it was actually a bridge. It is a vast span of now mutant, accordioned concrete slabs.

Reading the local newspaper, the articles and letters reflect the typical drive to parse "accountability" and "blame." Whose "fault" is it? To whose address can we deliver the lawsuits?

I remember while living in East Texas how the river would occasionally swell beyond its banks and destroy the simple, but scenic houses built nearby. There would be an outcry of frustration from the suddenly homeless that more was not being done to restore their abode. Not wanting to be heartless, I did, nonetheless, wonder if there aren't some natural -- and frankly obvious -- risks in pitching one's tent, so to speak, in that particular location. It isn't anybody's "fault" that the river overflowed. More important than assigning blame and restitution, it seemed to me, was determining what to do next.

I do believe there are lessons to learn from a bridge that suddenly falls apart. And I do believe that if there emerges clear evidence of neglect or wrong doing then those responsible should be held accountable -- whatever that might mean. In this environment of managerial incompetence and political cronyism, who would be surprised if corners were cut, costs were shaved, or signs ignored by those who didn't even know enough to watch for them?

But it is also possible that despite the best engineering skill and building materials employed at the time -- the bridge, after all, was hardly new -- it couldn't any longer keep standing. It's possible that we don't know quite as much as we thought we did. As a bumper sticker advertising a garden center once put it, "compost happens." Indeed.

So, let us learn what we can, even punish whom we must. But let us also let go of the delusion that we can ever eliminate tragedy once and for all. And in the meantime, we might take my 7-year-old nephew's suggestion:

"We ought to thank that bridge for staying up as long as it did."