People in desperation will always welcome tragedy with a strange intermingling of relief.
I can't quite explain it, but I think it has something to do with tattoos and self-harming. Our minds and bodies must align. When we become psychologically sick, we crave the blood-letting. The pain of sliced veins is nothing compared to the pain of unseen wounds. So we slice or we inscribe, stitching the outer and inner into original oneness. It's not just cutting. There is also the known phenomenon of tattoos as therapy for trauma.
The world has gone wrong. Bigots and idiots are presidents of nations. Racism and xenophobia thrive. Economic inequality still plagues us, and everyone is in debt.
Let there be disorder, we think, to call attention to this desperate need for ordering. As frantic people clear shelves of bread and toilet paper, the chaos within the system is voiced, and we feel a sense of relief. I don't understand it, but I see it, our needing an outward symbol of the chaos which broils beneath.