In the aftermath of every atrocity, before we have had a chance to properly mourn the dead, urgent conversations are started — as if good, sound analysis could somehow make us feel better. We talk about the police’s past failures. We talk about the intelligence community’s past successes. We talk about our resolve and our phlegmatic defiance. Then we feel resilient enough to take out the trash or walk the dog again.

In Britain as in Pakistan, these discussions often become shrill and turn to religion. After last weekend’s attacks in London — but before her party lost its majority in Parliament on Thursday — Mrs. May said that we will need to have embarrassing conversations. What she probably meant was that we’ll talk about how Muslims are like prepubescent boys and must be taken aside to be told the facts of life and the true spirit of Islam. Your holy texts are being misused. Forget those lullabies that were whispered to you in your cradle teaching you to hate us. And if you already agree with us, why don’t you condemn your peers who don’t?

But how many times can we say these things? How many times can we be told that radical Islamists don’t represent true Islam? Does calling terrorists “losers” or “cowardly” make anyone feel better anymore?

There are those who trot out solutions. Sure, shut down the mosques, if that would make one iota of difference. Go ahead and close the pubs. While you’re at it, ban hip-hop music and gin and tonics, and take away beards and hijabs. If that’ll make a difference.

Some embarrassing conversations, or at least thoughts, already happen within ourselves. Iraqis are relieved that it was a man with connections to Libya who blew up more than 20 people in Manchester. The hearts of Pakistanis sink when they hear that one of the London attackers was born in Pakistan. At least, thank God, he was a British citizen. And thank God my own son is O.K.

Then there are the embarrassing conversations we’re not having, or not enough. Like the one about billion-dollar arms deals with Saudi Arabia. Or the one about how while we want to mourn our own dead with dignity, we tend to drown other people’s sorrow in numbers.