An Anti-Gun Advocate Sees the Fallacy of Anti-Gun Laws
Written by Diana Hartman
Published March 12, 2009
Recent stories of family and school shootings tend to propel people into
two camps: those who are opposed to gun ownership and possession,
convinced guns are the reason for much of the world's senseless
violence; and those who support the right to bear arms, equally
convinced that guns are not, well, the smoking gun.
In between is a small group of people that both sides have chosen not to
see or hear. Ironically, it is the actions of the smaller group that is
the primary focus of the two opposing sides.
I am personally opposed to gun ownership and would love to see a world
without weaponry of any kind. I am not, however, opposed to the right to
bear arms. In this country at this time, this right has been oiled up
and slapped around until the only person who actually has the
unconditional right to bear arms is the criminal.
The worst part of all of this has nothing to do with guns or those on
either side of the argument. It is our tragedy that many of those who
are without a criminal history are opting for the path of least
resistance when looking for a way out of their strife.
They are not lazy. They are spent.
Getting any kind of help with any kind of problem not only carries with
it the difficulty of trying to secure that help.
There is also the wholly unfair, unnecessary, and ineffective stigma of
needing help in the first place.
Won*t you bring your sorrows, bring your dreams
It*s a place for you to be
There*s no more tomorrow or that*s how it seems
Won*t you come to me? I*ve got a vacancy*
We as a nation are so myopically focused on the weapon (as if no one was
ever stabbed, thrown down a flight of stairs, or run over by a car),
we've lost sight of the person behind the weapon. We ask why, but do we
really care?
With shooter after shooter we have come face-to-face with one person
after another who felt some kind of way and acted on those feelings with
a gun. We waited to act until they did something for which we could
arrest them or take them down. If they offed themselves instead, all the
better for our collective conscience.
Another name, another key, another pass to glory
Another night, another sight, another bedtime story
Another stage, another chance, for gentleness or violence
Another birth, another dance, another death in silence*
We're so good at that: judging, convicting, and incarcerating. We're
also pretty good at hauling off the shooter's dead body, doing so with a
sickening pride that allows us to believe we've reaped some good from
something so bad.
We suck at listening, assessing, and assisting. We're also not so hot at
making eye contact, smiling, touching, or taking just 60 extra seconds
to see and hear what's going on around us and to whom something may be
happening.
The sheets show their struggles, the glasses their fears
The ashtrays the hours passed, the towels their tears*
Before any shooter so much as thought about a gun, we had already heard
them and we had already seen them. We knew who they were, where they
went, and what they did. To some extent we even knew how they felt. We
dare to say we were broadsided by their despair and yet we did nothing
before shots rang out. We can say we didn't know, but that is a
bold-faced lie.
We heard them shouting at a Wal-Mart cashier and cursing in the DMV
line. We watched them try to maintain composure as the bank teller told
them about another returned check fee that effectively erased half their
grocery list.
We saw them with their head down on their steering wheel when their car
wouldn't start and we knew it would make them late to work again. We
even wondered if they would still have a job as a result.
We watched them clench their fists as their teenager ran away with the
latest pierced and tattooed loser of the year.
>From our kitchen window we spied them sitting in a lawn chair in their
backyard crying when their spouse walked out.
We glanced them at the bus stop staring off into space as they tried to
figure out a way to deal with their job loss and the repossession of the
same car that wouldn't even freaking start. We winced at their
realization that they'd have to forgo medical and mental health
insurance because they only had enough money left to pay the water bill
so they could at least flush their toilet.
We heard the teenager say he was bullied, hurting, scared, and angry. We
watched his grades plummet. Right before he became invisible to us, we
saw tears of frustration well up in his eyes, and we knew just how big
the lump was in his chest, his stomach, and in his heart.
We saw the schoolchild's bruises and we knew those injuries didn't come
from falling off the their bicycle, even though that's what the child
said. We knew this because we also heard that child's parent yelling at
them before letting them out of the car, making them late to school.
And what did we do? We hid.
We hid from them and their despair because it put us in touch with our
own despair and inadequacies. We needed to stop feeling helpless more
than we wanted to help - if we wanted to help it all. We called it
minding our own business. We labeled it an assumption that they would,
somehow, find a way to deal.
Well, they did.
It's the gun, we say - not the person, not their despair. It's the
bullets, we insist - not their words, not the tears.
Every shooter telegraphs their intent, and some of them are brazen
enough to directly announce it. Still we don't listen, still we ignore
them, and still we turn our backs.
As has been evidenced time and time again by those who raced to be
interviewed and televised in the aftermath, someone knew and didn't say
anything. Someone heard and didn't listen. Someone looked - and then
looked the other way.
Yesterday we were comfortably numb, but then the reporter showed up
today. Suddenly we are aware, knowledgeable, and feeling.
Innocent people are dead because we don't hear words, cries, shouts, or
pleas. We only hear gunfire. By then it's too late for our innocents and
we've even sent the message loud and clear to others who are desperate
that we will not hear a cry for help unless and until it comes from a
person who has been shot.
The shame of this choice to be deaf and blind, and the shame of this
neglect is incalculable. It has created a tension so thick between each
and every person on this planet, it can only be penetrated by a bullet.
Gun laws address guns. They don't address people. Lobby your life away
if you must, but if you cannot also be bothered with your fellow human
being when you know they're having trouble, then at least have the
decency to call someone who can.
*Lyrics excerpted from "Vacancy," Harry Chapin, Verities & Balderdash,
1974
More:
http://blogcritics.org/archives/2009/03/12/0957043.php
--~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups
"WebTV Dawgs/Dittos" group.
To post to this group, send email to [email protected]
To unsubscribe from this group, send email to
[email protected]
For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/WebTV-Pals
-~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
