On the day that thirty people died at Virginia Tech, many more died in Iraq.
What happened in that dorm and those classrooms could have spurred a call for more and better mental health services, for more accountability on the part of institutions, or for some sort of respite from the violent imagery that suffuses our society. Unfortunately, the advocates of these social movements were not as ready with their talking points as the NRA were.
Or perhaps we all wanted to listen to the gun advocates. Perhaps we all wanted to flirt with the notion that, if everyone were armed, the tragedy would have been averted. Perhaps imagining ourselves with guns is more interesting that imagining ourselves in a society that does not glorify gun violence.
Obviously, life would be different if we were all armed. But I don’t think that would be a better life. In case we have any doubt, Iraq looms before us, for our information, a ghastly demonstration of where universal firepower will lead. Guns are commonplace, and so even more firepower is necessary. Improbably enough, what results is not order, but mayhem.
But, you say, we are not Iraq. We have a government that imposes order, provides services, and enforces laws. This is not a chaotic society. And I agree. We are comparatively peaceful—and Iraq is not—because we are accustomed to order and justice. We believe that if a crime occurs, justice can be served at the end of the day in an appropriate and sane manner. Not by vigilantism. But in Iraq—in the Wild West, in a universally-armed state—anybody with a vendetta against anybody else has the power to act on it.
And so it is that, in Virginia, a state where guns are easy to obtain, and many people have obtained them, a person more unbalanced than the rest can amass an arsenal, and use it. The mission: some idea about justice. Some suicide mission to show the world—something. And to kill as many people as possible in the process. If the unbalanced person knew that everyone was carrying a gun, his strategy would adapt to serve his destructive fantasy: school shooters will become school bombers.
The unstable young men of the hypothetical firearm-rich future will abandon their twisted execution-style gun-based fantasy, in favor of a suicide-bomber fantasy. The seeds are certainly planted; that’s how really serious people wreak havoc in an overly-armed society. All that is needed in middle America is a slight shift as to what constitutes the glorious revenge of the wronged. So will gun-toting students feel safe in that golden future time? Or will they live in fear of commencement, of keggers, of any crowd situation?
If everybody were mentally healthy and had the same ideas of right and wrong, universal gun ownership might actually promote order—or at least not destroy it. But in that utopia, with everybody sane and clear-headed, having the power to end others’ lives would be unnecessary.
The fundamental problem here is thinking that more power can save you, that there the way to outwit the violence of the human heart is by means of more violence. Packing a gun is a cause and a consequence of being afraid, paranoid, on-edge. The legions of us who could apply for a concealed weapons permit, and do not, know this intuitively. I do not wish to be the kind of person who would carry a gun; I do not wish to become the kind of person that carrying a gun would cause me to become. Despite the dire misfortunes that might happen to my cute little self, I know I have a vanishingly small chance of meeting a brutal end in our still-decent society. Armed, I am certain to live in fear, to be constantly forced to weigh whether or not I would use my weapon should circumstances turn foul.
Perhaps some disagree; I guess they must. But even the most ardent gun proponent would agree that the massacre at Virginia Tech should be a wakeup call. I say it is not a call to perpetuate the problem that Cho embodied; it is not a call to value violence; it is not call to take enforcement of our own particular opinions about who should to live and die into our own hands. Keeping the raving lunatics in check by arming the marginally more sane is not the answer.
Instead, let’s wake up to how people get that way: let’s think about mental health services, university emergency procedures; let’s wonder why gun violence is promulgated as a solution to problems.
Look at Iraq. And the blessings and the safety of our own lives, as long as they last. Because even with all the guns in the world, or all the mental health services, we will die, we will get old, we will sick. And occasionally, we will fall as the innocent victims of another’s delusion. Or be killed by an automobile, a medical mistake, or a freak accident. For every day that we are well, and safe and free, we have the power to make the world a kinder place. Or a more fearful one.
The holocaust survivor who barred the door—his students said—lived every day with great energy. Since he was twenty-two, he had known his life to be a gift.
And ours is too. Life is gift
now. Don’t build a wall around that gift. Don’t collapse in fear, cursed and rendered immobile by its incredible richness and promise. Become something beautiful. Become the world.
Disclosure:
I do own a gun. I think it is in a box somewhere. I like shooting guns, and I am an excellent shot. I grew up with guns, which were used to shoot coyotes animals that threatened our livestock. But now the farming days are over, and when I talk to my dad about what all his guns are actually “for,” I have found nothing particularly wholesome or encouraging in his response. It seems to be about firepower covering up fear. (I say this with great respect for my dad, knowing he will probably read this.)
I am not some peace-and-love Hippie. I am much more interested in the darkness of the human soul, and in the truth that transcends all notions.
The gun you keep in your house is 163 times more likely to be used against a resident of the house, rather than an intruder. I’m pretty sure those numbers are still true.
