Some Thoughts on Guns

Full disclosure: I am a registered Republican. I believe in the right of the people to keep and bear arms. I believe the 2nd amendment is in the Constitution for a reason, and that the infringement of said amendment is a sign of an oppressive government. I look at the numbers and realize that, every year, our society becomes less violent (the United States murder rate is the lowest it’s been in 50 years). I believe that the gun epidemic is overblown, that the panic is unnecessary; therefore the benefit of firearms restriction does not outweigh its cost to civil liberty. I have argued these points time and time again, becoming another generic voice in this exercise in futility we call public discourse. I’ve used every cliché in the book, and then some: “Guns don’t kill people, people do.” “If we outlaw guns, only criminals will have them.” “What’s next, knife control?”

I believe these things in my heart, and speak honestly and passionately about them when given the opportunity. My convictions are strong, my conscience clear, as I lay out these various hypotheticals. After all, the law is easy to understand when it’s on paper, easy to speculate about when you’re just shouting at your friends. It’s only when this speculation clashes head-on with reality that the strength of my convictions suddenly vanishes. Moments like Saturday night, when a gay nightclub in Orlando became the site of the deadliest mass shooting in our nation’s history. Fifty innocent Americans—sons, daughters, friends, loved ones—ruthlessly slaughtered by a monster with an assault rifle. In this moment, I have no desire to speak my mind.

Like most of us on Sunday morning, the news out of Orlando made me sick to my stomach. I experienced nothing but disgust for a world where something so wretched could happen. It was a reaction I knew all too well, like the way I felt after Paris last year or Sandy Hook in 2012—this time, with a little less confusion and a lot less crying. Unsurprisingly, the media coverage was just as familiar. The black hole of dichotomous punditry returned with a vengeance, not stopping until every last Facebook comment thread was torn apart. The left blamed guns, the right blamed Islam, none of us getting any closer to agreement or civility. I felt for both sides, not because I saw the validity in their arguments, but because I knew they were coming from the same place. No one wants mass shootings. In that respect, we’re all on the same team. It’s important to keep this in mind as we deal with the harsh dialogue crowding our news feeds. The conversation is not about our own virtues, but rather the means by which we keep these virtues safe. How do we prevent another Virginia Tech, another Sandy Hook, another Orlando? The question is beyond difficult. And I must admit, I’ve never been more conflicted about the answer.

So I decided to do some soul-searching, to better understand my views on gun control in the hopes of coming to a meaningful conclusion. Here’s what I found: In addition to everything I listed above, I am a pacifist. In the tenth grade, a friend of mine punched me in the face over a joke I made about his girlfriend. It was a firm punch, enough to leave a decent looking bruise for about a week. As his fist made contact with my plump babyface, I remember feeling a combination of pain, shock and bewilderment. Surrounded by a dozen of my closet friends in the hallway of my high school, I was caught completely off guard. The surprise, the hurt, the humiliation; it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I didn’t even think about punching back. If that friend did the same thing today, my reaction would be no different. That’s how much of a pacifist I am.

I’ve never understood the idea of violence, and probably never will. I can’t imagine having so much anger in my heart that I would inflict physical harm on another human being. I just don’t get it—rape, murder, assault, robbery, kidnapping, war, terrorism, schoolyard brawls, dogfights, gang violence, domestic violence—none of it. I’m not the gun-touting warmonger that some Conservatives appear to be, and that’s exactly why I see no need for gun control. I can wrap my head around owning a firearm; I could never wrap my head around actually pulling the trigger.

My philosophy on guns is born out of incomprehension for those who use them. I assume, often to my own detriment, that everyone is just like me. I assume our population loathes violence as much as I do, minimizing the threat of its weapons. For the millions of responsible gun owners in the United States, that assumption is correct. Far too often, it’s not. I fail to understand the motivations of these killers, fail to sympathize with their barbaric tendencies. And if social media posts are to be believed, I don’t think I’m alone in my ignorance. Violence confuses each and every one of us, the vast majority of Americans who want nothing but peace for themselves and their families. But just because something is unfathomable, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t seek to understand it. We are a nation of inquisitive thinkers, taught to examine a problem before attempting to solve it. I can’t help but think that, in the wake of Orlando, we’re doing just the opposite.

We’re no closer to understanding why: why people feel compelled to kill, why mental illness prohibits sympathy, why terrorism has been able to flourish. Gun control seems like the easy answer, a way to plead ignorance without confronting the ugliness beneath the surface. In all honesty, I have no idea how effective common sense guns laws would be; it’s certainly worthy of consideration. But to ignore the person pulling the trigger is to ignore a disease that has plagued humanity for centuries. Gun control is not the cure for violence, it’s a band-aid. It’s a short-term solution for a problem that we cannot explain, a problem with implications larger than you can possibly imagine. All we can do in this time of peril is come together to seek understanding. We must ask the difficult questions, those concerning the soul of our country and the evils of humanity. We must continue to look past the surface, unafraid of what we may find beneath. We must treat each other with compassion and respect as we attempt to combat our common enemy. We must aim to figure out why. To this confused, heart-broken, pacifistic, twenty-year-old Conservative from small town Connecticut, that’s all that makes sense. In other words, I’d love some more clarity.

Nico D.

Smartest guy in the room, dumbest guy outside of it.