These words have become so worn.
Shot to death. Killed in one of the myriad adjectives we use to describe shootings: mass, domestic violence, accidental, home invasion, after an argument, by a disgruntled, innocent bystander, random, suicide, gang, school, child.
“Another” is a part of the sentence. There’s always another.
And another.
And another.
Within the past week we’ve added “journalists on live television” and “little girl sitting on her mother’s bed, doing homework” to that lexicon.
The details never change how guns are viewed and treated. The facts are never shocking enough to expand the discussion from gun rights to human rights.
I’ve become convinced that people who ardently believe that having the ability to kill humans quickly and efficiently is their God-given right won’t be moved from that belief. The orthodoxy goes beyond merely supporting the Second Amendment.
Guns aren’t something you own, they’re something you believe in.
This conclusion doesn’t alter my commitment to making changes in our gun laws. Background checks should be required for every gun purchase. Extended-capacity magazines that boost how many bullets a shooter can fire rapidly should be barred. The background-check database system should be kept up-to- date and maintained in real time. People with domestic-violence convictions, even misdemeanors, should not be able to possess or purchase guns. People with severe mental illness who are a threat to themselves or others should not own guns.
Gun violence isn’t only about owning weapons. Its roots are deep in an American culture that mistakes using violence for solving a problem. Popular entertainment connects manhood and strength to firepower. Bad guys have guns, so good guys need bigger guns. We accept murder as a byproduct of our belief that we’re right.
Change will require more than better laws.
A typical defense after a mass shooting — and they happen often enough to have a “typical” response — is to focus only on the person pulling the trigger. Talk about the need for mental-health care and deny that any characteristic of the murder weapon played a role in the body count. The gun isn’t part of the problem.
So let’s talk about personal responsibility. What responsibility do we share for a society that turns to guns — not talking, not even a fistfight, but a lethal weapon — to settle an argument? What responsibility do we share for treating shooting each other as light entertainment on our screens and in our music? What responsibility do we share for giving kids toy guns and telling them to go play?
What responsibility do we share for accepting gun deaths as inevitable?
When the next shooting happens, what will you do?
Will you sigh, think “Oh, no, not another,” and go on with your day a little sadder, but not outraged enough to act?
These questions aren’t only for people who own guns, or those who think that no one should. They’re equal-opportunity inquiries. We Americans believe in individual liberty, but most of us don’t live in isolation, where our beliefs and actions affect only ourselves.
We live — and die — with one another, connected even when we couldn’t be farther apart.
