Gun violence takes away right to live free
I have spent my 24 years in comfortable familiarity with firearms.
I am a product of the southern United States, raised far below the Mason-Dixon line. My home state of Louisiana ranks fourth in the country for gun ownership — and gun-related deaths.
Growing up in the metropolitan area of New Orleans, local headlines about fatal shootings on Bourbon Street or during Mardi Gras season were not uncommon.
Even so, practically everyone I knew exercised their Second Amendment rights.
My parents both possess concealed carry permits. The fraternity boys at my undergraduate university in small town USA were hardly shy about flaunting their hunting rifles after a beer or two.
A weekend tradition for my dad and me entailed frequenting an indoor shooting range, where he let me practice unloading his pistol into a paper target.
Might I add, I’m an adequate markswoman.
But this morning, when I noticed the top trending hashtag on Twitter was #ItsGettingTooHardTo – an ongoing conversation about surviving in this country amid the seemingly constant gun violence – I had to agree.
Now residing in the nation’s fifthlargest city with well over 1 million neighbors, I can’t say the thought of a mass shooting happening here doesn’t cross my mind.
What if I’m mid-yoga session and a gunman opens fire, like in Tallahassee, Fla., last November? What if I’m depositing a check at the bank and the errand ends in my bloody death, like in January’s Sebring, Fla., shooting? What if I’m taking a test for my graduate program at Arizona State University and find myself facing a gun barrel, like at Charlotte’s University of North Carolina this past April?
And finally, what if I’m just grocery shopping for the week at Walmart and become a number in a body count, like in Saturday’s El Paso, Texas, massacre? What if I’m catching up with friends at a bar and wind up dodging bullets, like in Dayton, Ohio, on Sunday?
It’s maddening. And it used to be easy to brush away the intrusive anxieties and rationalize the occurrences as improbabilities.
“It could never happen to me,” I justify, “not in my community.”
But the reality of the situation is it absolutely could.
I can guarantee that 25-year-old Jordan Anchondo didn’t fathom she’d sacrifice her life to fiercely protect her son’s last weekend. The other 21 victims in El Paso didn’t have an inkling, either, that that morning would be their last.
As I transitioned from teenager to young adult, my dad incessantly warned me to avoid going out after midnight – because misfortune thrives in the wee hours of the morning.
But these murders aren’t just taking place before the sun rises. American blood is spilling in broad daylight.
The only difference between us and these countless casualties is sheer luck. And that’s a terrifying realization. My generation isn’t birthing nearly as many children. In 2017, the birth rate was the lowest it’s been in three decades , according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
Contributing causes could be the state of the job market and more widespread access to birth control. But time and again, I’ve also heard peers say, “Why would I want to bring a baby into this world?”
My country – our country – treasures its moniker, the “Land of the Free.”
This typhoon of gun violence is nothing less than an infringement on that cherished independence. Citizens do not deserve this plague of fear.
Change isn’t just brought about by thoughts and prayers.
Change means action. And we desperately need it.