My reaction to this latest incident in the epidemic of mass
shootings in America is disgust and outrage. When I first started to hear about
mass shootings, especially school shootings, as a kid, I remember being very shocked,
fearful, sad, and confused. I didn’t understand why anyone would want to do
that, and my focus was mostly on the killers—trying to analyze their mental
state and motivations. I also felt empathy for the victims and their families,
as well as fear that something similar could happen to me or someone I know. As
I got older and these massacres became more frequent, I grew less shocked, but
the other strong emotions persisted. Now that there have been at least 3 school
shootings in Pacific Northwest communities with which I’m familiar—including my
own—in the past year alone, I feel intense anger that nothing significant is
being done to prevent this from happening over and over again. People naturally
still ask the question, “Why did this happen? What compelled him to do this?”
But frankly, does it matter? Whether it’s depression, schizophrenia, racism,
misogyny, or religious discrimination, nothing justifies the selfish act of
murdering innocent people. Nothing justifies the ridiculous fact that it is
possible and oftentimes easy for individuals to inflict this kind of violence
in our country.
As one of my colleagues said, and as
President Obama encouraged in his reaction speech, I intend to make sure
that whoever I vote for in the next presidential election is someone who has a
clear and outspoken plan about how to address the problem of gun violence. Of
course, mental illness and institutional bigotry are also important
contributors to this problem, and it’s also a priority for me to elect someone
who address those issues with practical and intentional measures. But I feel
that access to deadly weapons is a more immediate gateway to mass violence that
cannot be ignored any longer.
Aside from the outrage I feel, I also have noticed my fear
increase. I used to be able to distance myself somewhat from these incidents
since they didn’t happen to me or anyone I knew personally. This is no longer
the case. Their frequency, compounded with the fact that I spend more than 40
hours of each week at a college, have led me to realize I easily could be a
random victim of gun violence, as could any of my colleagues, students, or
friends. More than once, I have had the thought, “What if today is the last day
of my life?” Almost daily now, I pass by a male stranger on campus and feel the
burn of cortisol and fear in my chest, wondering, “Does he have a gun in his
backpack? Does he look like the type of guy that would shoot up the school?
Wait, is there even a certain ‘type’ of guy that does that, or could it be any
guy?” Images of him lashing out at me race through my mind in the few seconds
it takes to pass by him, and I wonder how I will defend myself if I even have
the chance. After hearing the news of the shooting at UCC last night, Sol told
me I have to be careful when I’m at work—that he wouldn’t know how to live
without me. Though knowing his words came from a place of love, I could only
state bluntly, “There is nothing I can do. Anyone can bring a gun to the
college and start shooting.”
Having fears of random strangers pulling out a gun and
shooting me or wondering if today is the last day of my life seems irrational
and melodramatic. Or at least, at one point in time it would’ve seemed
irrational and melodramatic. But these days, it seems like just a natural
response to the pervasive threat of violence that exists in our country. It
exists for everyone that spends any amount of time in public, open spaces. It
exists more so for people of color, women, trans people, gay and lesbian
people, and religious minorities. And yet, despite this constant threat, we
somehow compartmentalize the violence. One of the most disturbing and
frustrating aspects of mass shootings for me is the regimented
public response that always occurs in its wake. Again reflecting President
Obama’s remarks, I too find it sickening that the media, politicians, and
general public offer up their thoughts and prayers for a week or so and then
return to their normal lives without looking back. I get it, though, it’s hard
not to be numbed by such violence when it happens so often. That is, unless you
are one of those directly affected, in which case you are likely re-victimized
over and over again with each incident and each routine response.
I refuse to discontinue empathy for the victims of these atrocities,
and I refuse to view the latter as just unfortunate tragedies. Somehow when I
hear people use well-intentioned words and phrases like “tragedy” and “sending
my love and prayers,” I have a visceral reaction of disempowered exasperation. “Tragedy”
seems to imply a sad event that couldn’t have been avoided. “Sending my love
and prayers” seems to be a vocalization of dismissiveness. Further, how can anyone
view this problem as a non-political one? How can anyone not be enraged? This
is what true empathy is: feeling what those directly affected are feeling, not
just sending thoughts and prayers from a distance. And this is what politics
really are: an organized response to personal and collective pain and passion.
Let’s empathize. Let’s politicize. Let’s get angry. And for
the love of humanity, let’s please change something.
