Triggered

There’s this perverse solemnity that comes over some conservatives and NRA members when another mass shooting happens. Suddenly their voices become so measured and serious, a patronizing display of false solidarity masked under a pitifully thin veil of grief. As we’ve all had this conversation before (or watched those TV people have this conversation before), numbness has become the survival tool. The well of shock ran dry long ago.

What I need is for someone in power who identifies as a Republican, conservative, NRA member, far-right person, whatever term least offends, to say, “Yes, this is bad.” Don’t deflect to the victims or their families or the gunman’s fucked-upness – just admit that this is bad. Tell me you agree that people should not have to mumble “phone, wallet, keys, gun” as they pat their pockets going to the grocery store or spa or school or church. I know you might, but is not about you. This is about deli meat and foot massages and homework and God. This is about the “personal freedoms” that are actually personal, not those attached to a Spartan fantasy of self-defense.

I am mystified by the psycho-emotional gymnastics necessary to cling to the identity of “proud gun owner” during weeks like these. I’m a “proud” gay, but I wasn’t when a bunch of us flew to Puerto Vallarta for circuit parties during the pandemic. I’m not when a prominent gay person says something fucked up, or when we neglect people within our community, or when we body-shame each other or act culturally superior to other people who just want to have a conversation. Sometimes, I’m an ashamed gay. You can be an ashamed gun owner, too. It’s not a productive space, but perhaps it’s one that could allow you to get out of the way.