This I Believe: America is a gun.
I remember Columbine, the first mass shooting at a school, in Littleton, Colorado, in 1999. We watched in horror from Jing Mei’s dorm room at Loeb Hall, in the East Village of Manhattan, and could not believe what was unfolding in front of our eyes. Guns in schools, people who had been bullied getting back at their classmates in the most horrible way. How could this happen?
25 years later, it happens so often that elected officials offer “thoughts and prayers” for lives lost at school and forget about it in the 24 hours news cycle a few days later. Multiple deaths in a school building has become something we’re desensitized to, and the gun laws haven’t changed much, as our 2nd amendment and the right to own a gun trumps the right to go to school, or the mall, or an amusement park, splash pad, concert, basically anywhere in America, and come home alive.
Brian Bilston wrote “America is a gun.” Our obsession with firearms is well documented in Hollywood, in all genres of our music, and most importantly, framed as the 2nd amendment in our constitution. But we shouldn’t have a right to semi-automatic weapons, silencers and bumpstocks that increase killing efficiency. We shouldn’t have a right to military-grade assault rifles – nor should our military or law enforcement agencies – that have become more intensely weaponized to kill citizens for minor offenses, most of all for being Black and breathing.
I don’t have all the answers, but I have a renewed sense of terror, as a lockdown happened at my daughter’s school on Friday, September 13th, 2024. As we were picking up our kids from school, an announcement came over the external loudspeaker of the building to say there was an active shooter in the area and the building was going on lockdown. Parents and students outside of the doors picking up kids were ushered into the building and I was walking up Oak Street, with Pape in his stroller, as people started running back to their cars toward us. One dad said “fuck no, my kid’s in there!!!” and ran toward the building. I didn’t know if there was a shooter on the street, so I turned around and ran with the stroller back to our car, pulling Pape out to get him to safety and leaving the stroller outside while I climbed back into the drivers’ seat and started the car.
“What the fuck do I do?” I internally screamed as I dialed my husband, who didn’t pick up. I called my mom and it went straight to voicemail. I called the school and got a busy signal. People were walking toward the school, so I rolled my window down to tell them what was happening, and kept my window partially open to communicate with people walking by. I had the baby to protect, so I didn’t want to go and see what was happening. “We could be a sitting target right here,” said one mom who walked back to the school looking for her husband. “I hope your babies are safe,” I told her, tears fresh on my cheeks.
Mulay’s friend’s mom, whose daughter goes to the same school called and asked if I knew what was going on. I just got a Remind text from Sali’s teacher that said, “active shooter in the area, the school is on lockdown”, so I repeated the text back to her and she relayed her story of picking up her daughter and driving down the street when she heard the announcement of lockdown. I burst into tears and told her I needed to talk to my husband and would call her back. Her son called back a few minutes later to check on my daughter, and I told him she was safe, even though I didn’t know that myself yet.
I started texting my friends whose kids went to the school, to see if everyone was okay and made it out of the building. Dead silence. F wrote back “no, I don’t have my kid yet” Finally, someone called back, unable to get in touch with her husband. I read her the Remind text and assured her that they were safe inside and had no signal. Texted A to see if her daughter was okay. Watched the Sheriff’s vehicles pile up on Prospect and block off all entrances and exits to the school, and burst into tears again.
The minutes felt like hours. Mulay called me back and said “I’m coming over there.” I said “don’t, there’s a shooter in the area” and he ignored me and drove over with Nas. Mom said she was leaving her appointment and wanted to come to us, I told her no, we’ll come over there as soon as we get Sali. We were supposed to be having a small birthday party for the boys, but that plan faded into the background as the reality of the situation came into scope.
I don’t know what happened to time, but it took years before A texted me that they were releasing the kids. Every single parent I saw had ghosts in their eyes as they hugged their child tightly and walked back to their cars. Getting the baby in the stroller, I yelled across the street to J that I had talked with his wife and “I told her that you guys were inside and okay”, saw S with her son and gave her a hug, and finally, Sali came running out of the exit toward me and tried to keep my tears back while hugging her with all of my body. Saw F from afar with their arm around their baby, hugged C and her son, and walked back down Oak with M and his kids, one of whom who was sobbing as we walked and told them “get it out, feel your feelings” as he called his partner.
How do you turn off the adrenaline? How do you come down after the terror of almost? Everyone is okay, and we are still traumatized. We will not be on the national news (this time), nor even a blip on the local news and yet an entire community has fresh, new trauma to heal from. It is two days later and I can’t sleep or get my hands to stop shaking. I have no appetite, I feel numb and overwhelmed, unable to move. I am not grieving the loss of my child, Masha’Allah, my family is not grieving my loss at work, Alhamdulillah, but I am still not okay.
I know what’s next. I drink water, Mulay cooks up a storm to take care of us, I place my body outside, in the sun, in the forest, on the soccer pitch. I rest my body as much as I can, and force myself to lay down. I read, I laugh, I try to enjoy the small moments with my kids. Buy them a special breakfast and the drink they like, to celebrate one more day of being alive in this dystopia. I connect and thank my child’s teachers, parapros, principal, offer support to others, go back to work tomorrow, take the kids to school and hug them tight when I let them go. Look into their eyes and make sure they know how much I love them, because tomorrow and today are not promised.
This I believe: Human lives are more important than the 2nd amendment. The 2nd amendment is literally killing us. Our attachment to other human beings has got to outweigh our love of guns.
I am world-building right now, trying to make possible the world my children’s grandchildren can live in. Trying to learn from Indigenous folks (the Haudenosaunee people) about thinking seven generations into the future, and honoring seven generations in the past, and knowing that we have to call our representatives, we have to keep pushing, fighting for background checks and bills that ban the sales of semi-automatic weapons, bumpstocks and the guns that nobody needs to purchase. Pressuring local officials for gun locks and buy back programs and ways to get guns off the streets. We need a weapons embargo to stop supplying weapons and funding genocide. We need to keep putting the pressure on. We need to rest, catch our breath, refuel our bodies and spirits, and get up to keep fighting one more day. All we have is this day, and all we have is each other. We must remember.
