Trigger warning: violence, gun violence
I sat down yesterday and tried to write. I organized an amazing charity tournament at my local game store for the animal shelter nearby. We raised a bunch of money and donated a mountain of supplies that filled and then spilled over their donation boxes. The volunteers and staff members were full of bright shining smiles and thanks for our efforts. But no matter how many times I started to write, I couldn’t seem to get the words out.
Which is why this post is about something else entirely. These are going to be non-Magic waters we’re treading in.
I figured out why I can’t write about the amazing things my players did on Sunday.
I’m angry. In fact, I am seething.
Unless you’re living under a rock, you’ve heard of the heart wrenching tragedy in Orlando. Fifty lives were taken away from us. Fifty futures cut short by a bigot with too much access to firearms. Fifty of my brothers and sisters shot down while they were celebrating their lives. ‘The worst mass shooting in United States history’ they’re calling it.
Because an angry man with an agenda had access to weapons no civilian should be able to get their hands on.
It has stricken me to my core.
I’m bisexual, a fact not widely known, and in my world, who a person loves is the business of the person and their lover. Period. Now I feel like if I ever found the woman of my dreams, we could get shot on the street for holding hands, for holding hands, because someone decides that their personal feelings outweigh the sanctity of my life.
That’s exactly what this was: a hate crime. A man decided that his view of the world is more important than the happiness of others. His entitlement led to these murders and whatever ties he may or may not have with terrorist organizations notwithstanding. His was an agenda of fear and hatred, one which is working. The vitriol I have seen flowing out of the people’s mouths about individuals following the Muslim faith makes angry and sick. By focusing on that, you are taking away the real root of the problem: homophobia and way too much access to guns.
I wish I could say that this is the first shooting to affect me on a personal level, but it’s not. And that makes me even angrier.
I remember sitting on the floor of my babysitter’s house as the news covered the tragedy at Columbine. The image of the student climbing out of a second story window with bloodied jeans will stay with me until I die. I was too young to process the fear and sadness I felt. School was a safe place, school was a place for learning but now I would never look at school the same way.
I was scared to go my school for a week.
I was attending classes at Virginia Tech in the spring of 2007. My idyllic college experience was shattered when another individual (I refuse to name the shooter), who had no business with a gun, stole the lives of 32 Hokies. So many lives cut short before really finding themselves, professors who guided and inspired. I remember the fear of not knowing where my friends were, of messages sent but not replied to, of phone calls that would ring and go to voice mail. Even typing these words, the pain and panic comes back.
That was supposed to be the end. It was the worst mass shooting in America’s history at the time. This was the event that was supposed push this issue to the forefront of Congress and something was going to done. After all, we read and heard ‘our thoughts and prayers are with Virginia Tech’ and ‘Today, we are all Virginia Tech’ so that had to mean changes were coming, right
Weeks passed, and we still hurt but the world slowly moved on and the politicians who gained publicity from our grief were now conspicuously silent. We have continued to mourn for nine long years and nothing has changed.
In fact, it has gotten worse.
My second year teaching we had a lockdown at my middle school. A sixth grader noticed one of his fellow students place a gun in a locker and ran to tell security. The fear and pain came back as I sat with my middle schoolers against the wall and under desks, my body between them and the door, ready and waiting to spring up if needed. ‘Are we going to be the next sad headline?’ shot through my head as we waited.
That student saved the life of every person in school that day, but that should not be the reality we live in, where an 11-year-old can find a gun that easily.
Then Sandy Hook happened. Someone broke the news to me while I was teaching conjugations to my eighth graders and I had to step out of the room to compose myself. Later that night I read the accounts of teachers who saved and tried to save their students and my heart bled again. These too were my people and they were taken from me too soon. Children, who are the future of the world, snatched away by a man wielding semi-automatic weapons he should have had no access to.
This time, I thought. These were children! Young children, who no one could blame from existing. Young teachers had lost their lives in a career where that should never be a threat. Now, we’ll see those thoughts and prayers turned into actions.
I remember the anger, the sadness, the shouts for change. I remember them fading away as time went on and nothing changing.
Today, June 14th, is the 166th day of the year. We have had more mass shootings than days in the year, the number sitting at 179 as of 11am. No other first world country has this problem. Period. You can do the research yourself and discover this fact easily. Why is it here of all countries that changes never happen? I know why, but I am one voice who can’t compete with the pockets being lined by the NRA.
I don’t want your fucking prayers. I don’t want your fucking thoughts. I don’t want any one-shot statuses on Facebook only to forget next week. I don’t want one more moment of silence. I don’t want to see another vigil. I don’t want to watch another president give a speech about this kind of tragedy.
I don’t want to be murdered for my job, where I go to school, who I love.
Keep your thoughts and prayers and moments of silence and give me a world where I don’t have to live in fear of being part of the next mass shooting headline.