I remember the first time I learned about school shootings—my school took a more hands-on approach.
Marshall Lane Elementary sits next to an open field, home to gophers and other various rodents. One afternoon, around 4 p.m. in our afterschool program, the leaders interrupted our daily free time to play a game as a group. The rules were simple: everyone had to remain silent, the lights had to remain off, and nobody could get picked up.
Lasting an hour, the ordeal brought much confusion to my third-grade self. Why did police cars line the drop-off circle? How come parents kept trying to get through the barricaded door? Most importantly, why was the girl seated next to me crying?
Later, I found out that a man had been using a rifle to shoot the gophers on the field beside our campus. He had no intention of ever pointing his gun toward a student, but we didn’t know that. Thus, upon hearing the gunshots, the adults responded to an event which, sadly, they had prepared for.
I remember the second time I learned about school shootings—only, I learned about a real one. On February 14, 2018, Nicolas Jacob Cruz opened fire in Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. 17 students and staff died. 3000 miles away from Miami, my middle school was fortunate to only hear about the gunshots through television and news articles. Nonetheless, our hearts felt for the victims and their loved ones. The following month, we, along with countless others nationwide, held a walkout in memory of the victims and as a push for gun control.
At neither age seven nor age ten could I fully understand the gravity of America’s gun violence crisis. However, I understood one thing: without the field man’s rifle, and without Cruz’s AR-15, I never would have learned about school shootings in the first place. And although I take great pleasure in education, that piece of knowledge I could have gone without.
So why does our country continue to allow, arguably, easy access to guns? In Florida, any 21-year-old state resident who is willing to wait three days can own a firearm. In Texas, any 18-year-old without a criminal history can do the same, with no waiting period necessary.
The answer resides in the hyper-patriotic mindset that plagues our country. Deceived by notions of a tyrannical government, Americans against gun control believe that their freedom is irrevocably tied to their right to bear arms. Arguing against gun control, the National Rifle Association describes themselves as “proud defenders of history’s patriots and diligent protectors of the Second Amendment.” Many view guns as coinciding with American pride; the NRA paints their pro-gun message in bright red, white, and blue. To revoke the Second Amendment is to revoke patriotism as a whole.
Hyper-patriotism blinds its victims from the severity of America’s gun violence. While they sing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” I begin to question the anthem’s last lines—to me, we are the land of the AR-15, home of the terrified.