Let me start by saying this plainly: it absolutely disgusts me to write this article. I wrestled with it for a long time, hoping—foolishly—that it wouldn’t need to be written at all. But here we are. Some will recoil from it. Others will recognize both its purpose and the emotional toll required to put these words on paper. Where you land remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: you will not find comfort on the fence.
There have been 420 mass shootings in 2023 so far. One thousand forty-nine teens and children have been killed by gun violence. Children are dying in schools, in shopping malls, and on the streets. Some die violently—horrifically—like those in Uvalde. Defenseless children are being gunned down in the very place they should feel safest, a place they wake up excited to go to: school. A place to laugh with friends, to learn, to simply be kids.
I cannot imagine being a parent today—watching your child step onto a school bus while knowing, deep down, that there is no longer a 100% guarantee you will ever see them alive again. Yes, life carries risks. Accidents happen. Illness happens. Those are tragedies we are forced to accept as part of the human condition. But gun violence is not inevitable. We do not have to accept this.
So what is the answer to this devastation? At first glance, it seems obvious. Pass legislation to curb the sale of assault-style weapons—the weapon of choice in these massacres—along with stronger background checks and meaningful licensing requirements. Simple enough, given the statistics. And yet, the mere suggestion of gun regulation unleashes hysteria among gun enthusiasts. Any discussion of control is instantly reframed as an attack on the Second Amendment, followed by the tired refrain: “Guns don’t kill people; people kill people.”
It sounds poetic. It’s also nonsense. People with guns kill people. And far too often, people with guns kill children.
The Wrong Children Are Dying
“The wrong children are dying” is a grotesque idea—because it implies that there are right children to die. Even writing that sentence makes my stomach turn. Yet that is the unspoken reality we seem to be living with. How else can we explain the paralysis? How else can we justify the indifference?
It’s nearly impossible to make it through the holidays without seeing a photo of a smiling family—mom, dad, kids—standing proudly in front of a Christmas tree, each one holding an assault-style weapon. A celebration of the season…armed. Not merely gun enthusiasts, but assault-weapon devotees.
And in the middle of that sick spectacle, I can’t help but wonder: would their enthusiasm survive if it were their child—one or all of them—lying lifeless on the ground? If their bodies were so destroyed that the only way to identify them was by a scrap of clothing?
Now imagine, for the sake of argument, that the father in that photo is a member of Congress—someone who has repeatedly voted against gun control and assault weapon bans. This isn’t hypothetical; this happens. Here is the question at the heart of this article: would his position change if he were standing over the bodies of his own dead children, their blood soaking into the pavement?
If he claims the answer is no, then he is lying in the most morally bankrupt way imaginable. And if the answer is yes, then he may be worse still—because he was willing to let other people’s children die until the carnage finally reached his own doorstep. That is the source of my disgust.
The brutal truth is this: children will continue to die—likely every single day—from gun violence. And it appears that until the right children die, meaningful legislation banning assault weapons will remain politically impossible. Until then, Congress will offer thoughts, prayers, and silence.
Does it get any sadder than that?
I can’t imagine how.
