20 Connecticut children and 7 adults are dead as a result of 1 heavily armed mentally imbalanced individual w/a grudge. Ban guns, demand the naysayers. THIS, they argue, is why.
Lisa Belkin, a liberal columnist for the Huffington Post argues Gun Control Is A Parenting Issue. She writes:
More than a dozen children went to elementary school this morning and were dead before lunch.
White House spokesman Jay Carney says today is not the day to talk about gun control.
I disagree. That’s all we should talk about today.
We are heartbroken, yes. But saying that will fix nothing. It won’t bring anyone back, and it won’t keep this from happening again. And of course we know the parents of Newtown could have been any one of us. That’s important to remember, but it isn’t enough, because the knowing doesn’t change the fact that we could still be next.
So we can’t just do as we did after Columbine, after Virginia Tech, after Aurora. We can’t just grieve and hold our children close. We have to demand that our country earn the right to call itself a civilized nation. We need to do this because our central job as parents — maybe our only job, really — is to keep our children safe so they can grow up. Easy access to guns keeps us from doing that job.
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Yet we haven’t banned aircraft in the wake of 9/11, nor have we eliminated traffic during school hours. The uncomfortable truth is, Guns prevent more crime by at least 10:1 than they’re used to commit. Arguably, guns provide a measure of security and independence to seniors–just ask the victims of some home invasions…which are growing in numbers, even in bucolic Mason County.
It’s well known the huge assembly line hamburger factories put public health at risk from e-coli, yet the abattoirs grind on. It’s also known, but conveniently ignored, that the #1 killer of children is NOT guns, but cars. Far more children/teens die from auto accidents than any other cause or combination. Yet does the Parent in Chief allude to prohibiting all teens from driving? Of course not. Many animal lovers feel it’s cruel to de-claw cats precisely because the felines can no longer defend themselves. Yet these same geniuses think nothing of ‘de-clawing’ humans to where they can no longer effectively defend themselves. We’re to be left cowering in our homes, etc. praying that whoever is smashing in the door for their home invasion or discovering whatever dark crevice we choose to hide will be slow enough for the cops to arrive or even lose interest.
Ms. Belkin is quick to hesitate at the prospect of armed school teachers, suggesting this would be too brutal an atmosphere to contemplate for our kids. Yet armed guards at our local social security office, federal & county courthouses, and bullet proof windows at our college campuses & DSHS office scarcely raise an eyebrow. Perhaps if we made our children honorary CEO’s and government minions, they’d be better defended?
More likely Tim McVeigh was right: Collateral Damage! There are no fences in Shelton to keep the kiddies off the train tracks that course a couple of feet away from back yards. And for those children who are homeless?–they don’t even merit a public restroom open 24/7. Let us not forget this is a County that was eager to ban smoking from the parks our children use unless it was rendered in the service of Adage and Simpson (aka: Green Diamond). Many of our County & City officials are still on that track–it’s all LEGAL, they say! Get a job and choke a kid. Choking kids is good for the economy, they reason. And who has tested the milk from Mason County mothers for Dioxin? Parts of the County are saturated with this most persistent, most toxic, and most mutagenic of poisons deliberately dumped into our harbor and uncertified local landfills by none other than the Santa of Mason, aka: Simpson, Green Diamond, etc.
But guns do kill people quicker–they’re designed to do precisely that. The 2nd Amendment is NOT about duck hunting. While we’re apologizing to the parents of the 20 children slaughtered in Connecticut, perhaps New York (where the Sullivan law makes possession of handguns illegal) should apologize to all the victims shot like fish in a barrel on the Long Island commuter train that carried Colin Ferguson charged with shooting 23 people, 5 of them fatally. Mr. Ferguson wasn’t tackled until he stopped to reload a 3rd time. If even a couple of passengers had been armed, he could have been stopped much earlier.
Or, the diners at the Luby’s massacre, a mass murder that took place on October 16, 1991, in Killeen, Texas, United States when George Hennard (born October 15, 1956) drove his pickup truck into a Luby’s cafeteria and shot 23 people to death while wounding another 20, subsequently committing suicide by shooting himself. It was the deadliest shooting rampage in American history until the 2007 Virginia Tech massacre. Any of those victims, were they still alive, would argue in favor of the right to meaningful self defense. The 2nd Amendment codifies that right, a right some argue is tantamount to a duty.
If the police, the social security office, the federal and local courthouses, the park rangers, the mall/Wal-Mart rent-a-cops, airport security drones, FBI, banks, factory/lumber mill guards, juvenile probation officers, college campuses, and even FEMA goons need guns, then (WE!) the People need guns for precisely the same reason: To defend against ALL enemies, both foreign and domestic! If ever that proposition was valid, it is more so today. Guns are serious business–too serious to allow a mental basket case to destroy as a bulwark for democracy and against tyranny/violence, state sponsored or otherwise. It is a giant mistake to contemplate allowing the state to have a monopoly on the tools/instruments of force.
Come to think of it, voting undoubtedly leads to some totally asinine laws and elected officials–sometimes precipitating vanity wars which put EVERYONE at risk or worse. But few propose banning voting. The reason is simple: We don’t make the rule from the exception! Rather, the exception proves the rule. It’s been estimated some 10% of Americans are afflicted with some variety of mental illness–ALL THE MORE REASON FOR DEFERENCE TO THE 2nd Amendment!
Mental Illness: A Mom’s Dilemma
From: Soccer Mom
In the wake of another horrific national tragedy, it’s easy to talk about guns. But it’s time to talk about mental illness.
Three days before 20 year-old Adam Lanza killed his mother, then opened fire on a classroom full of Connecticut kindergartners, my 13-year old son Michael (name changed) missed his bus because he was wearing the wrong color pants.
“I can wear these pants,” he said, his tone increasingly belligerent, the black-hole pupils of his eyes swallowing the blue irises.
“They are navy blue,” I told him. “Your school’s dress code says black or khaki pants only.”
“They told me I could wear these,” he insisted. “You’re a stupid bitch. I can wear whatever pants I want to. This is America. I have rights!”
“You can’t wear whatever pants you want to,” I said, my tone affable, reasonable. “And you definitely cannot call me a stupid bitch. You’re grounded from electronics for the rest of the day. Now get in the car, and I will take you to school.”
I live with a son who is mentally ill. I love my son. But he terrifies me.
A few weeks ago, Michael pulled a knife and threatened to kill me and then himself after I asked him to return his overdue library books. His 7 and 9 year old siblings knew the safety plan—they ran to the car and locked the doors before I even asked them to. I managed to get the knife from Michael, then methodically collected all the sharp objects in the house into a single Tupperware container that now travels with me. Through it all, he continued to scream insults at me and threaten to kill or hurt me.
That conflict ended with three burly police officers and a paramedic wrestling my son onto a gurney for an expensive ambulance ride to the local emergency room. The mental hospital didn’t have any beds that day, and Michael calmed down nicely in the ER, so they sent us home with a prescription for Zyprexa and a follow-up visit with a local pediatric psychiatrist.
We still don’t know what’s wrong with Michael. Autism spectrum, ADHD, Oppositional Defiant or Intermittent Explosive Disorder have all been tossed around at various meetings with probation officers and social workers and counselors and teachers and school administrators. He’s been on a slew of antipsychotic and mood altering pharmaceuticals, a Russian novel of behavioral plans. Nothing seems to work.
At the start of seventh grade, Michael was accepted to an accelerated program for highly gifted math and science students. His IQ is off the charts. When he’s in a good mood, he will gladly bend your ear on subjects ranging from Greek mythology to the differences between Einsteinian and Newtonian physics to Doctor Who. He’s in a good mood most of the time. But when he’s not, watch out. And it’s impossible to predict what will set him off.
Several weeks into his new junior high school, Michael began exhibiting increasingly odd and threatening behaviors at school. We decided to transfer him to the district’s most restrictive behavioral program, a contained school environment where children who can’t function in normal classrooms can access their right to free public babysitting from 7:30-1:50 Monday through Friday until they turn 18.
The morning of the pants incident, Michael continued to argue with me on the drive. He would occasionally apologize and seem remorseful. Right before we turned into his school parking lot, he said, “Look, Mom, I’m really sorry. Can I have video games back today?”
“No way,” I told him. “You cannot act the way you acted this morning and think you can get your electronic privileges back that quickly.”
His face turned cold, and his eyes were full of calculated rage. “Then I’m going to kill myself,” he said. “I’m going to jump out of this car right now and kill myself.”
That was it. After the knife incident, I told him that if he ever said those words again, I would take him straight to the mental hospital, no ifs, ands, or buts. I did not respond, except to pull the car into the opposite lane, turning left instead of right.
“Where are you taking me?” he said, suddenly worried. “Where are we going?”
“You know where we are going,” I replied.
“No! You can’t do that to me! You’re sending me to hell! You’re sending me straight to hell!”
I pulled up in front of the hospital, frantically waiving for one of the clinicians who happened to be standing outside. “Call the police,” I said. “Hurry.”
Michael was in a full-blown fit by then, screaming and hitting. I hugged him close so he couldn’t escape from the car. He bit me several times and repeatedly jabbed his elbows into my rib cage. I’m still stronger than he is, but I won’t be for much longer.
The police came quickly and carried my son screaming and kicking into the bowels of the hospital. I started to shake, and tears filled my eyes as I filled out the paperwork—“Were there any difficulties with….at what age did your child….were there any problems with…has your child ever experienced…does your child have….”
At least we have health insurance now. I recently accepted a position with a local college, giving up my freelance career because when you have a kid like this, you need benefits. You’ll do anything for benefits. No individual insurance plan will cover this kind of thing.
For days, my son insisted that I was lying—that I made the whole thing up so that I could get rid of him. The first day, when I called to check up on him, he said, “I hate you. And I’m going to get my revenge as soon as I get out of here.”
By day three, he was my calm, sweet boy again, all apologies and promises to get better. I’ve heard those promises for years. I don’t believe them anymore.
On the intake form, under the question, “What are your expectations for treatment?” I wrote, “I need help.”
And I do. This problem is too big for me to handle on my own. Sometimes there are no good options. So you just pray for grace and trust that in hindsight, it will all make sense.
I am sharing this story because I am Adam Lanza’s mother. I am Dylan Klebold’s and Eric Harris’s mother. I am Jason Holmes’s mother. I am Jared Loughner’s mother. I am Seung-Hui Cho’s mother. And these boys—and their mothers—need help. In the wake of another horrific national tragedy, it’s easy to talk about guns. But it’s time to talk about mental illness.
According to Mother Jones, since 1982, 61 mass murders involving firearms have occurred throughout the country. (http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2012/07/mass-shootings-map). Of these, 43 of the killers were white males, and only one was a woman. Mother Jones focused on whether the killers obtained their guns legally (most did). But this highly visible sign of mental illness should lead us to consider how many people in the U.S. live in fear, like I do.
When I asked my son’s social worker about my options, he said that the only thing I could do was to get Michael charged with a crime. “If he’s back in the system, they’ll create a paper trail,” he said. “That’s the only way you’re ever going to get anything done. No one will pay attention to you unless you’ve got charges.”
I don’t believe my son belongs in jail. The chaotic environment exacerbates Michael’s sensitivity to sensory stimuli and doesn’t deal with the underlying pathology. But it seems like the United States is using prison as the solution of choice for mentally ill people. According to Human Rights Watch, the number of mentally ill inmates in U.S. prisons quadrupled from 2000 to 2006, and it continues to rise—in fact, the rate of inmate mental illness is five times greater (56 percent) than in the non-incarcerated population. (http://www.hrw.org/news/2006/09/05/us-number-mentally-ill-prisons-quadru…)
With state-run treatment centers and hospitals shuttered, prison is now the last resort for the mentally ill—Rikers Island, the LA County Jail, and Cook County Jail in Illinois housed the nation’s largest treatment centers in 2011 (http://www.npr.org/2011/09/04/140167676/nations-jails-struggle-with-ment…)
No one wants to send a 13-year old genius who loves Harry Potter and his snuggle animal collection to jail. But our society, with its stigma on mental illness and its broken healthcare system, does not provide us with other options. Then another tortured soul shoots up a fast food restaurant. A mall. A kindergarten classroom. And we wring our hands and say, “Something must be done.”
I agree that something must be done. It’s time for a meaningful, nation-wide conversation about mental health. That’s the only way our nation can ever truly heal.
God help me. God help Michael. God help us all.
