Then it’s a story we all know: Guns became politicized. Polarized. Lobby-ized. Humans are good at inventing things, so guns got more militarized as they turned into weapons of mass destruction. Our laws, sadly, didn’t keep up, because humans can also move quite slowly.

Then, I had children, and suddenly, active-shooter drills were part of their curriculum. And then, on Valentine’s Day 2018, parents across Fort Collins, Colorado, received emails informing us that our children had been in a lockdown drill at roughly the same time that 17 children were being killed in Florida. 

My brain fritzed out with confusion: Here a drill, but in Florida, children were being mowed down. Relief, and yet also great grief. Other mothers were getting different news.

My kids came home, stunned, and recounted their drill instructions, which included advice such as: “If you must fight to save your life, fight with all your might, using anything within reach as a weapon.” 

Yes, kids, please fight with all your might against a grownup with a semi-automatic.

What a sad curriculum. What a sad country. Many of us know this. Many of us keep saying the same thing over and over, and a few loud voices keep pushing back. Why even discuss interpretations of the murkily written Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, written at a time when muskets were the weapon of the day? Some conversations aren’t worth having.

What I am interested in is brainstorming real solutions—with like-minded people who also felt a real crack in their hearts every day that innocent people are mowed down, which, it seems, is nearly every day. A day without a shooting now seems the exception.

It strikes me that besides gun zealotry or idolatry, the other tragedy here is our seeming unwillingness to act. Really act. Act like grownups. My daughter and friends helped organize a walkout to protest gun violence, which spread to other schools. Kids poured out of the high schools and toward the town center, and parents rode their bikes or walked alongside — especially near the coal-rolling trucks filled with counter-protesters that heckled them from the roads.

This was the first act of civil disobedience for most, borne out of a mix of desperation and courage. 

Even as the kids gathered to pass the mic and speak, my heart was sunk even lower. Why? I knew what you know: Nothing would really change. Not until the adults of this country protested seriously, left work, took to the streets. The students protested, marched, wrote letters, made calls, and I watched, knowing. Adults wouldn’t go the distance. There’s not enough will.

It’s ironic: I grew up with guns, but my salient memory of childhood was peaceful summer walks through a green field, carrying a .22 to go practice shooting. Tragically, that is not true for youngsters today. They might not shoot as much, but they’re the ones forced by our irresponsibility and inaction to have it forefront in their minds and hearts. 

So, solutions. I celebrate Moms Demand Action, a group founded by a mother of five right after the Sandy Hook tragedy, based on her belief that all Americans should do more to reduce gun violence. No group has “risen so far, so fast, influencing laws, rattling major corporations, and provoking vicious responses from hardcore gun rights activists,” according to Mother Jones.

Although I’m all for background checks and safety locks, these seem like tiny bandages on a gaping wound. The big thing we can do is ban assault weapons immediately, and, even more importantly, elect gun-sensible politicians who don’t take NRA money.

If not Moms Demand Action, there is the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence and  Gun Owners for Safety. All these groups need people willing to spend some time calling legislators, step up, protest.  People like you. People who believe in common sense. People who believe in childhood.

Laura Pritchett is a contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.org, an independent nonprofit dedicated to spurring lively conversation about the West. She is the author of several novels and nonfiction books and directs a program in nature writing at Western Colorado University.

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He wasn’t alone. Many county sheriffs in Colorado said they believed the law didn’t allow enough due process or was unconstitutional.

But since then, some 20 of these so-called “sanctuary” counties have seen the light, implementing this sensible law so that weapons have been taken away from violent people. But it was not used in El Paso County’s Colorado Springs, where a man recently killed five people and wounded many others at Club Q, an LGBTQ bar.

The shooter, who survived, never had to go to court to defend himself against the Red Flag law — even after law enforcement was called in a year ago to stop him from threatening his family with a bomb.

If anyone needed to be parted from weapons, it was the Club Q shooter. But sadly, in the wake of massacres like this, we frequently learn that no action was taken earlier by either law enforcement or family.

The El Paso County Sheriff’s office, in a statement to the Colorado Sun, admitted that it has never initiated an extreme risk protection order, the first step in removing a firearm from someone under Colorado law.

The Red Flag law builds in due process, as only a judge can begin the process of removing someone’s guns. A second court appearance is necessary to extend a temporary protection order beyond two weeks. While a Red Flag law is now used in 19 other states, the Associated Press found that Colorado residents invoke the law less often than residents of other states.

Why not? A major reason is the anti-democratic ideology of county sheriffs who choose what laws to enforce. Sheriffs have bought into the peculiar notion that a county has ultimate legal authority to uphold the Constitution of the United States.

One result of this old “Posse Comitatus” approach is that local sheriffs feel free to ignore state laws they don’t like. All they have to do is label them “unconstitutional.”

This attitude was on full display in several states when they issued emergency orders to curb the spread of Covid 19. Rural sheriffs in Nevada, New Mexico, Oregon, Washington and California resisted. They defied the orders of their state government and refused to enforce public health measures.

The backbone of this county approach is best represented by the Constitutional Sheriff and Peace Officer Association, a group based in Arizona and founded by Richard Mack, described by the Anti-Defamation League as an “anti-government extremist.” Mack is also credited as a founding member of the Oath Keepers, infamous for their involvement in the January 6^th Capitol riot.

In my home state of Oregon, this rhetoric has made inroads. Though a contentious ballot measure restricting magazine capacity and implementing a new firearm permitting system recently passed, several county sheriffs have joined lawsuits to prevent the reforms from going into effect. Many more of Oregon’s 36 county sheriffs have stated they will not enforce all or parts of the law.

While not all of these sheriffs may view themselves as members of the Constitutional Sheriff and Peace Officer Association, the influence of its ideology is undeniable.   

You would think it goes without saying, but the job of a county sheriff has never been to interpret laws as they see fit. Sheriffs are elected officials entrusted by their community to apply laws fairly. Allowing sheriffs to act as supreme legal arbiters is wrongheaded and dangerous. If the El Paso County sheriff or the shooter’s family had implemented the Red Flag law, a massacre might have been prevented.

So-called “Constitutional Sheriffs” couch their rhetoric and ideology as a fight to preserve liberty and justice. It is almost as if they were living in a fictionalized version of the Wild West, where a lone sheriff with a gun upholds civilization.

That is not the world we live in. Guns are not sacrosanct possessions, unstable and dangerous people should not be allowed to stockpile weapons, and activating the Red Flag law can save lives.

If our sheriffs won’t uphold the laws, maybe it’s time to vote for someone who will.

Brian Sexton is a contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.org, an independent nonprofit dedicated to spurring conversation about Western issues. He writes about wildlife and hunting in Oregon.

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But nowhere in that closet is ammunition. That is locked up elsewhere, reflecting a rule I was taught in childhood. Guns are powerful, even deadly, tools. If you own one, it’s on you to keep it safe. That is what the parents of a Michigan teenager failed to do, and their son murdered four of his fellow high school students.

Not long ago, safety seemed gospel for gun owners and the gun industry alike. But something has changed. Responsibility has been discarded in a twisted form of gun idolatry.

That change is detailed in a new book, Gunfight by Ryan Busse. He’s a gun industry boss who walked away from the industry he championed and the company he helped build. His book documents a shift in America’s culture about guns and politics. Disclosure: Busse is a friend of mine. I bought one of my favorite rifles from him. We both live in the same town in Montana where the gun industry is a significant economic player.

Entering our town of Kalispell, there’s a billboard from one of our local gun manufacturers that claims “We build the things they want to ban.” As an “open carry” community, you can sometimes see moms and dads packing semi-auto pistols as they push a swing on the playground.

At a recent high school band concert, one parent wore a T-shirt featuring an AR-15 like a crucifix. The shirt read: “Guns are my religion. I am the priest.” I don’t know what’s more weird, the T-shirt itself or the fact it barely raised an eyebrow.

Back in 2020, some local high school kids here organized a rally in response to the police murder of George Floyd. About 100 vigilantes came to my town’s square, carrying high-capacity semiautomatic rifles. They said they were there to “keep the peace.” I carried a cardboard sign that borrowed a quote from the federal Supreme Court building:  “Equal Justice Under the Law.” I looked around for a parked car to duck behind in case gunshots rang out. Busse was there, too, and we felt the change. As hunters, we understand the reality of even a single bullet traveling 2,000 feet per second.

Clearly, our local vigilantes were no kind of “well-ordered militia” or even a sanctioned sheriff’s posse.

Busse’s company sold tried-and-true rifles, shotguns and handguns, made-in-America to a high standard of craftsmanship for legitimate, legal uses. That was the brand he tried to build, a standard he tried to live by. But Busse describes in Gunfight how guns have become political props and ideological symbols.

Under this new narrative, any attempt or even discussion of limiting firepower in the hands of random people is denounced as tyranny. Industry spokespeople who dared question this narrative saw their careers ruined. The end result is the sale of rocket-propelled grenade launchers in the public square.

There are cultures on earth where you can find such an arms market, but they are in failed states, not democracies. Democracies draw a line between responsibility and unfettered liberty. Anarchy denies any line exists.

You don’t have to look far for this toxic mix of anarchy and firepower. In Oregon in 2016, an armed band of disgruntled white men took over the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, taunting federal authorities until one man, LaVoy Finicum, was shot and killed by Oregon State Police.

In Michigan in 2020, a group of armed men took over the State Legislature.

Also in 2020, in Wisconsin, teenager Kyle Rittenhouse ran into a crowd of protesters with his rifle. As a result, he killed two men and left one badly injured. That same year, in Missouri, a lawyer and his wife pointed their AR-15 rifle and handgun at protestors and photographers, becoming Internet sensations.

Not that long ago, these gun owners would have felt a backlash from fellow gun owners. The idea is that irresponsible gun ownership anywhere is a threat to legitimate gun ownership everywhere. Yet some want to make Rittenhouse, who was acquitted of legal liability but still faces potential civil suits, a folk hero. The Missouri attorney is running for the Senate. The mastermind of the Oregon refuge takeover is running for governor of Idaho.

I believe it is on responsible gun owners to keep our guns safe in our homes. It’s also on us to speak out for responsibility in our communities if we are to maintain our freedoms and our democracy.

Ben Long is a contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.org, a nonprofit dedicated to spurring lively conversation about the West. He lives in Kalispell, Montana.

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By my twenties I had a sizable collection of rifles, pistols and shotguns. Some people I knew had a “pre-64” Winchester, a rifle renowned for its quality. Or they had a Browning Auto 5, a beautiful shotgun. A friend had ten of those in various gauges.

But gun nuts today are a different breed entirely. When they talk about guns they don’t get into describing graceful lines, tight grain wood or immaculate bluing. At gun stores today what I hear praised is firepower that comes out of black plastic and steel. And these weapons are not for hunting, they’re assault rifles sometimes called “modern sporting guns.” The kind of sport they’re good for is not spelled out.

One of the gun stores I visited recently boasted a back wall lined with assault-style rifles, pistols and defensive shotguns, all black except for a choice few in hot pink “for the ladies.” The staff mostly wore black as well. 

Their T-shirts for sale featured some amalgam of the American Flag and warnings such as “Don’t tread on me” and “ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ”, an ancient Greek phrase roughly meaning “Come and take them.” Everybody — and I mean staff and other customers — was packing holstered pistols. I felt out of place and time.

In my sleepy Oregon town, sentiments like this don’t stop at a gun store. A trip to the supermarket is not complete without several sightings of men or women packing a pistol on their hip.

It is as if we are living in a fetishized version of the Wild West. Some of these folks probably envision themselves as the white-hat cowboy, a character prepared to defend against marauders.

My town boasts one of the oldest independent newspapers in Oregon, but the readership is a quarter that of the Facebook page for the local police scanner.  Every crime committed is conveniently pinged to each follower’s cell, providing a steady feed of this world’s ills. But when we see the world through a lens of fear, it is no wonder that we look at our neighbors with suspicion. Maybe that explains the amazing statistic last year from Axios.com that “an estimated 5 million Americans bought their first gun.”

Dana Loesch, the former spokeswoman for the bankrupt National Rifle Association, talked about this free-floating fear: “The government has proven it cannot keep us safe, yet some people want to disarm all of us.” 

This new group of men and women who wear guns as political statements apparently no longer experience weapons as tools for hunting or for sport.  Even claims of defense are suspect. What type of threat necessitates military firepower? Somehow, guns have become identified as symbolizing freedom, individuality or just plain cantankerousness. It makes me miss the old days when a gun was just a tool — albeit sometimes a beautifully crafted one.

The irony of the modern gun movement is that a take-no-prisoner stance on gun rights might just turn into a groundswell of support for tighter regulations of guns. But when the patriots start to lose gun nuts like me, they teeter on the brink of irrelevance. 

Meanwhile, as the FBI cracks down on extremists who like to brag about their weapons on social media, we could be looking at more outbreaks of violence. LaVoy Finicum, who was killed by the FBI during the Malheur Refuge occupation in Oregon, seems to have become a martyr. Kyle Rittenhouse, the young man charged in the slaying of two civil rights protesters, has even developed a cult-like following.

The so-called patriots of today risk the very rights they’ve pledged to uphold with their lives. I know it’s a far less exciting thing to promote, but what makes America great is getting things done by talking and compromising. 

I do not own an AR-15, and depending on my mood I can make an argument both for and against further regulations. After all, is my favorite deer rifle any less deadly than the scariest-looking assault weapon? 

But on Jan. 6 at the Capitol, as I witnessed some of my countrymen threaten to use their weapons against our government, I found regulations more appealing.

It may be tedious to take part in politics on the level of reading about issues and engaging with people, but so far, that’s what makes America the best place to live. If I had to come up with a T-shirt slogan about a weapon, it wouldn’t be a threat, a warning or a brag. How about: A gun is just a gun.

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