Showing posts with label Gun Free Zones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gun Free Zones. Show all posts

Friday, March 15, 2019

You've got to be carefully taught


“Experience,” baseball philosopher Vernon Law famously said, “is a hard teacher, because she gives the test first, the lesson afterwards.” Oxford don philosopher C.S. Lewis put it like this: “Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn.”



The ballplayer, who was merely characterizing experience, turns out always to be right. The don, predicting its effect, sadly, isn’t. It turns out that the modern human capacity for ignoring hard-taught lessons is profound. You will be able to watch this play out in the next few days as the world assesses the lessons from the mosque shootings in New Zealand. Predictably, most folks will “learn” the exact lesson that best suits what they already believe. Those convinced that evil arises from the barrel of gun will “learn” that lesson again, ignore all others, and fight to force it on all and sundry. Those inclined to attribute mystical, evil, trans-global powers to politicians they despise will “learn” that the political leaders they despise have mystical,evil, trans-global powers, ignoring all other possible motives and means.*

Those of us who take the world as it comes, who try to be clear-eyed about the lesson the harsh schoolmistress teaches, must do better. We have learned here before. In the most terrible way imaginable, we have been brought to class by a unique teacher.

For what has to have been the first time, the shooter in the first mosque wore a camera. Despite the best efforts of benighted officials seeking to repress this vital tool, I’ve seen it. I watched its nearly 17 horrific minutes four times before the link was sent where governments often send hard truths. Because while it is horrible,** it is true. It is the truest thing you will ever see. And it has lessons to teach.

Observe: The shooter was able to approach from down the block and enter the building unchallenged while in full tactical gear and carrying two long guns.
Lesson: Live in Condition Yellow

Observe: He passed several members of the mosque, who did not even call out.
Lesson: SEE something so you can say something.

Observe: He entered through an open gate and an open exterior door. (The side exterior doors to the Mosque were also open.) The shooter then walked up and down the same hallway repeatedly, but never even tried the several doors on either side of the hallway where other worshipers were hiding.
Lesson: Get a door between you and the shooter. Lock the door if you can.

Observe: The shooter was on scene for six minutes, returning once to his car down the block to retrieve another weapon and more ammunition, then re-entering the mosque. There was no police response while the shooter was on scene. After a second entry to the Mosque, the shooter went back to his car and drove calmly away.
Lesson: You have to solve the problem without the police. You are your own first responder, and likely the only one who can be there on time.

Observe: No one made any attempt to intervene with him, to attack him, to get inside his OODA Loop. (One worshiper ran into him as the worshiper tried to flee, but made no effort to disarm the shooter.) This despite the fact there were multiple opportunities to engage the shooter during many clumsy reloads and many malfunctions he had with his weapons. He frequently turned his back on his victims. He walked blindly through openings.
Lesson: Mass shooters will provide opportunities for violence of action. Take advantage of them. You're probably going to die, so take your best shot.

Observe: Most victims died cowering in corners. The shooter shot everyone he could see – many times. Needless to say, no one was able to exchange fire with the shooter, because New Zealand largely disarms its citizens.
Lesson: You - and you only - are responsible for your own safety.
Lesson: You have to stop the shooter, because the shooter won’t stop until he’s done.

Observe: The shooter was, in fact, very poorly trained if trained at all. He charged into rooms, he had lousy target awareness, he turned his back on people who should have been threats to his safety, he could not clear a failure-to-feed, fumbled reloads, and more. An armed worshiper with even minimal training and the right mindset would have been more than a match for him.
Lesson: Have a gun. Carry the gun. Get trained with the gun. Be prepared – morally, spiritually, physically – to employ the gun to save your life and others’ lives.

Observe: We know the point above is correct because this shooter’s accomplice DID encounter armed resistance at the second mosque. A worshiper (likely “illegally” armed given New Zealand’s laws) fired at the shooter there and that shooter instantly abandoned his attack.
Lesson: Armed resistance stops mass shooters.


* I was able to come back twelve hours after this post originally went up and add links demonstrating exactly my point. That Chelsea Clinton and Donald Trump were both credited with such powers makes the point an even finer one.

** And it is utterly horrific. Human bodies piled like snow drifts in the corners. The impact of shotgun rounds striking skulls. The shooter’s cavalier, flippant commentary as scores die crying out for mercy. You should watch it. Because it’s true. But I won’t think less of you if you can’t. The lessons are still the lessons, but they do burn in a bit more deeply with the viewing.

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Le Médecin malgré lui*


(A tragicomedy in one scene.)


            The scene is a doctor's office of another era. A large and well worn oaken desk separates the doctor and his patient. The doctor's chair is high-backed, plush and leather. The patient perches on a plain, straight, armless wooden chair, one leg of which is just slightly shorter than the others causing it to thump as the patient moves in the chair. [Importantly, neither character should ever remark on this, even with a glance or gesture.] Everything in the office speaks of long use and ill attention, except for an enormous, gleaming metal and porcelain cabinet that looms behind the doctor. [Care should be taken to light the cabinet aggressively, so that the effect is of a glowing, sublime and vaguely overwhelming presence.]

The doctor is a tall and slender man in his mid-fifties, his close-cropped, once brown hair gone grayish with the strain and aggravation of years spent telling patients exactly what is good for them and not being universally heeded. He wears a dark suit, and a white lab coat with an American flag lapel pin slightly askew.

The patient is a woman of indeterminate middle age. Her smart business suit, tame hairdo and (if the director wishes) cliched horn-rimmed spectacles, along with her upright posture, vocabulary and close attention to the doctor all suggest a person of intelligence, education and judgment  . . . but all tinged with a wisp of real worry.


Doc:     Well Ms. Jones, you are terribly, terribly ill.

Jones:   Oh my goodness, what’s wrong with me. Is it cancer? Lupus? The Zika virus?



D:        Now, now, none of that. Naming your disease is not going to change how sick you are, Ms. Jones. Certainly you can see that.

J:          But don’t you need to diagnose my disease to treat it? Isn't its etiology important, crucial even, in fashioning an efficacious treatment?

D:        Well now! Look who's spent some time on Web MD. Who’s the doctor here, hmm? I know exactly what you need. Yes indeed.

::Swivels his chair to the large cabinet behind him and swings opens the doors to reveal shelves sagging with hundreds of bottles of blue pills::

::Swivels back and hands a large bottles to Mrs. Jones::

D:        Now take three pills five times a day. Do your best to combat the nausea, hair loss, cramping, drowsiness, insomnia, spasms, temporary blindness, light sensitivity, deafness, tinnitus, speaking in tongues, chills, night sweats, flaking skin, oily skin, loss of hearing, loss of libido, loss of memory, constipation and explosive diarrhea that are certain to accompany the treatment. Do be sure to report any other side effects, as I really cannot anticipate what those might be and I sort of like to keep track.

Alrighty then, you can go now. See you in 90 days.

::He looks down at his papers::

J:          What are these, Doctor?

D:        ::Looking up, surprised and slightly peeved to see Ms. Jones has kept her seat::

            Now, missy, that seems obvious. They are blue pills. These are what I give my all my patients any time any of them gets sick.

J:         The same pill? No matter what caused their cancer or  . . .

D:       ::interrupting with a raised hand::

             Hey there! We'll have none of that!

J:         I'm sorry. I mean to say, whatever caused their . . . er. . . .sickness . . . .

            ::The doctor smiles and lowers his hand:: 

           . . . .whatever it might be called – they all get the same pill?

D.        Oh yes, of course the same pill.

           ::He comes to his feet then leans across the desk. His voice becomes oratorical::

            I believe very strongly in these pills, Ms. Jones. I am deeply committed to these pills. I want these pills to be a part of my legacy.

J:         Are they effica. . . um . . . will they work? Will I get well?

D:        ::He sits::

            I haven’t the slightest idea. Whether they "work," as you call it, whether you get "well" – these are not the point. The point is that I’m the doctor and I want people – well, not people, exactly, but my patients –  to take these blue pills.

J:          Why? 

D:         ::Exasperation growing::

             Now you are a silly little thing aren’t you.

::He stands again, reaches across and deliberately pats her head::

Why dear, it is simply common sense to take these pills. Common sense. You’re not objecting to common sense are you?

J:         Well, I’m not sure that  . . .

D:        ::He sits with a thump of finality::

             Hush now, child. After all, who’s in charge here, eh? I’m the doctor. You’re the patient. Yes, you’re terribly sick and you lack common sense. But never fear, I have something to help with your lack of common sense as well.

J:          Let me guess. . . .

::Doctor swivles precisely back to cabinet for another bottle of blue pills.::

D:        Now I really haven’t any more time for your questions today, young lady.

           You scoot now.

J:         OK

             ::She takes the two large bottles of pills and rises to leave.::

D:         ::Just as the patient reaches the door. . . :: Wait! Wait one second!

J:           Yes, Doctor?

D:          You forgot the bill.



* Obligatory apologies to Jean-Baptiste Poquelin.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

1,000 words

If there was any chance you still have not come to understand the simple, self-delusional, criminal idiocy that forms the foundation of the "gun free zone," then this image ought finally to convince you.



Except, of course, that it won't.

If you were ever capable of believing that a man already set on murder, as was, evidently, Muhammad Youssef Abdulazeez, would be deterred by a sign, then I think we have to admit to ourselves that while you are capable of believing anything, you are capable of learning nothing.

If you ever endorsed the efficacy of the "gun free zone," that means you were possessed of the sort of spectacularly limber imagination that George Lucas or Walt Disney could only envy. Because you were able to picture, in your mind's eye, a disgruntled ex-employee or a seething jihadi or a garden variety madman -- heedless of the laws of God and man that have ever prohibited murder -- being pulled up short by silhouette of a gun and null sign. You could script an internal conversation that went something like this:

"Well. I had planned on annihilating everyone in the place, before sending myself to join them in hell or paradise. But whereas I don't care how many of my fellow men have to die to (satiate my rage) (satisfy my theology) (silence the voices in my head), I am certainly not going to stoop to taking a gun into a building that is quite clearly labeled to bar such conduct.
Why, that would be wrong.
I suppose I'll just go home."


A mind that can contain that depth of imagination has its merits, but it's not the sort place terribly hospitable to facts.

If you ever argued that "gun free zones" make anyone safer from anything or anyone, then you are either a hoplophobic fool or -- and this, I fear, is too widely the case -- the sort of heartless ideologue for whom truth is a mere speed bump on the way to the tyranny you desire, and for whom today's events in Chattanooga are nothing more nor less than another crisis not to be wasted.

As I have said and said and said - Robert's Rule holds that gun free zones aren't.

But then you knew that, didn't you?

Friday, April 8, 2011

As I was saying . . .

Gun free zones aren't: "One person was killed and four others injured in a shooting at the Southern Union State Community College in eastern Alabama Wednesday afternoon"

 


Restraining orders don't: "A judge in Lee County [had] issued a temporary order against Mr May and scheduled a hearing for May 11."


Tell me again why adults should give up their right to self defense when they walk onto campus.

But then maybe this sort of thing has never happened before, so no one could ever have predicted. . . Oh. Wait. Never mind.