The Not-So-Okay Corral

Want to start an argument with an American? Mention guns.

For most Europeans, I may be preaching to the choir. I’m not sure some Americans understand quite how provocative guns are in your own society. It goes to the subject of violence, something taken for granted in large swaths of America: there is it; what can you do?

Yet in the rest of the free world, violence is more shocking, whether terroristic or man vs man, because it happens far less frequently. Disagreements, or even bumping into someone is not a usual cause for bullying or violence outside America. A quick, “Sorry,” is usually sufficient.

I didn’t realize the attitude Europeans had about America until I spent a Christmas in Wales. A friend and I were spending the three-day Christmas holiday at a castle filled with mainly touring Australians and wealthy Brits.

During a lull between Christmas brunch and a seven-course dinner, they had a clay pigeon shoot. While people in the UK don’t generally own hand guns, I thought it nothing unusual to see a clay pigeon shoot with rifles. The hunt, after all, was a thing amongst the very rich, so I have always been led to believe.

I had never before handled a gun of any sort above the level of water pistol or childhood “six-shooter” when playing cowboys and Indians (although what the politically correct term for that is now is anyone’s guess). In fact, I’d only gone outside to watch.

But my friend, who had probably learned to shoot before she learned to ride a bike, talked me into having a go. With no expectation of being able to hit anything, I joined in the friendly competition. I let the gun master – or whatever he’s called – teach this lefty how to shoot a right-handed rifle.

At one point during my turn, I realized that when the clay pigeon disappeared from view (blocked by the rifle), if I pulled the trigger, I actually hit it. I can’t say my, “Wow, I hit it!” was actually joy in shooting. I was more than happy for my turn to be over, despite three hits out of five tries. I’m certain the next contestant was far less skittish about guns.

When I showed surprise at having placed in the top three for women, an English woman commented, “Well, America is a gun culture, isn’t it?”

I was taken aback. Yes, we’re allowed to own guns. I don’t. I wasn’t raised around guns. I didn’t grow up in the wilderness, so, as I see it, I have no need for a gun.

I hate guns. I abhor the sort of violence they engender. I find commercials about the military that extol the virtues of warfare offensive. Thank you for your service, but keep your wars away from me!

This does not mean I would deny you your right to have a gun, provided you can demonstrate you’re neither a terrorist nor mentally ill. But keep it away from me.

The very fact that I would say something like that spurs some of my gun-loving friends and family members to feel threatened to the point of argument.  They often feel the need to try to convince me to like guns, as if they are entitled to their opinions, but I’m not entitled to mine.

I will never be convinced to like guns, to want one or – God forbid – to own one.

My lack of gun ownership in no way compromises the second Amendment.

I do believe the Constitution says Americans have the right to bear arms, not the duty to own them.

Be on your way. Cherish your pistol. I will continue to exercise my right not to bear arms.

As Hawkeye Pierce on M.A.S. H. said:

I will not carry a gun... I'll carry your books, I'll carry a torch, I'll carry a tune, I'll carry on, carry over, carry forward, Cary Grant, cash and carry, carry me back to Old Virginia, I'll even 'hari kari' if you show me how, but I will not carry a gun!