In the wake of the latest school shooting (and who knows how many have occurred by the time you read this), I found myself engulfed in an intense rage—an unprecedented mix of disgust, fear, helplessness, and raw anger.
Determined to transform this fury into constructive action, I reached out to my friends and urged them to engage in the ongoing debate surrounding the issues of gun control and mental health. However, my calls for action largely fell on deaf ears, which only fueled my frustration. I began to shift my anger from politicians to the many indifferent citizens around me. “Why doesn’t anyone care enough to take a stand?!” I would ask, utterly perplexed.
As I observed others continuing their routines as if these violent events were merely background noise, I couldn’t help but feel personally affected. For each individual defending gun rights or avoiding the conversation altogether, it felt like a dismissal of my children’s safety.
I took a moment to reflect on the reactions of those in my life, particularly my friends of color, and I was struck by the realization that many of them seemed less vocally outraged than I was. This was perplexing, especially since Black children are statistically ten times more likely to fall victim to gun violence than their white counterparts. It became clear to me that my friends had been grappling with this issue long before I ever felt this level of anger. They have consistently been fighting against gun violence, while I was only now awakening to the reality of its impact on my own children.
I hate to admit it, but when I read about Black youths being murdered by gunfire, I unconsciously filed it away under “sad, but…”—a way to distance myself from the pain. “Sad, but I don’t know all the details,” I would think. “Sad, but they might have been involved in risky behavior.” Or “Sad, but thankfully my children are not in that demographic.”
This realization is painful to confront, yet I feel compelled to share it as part of the broader conversation about gun violence in America. I’ve been living in a bubble of privilege that shielded me from the fear that my children could be targeted because of their skin color. Now, that bubble has burst, especially as gun violence has infiltrated schools like the ones my children attend.
I don’t have a complete grasp of the solutions to our gun violence crisis. Every proposed measure seems to give rise to more questions and complications. This isn’t a bid to convince anyone of my stance or even a call for change. I’m not looking to cast myself as a martyr or shame anyone. Instead, I want to acknowledge my white privilege concerning gun violence, particularly as I speak out about the dire epidemic of firearm-related deaths in America. This serves as a heartfelt apology to my friends of color for having remained silent while you’ve continuously called for help against gun violence.
I apologize for taking so long to feel this passionate.
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In summary, this piece reflects on the author’s delayed recognition of the urgency surrounding gun violence, particularly in communities of color, and the need to confront personal privilege while advocating for change.
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