[2018 feels like
it’s been about ten years in one, but it’s almost done, so this week I’ll
AmericanStudy a handful of the biggest stories from the year that was. I’d love
to hear your year in review thoughts as well!]
On what’s not
new, kind of new, and entirely new about our worst contemporary tragedies.
Seven years ago
to the day, I wrote a year
in review piece on the January 2011 Gabrielle Giffords shooting, and on how
pioneering scholar Richard
Slotkin’s AmericanStudies analyses
of violence and guns
in American history and identity could help us understand such shocking and
disturbing acts of political and social violence. The fact that I’m writing a
year in review piece seven years later about another mass shooting—and, more
exactly, the fact that I could have picked any one of the almost literally
countless other 2018
mass shootings as a starting point for this post; although we must keep
counting, and must keep thinking about each
of them and their victims individually—proves Slotkin’s theses and then
some. The final
book of Slotkin’s trilogy called America a “gunfighter nation,” and hardly
a day has gone by in 2018 that hasn’t featured literal, painfully exemplary
acts of gun-fighting. Indeed, one of the most frustratingly common responses to
such mass shootings—the idea that we just
need more guns and shooters to intervene—represents yet another layer to
that symbolic but all-too-real gunfighter nation mythos.
So we’ve always
been a nation deeply linked to images and realities of violence and guns, and
mass shootings like the February
14th, 2018 massacre at Parkland, Florida’s Marjory
Stoneman Douglas High School have to be put in that longstanding and
foundational American context. But at the same time, no AmericanStudier or
American historian (or even slightly knowledgeable and engaged observer of
American society) could possibly argue that mass shootings have not become more
ubiquitous, more of a fact of American daily life, over the last few years;
that whatever the longstanding impulses or inclinations to which they connect,
these horrific acts of mass violence have not found more consistent
outlets in the 21st century. Or, to put it more exactly and
crucially, that white Americans have not been forced to deal with the threat of
mass violence more fully—as African
Americans, Native
Americans, and Asian Americans
(among other groups) can attest, such threats have been part of the American
experience of too many communities for centuries. But in 2018, the threat of
mass violence has for the first time become a genuine possibility for every
American community at every moment and in every space, from night
clubs to synagogues,
supermarkets
to high schools.
That constant
threat comprises a dark new reality, perhaps especially for American parents
(my sons have to do monthly active shooter drills in their schools, something I
can’t quite bear to dwell on). But in the aftermath of the Parkland shooting, young
students at the high school also modeled another and very different new
reality: a generation willing and able to use their voices, their social
media presence, and their activist
acumen to challenge such dark histories and their causes. We’ve only just
begun to see the potential effects of this group of young people and the
broader generation they represent, although the November
midterm elections certainly exemplified the kinds of victories this cohort
can help produce. But while electoral and political results are certainly important,
the fundamental truth is that the Parkland students have already and significantly
changed the conversation, making clear that both gun victims and student
communities will have a say in the ongoing debate around mass shootings and
guns in the United States.
Next reflection
tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you
think? 2018 reflections you’d share?
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