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Author: TriSec    Date: 10/03/2015 11:19:51

Good Morning.

Yes, America still excels at something on the global stage.

It's death.

Death by gun, specifically.

I suppose we have Thomas Jefferson to thank for this:

A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.

I'm not going to debate the merit of this piece of 18th century wisdom today. But I will observe that there have been many proposals and controls that fall into that "well-regulated" bit that 2nd amendment supporters always seem to overlook.

There's additional ideas that have been floated around of late - our own Bob proposes that all handguns be registered and insured - just like your car - and that insurance premium go to paying for victims of gun violence.

Sounds good, but I'd like to ask a few rhetorical questions about that 'right to keep and bear arms'.

Do we have the right to manufacture them?

Do we have the right to sell them?

Do we have the right to transport them?

Maybe a different tack would be to not attempt to restrict the right to keep and bear arms, but to restrict the trade and transport of them - things that aren't specifically enumerated in the Constitution.

Remember the humble lawn dart? A giant, finned, weighted 'toy' with a metal spike, it was meant to be thrown around your lawn at a target ring placed on the ground. What could possibly go wrong?

After only a handful of children were killed by these toys, often thrown by members of their own families, the manufacture, sale, and possession of these death-javelins was completely banned. Nobody has been killed by a lawn dart since.

While an outright ban on guns is prohibited by the Constitution, there's plenty more ways the access and use can be restricted. Maybe even by Executive Order so the President doesn't have to deal with a complicit congress...who I daresay should be charged as an accomplice in every murder by gun in the United States.

Or, we could read more stories like this.

It was supposed to be a party.

There was BBQ, bowls of chips, and coolers of beer. Neighbors complained about the noise, so they turned the music down a notch. Two young men in their early 20s—one sitting on a bean bag, the other lying prone on his belly—worked the joysticks on a video game. There was another knock at the door.

There were two shots, one immediately following the other. In an instant, both young men were dead, both shot once in the back of the head execution-style with a 9mm handgun.

When police arrived, they found scared partygoers crowded outside in the parking lot. There was a good description, but no one knew the gunman. He had gone as quickly as he’d come, disappearing into the dusk.

It was nearing the end of summer when I got the call. A detective said my brother had been killed. The medical examiner identified him by a tattoo. While some people may opt for their mother’s name or that of a lover, my twin brother had my name emblazoned on his upper shoulder.


Pregnant with my second child, I was dressing for work when the phone rang. I will never forget the all-consuming pain I felt in those moments. I remember how my husband threw his arms around me as I crumpled onto the floor and wept. Nearly 20 years prior, our father had been murdered in a strikingly similar fashion, shot four times in the head.

“He’s dead,” I sobbed. “Somebody killed Chris.”

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