The Bill of Obligations: Article Two

07 Saturday May 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology

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“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.”

This, as most readers may know, is the Second Amendment to the US Constitution. It is part of the Bill of Rights. Before considering what a reasonable companion Bill of Obligations might be, let’s consider what the Amendment itself says.

The construction of the sentence is essentially:

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.

Some have emphasized the last few words: “Shall not be infringed” and argued that this means no regulations for keeping and bearing arms is Constitutional. Despite that, no-one actually believes that. No-one would argue that the government cannot regulate poisons, or bombs, or tanks. No-one argues that convicted felons should be allowed to arm themselves while out on bail.

The overall construction of the sentence clearly gives a rationale and that rationale is the premise that a well regulated militia is necessary to the security of a free State. In particular, it does not say that the reason is that it you, as an individual, have a right to keep your home or your family or your body safe and that’s why you as an individual have the right to bear arms. That might be a good thing. I’m not saying it isn’t. But it is simply not at all what the Second Amendment says. What it says is that a well-regulated militia is necessary to the security of a free State.

A free State could have a well-regulated militia to help ensure the security of that free State and in order to help ensure that that State does indeed have a well-regulated militia, there could be necessary training of how to use arms. The State could limit participation in the militia to those who are over 18, say, or over 15. The State could limit participation to those who are physically and mentally capable to use whatever arms they have. It wouldn’t add to the security of the free State to put rifles in the hands of people who were blind, or incapacitated or inebriated. If the goal is to increase the security of the free State, it would make sense to train people how to use whatever arms they have in a safe and effective fashion. It adds nothing to the security of the State to have people blowing their brains out or killing their comrades with weapons they don’t know how to use.

Notice that there is nothing in the Second Amendment that says or implies that anyone and everyone who wants to be part of the well-regulated Militia is entitled to join that well-regulated Militia. Everyone who wants to be a medical doctor does not automatically get to be a doctor. Everyone who wants to be a lawyer does not automatically get to be a lawyer. Everyone who wants to be President does not automatically get to be President. Everyone who wants to be an airline pilot or a trucker or a public school teacher or a real estate agent doesn’t get to assume that role. They have to show that they have the capacity and the training to carry out those roles. Not everyone can be a rocket scientist.

Speaking of rocket scientists, it would not have taken a rocket scientist to have written the Second Amendment to mean the various things that people have claimed it means. For example, it could have easily said, “…the right of each individual to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.” It doesn’t.

The Second Amendment could have said, “A well-armed populace being necessary …” It doesn’t.

The Second Amendment could have said, “In order to ensure that every person is safe and secure, the right of each individual to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.” It doesn’t.

The framers of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights had the vocabulary and intelligence to clearly state that each individual must be able to bear arms in order to protect themselves if that is what was intended. It wasn’t. So, they didn’t.

Regardless of how often or how loudly people insist that the Second Amendment means something that it doesn’t, it still doesn’t make it so.

However, regardless of whether someone interprets the Second Amendment to mean what it says or to mean something else entirely; e.g., that every individual, regardless of capacity or training, has a right to get as many guns as they want, it is still worthwhile to consider what might be in a “Bill of Obligations” with respect to arms.

What might be some elements of such a Bill?

Just as we require a person to show capacity for many roles before we allow people to have that role, it seems that is also a reasonable obligation for having and using things that kill. If you would like to drive your automobile on public roads, you need to prove that your automobile is safe. You have an obligation to insure that it’s safe. Your car has to pass a safety inspection. If it’s unsafe, it could harm you or others.

Your obligations don’t end there. In order to drive a car, you have to show that you have the ability and knowledge to drive a car and that you have an understanding of the rules of the road. Even after you obtain a license, you have to follow those rules. If you run a red light, you will be fined. If you run enough red lights, you will have your license taken away.

Candidate obligations that relate to the Second Amendment might include:

You have an obligation to learn which arms are appropriate to your needs and within your capabilities.

You have an obligation to learn to properly use the arms you own.

You have an obligation to prove that you have the capacity & training for the arms you have.

You have an obligation to operate such arms in a safe, reasonable manner.

Notice that to join a legitimate Militia, you would need to fulfill these obligations.

Some examples:

You have an obligation to learn which arms are appropriate to your needs and within your capabilities.

Don’t choose a weapon that is too heavy or has too much “kick.” If you want a gun to kill gophers, don’t choose a howitzer or a machine gun.

You have an obligation to learn to properly use the arms you own.

Learn how to load, unload, fire, and maintain your weapons. Learn how to keep it safe from unwanted and unauthorized use.

You have an obligation to learn to properly use the arms you own.

Your weapon should be periodically inspected to ensure it’s working properly. Your own knowledge and capacity should be tested periodically; not every five minutes, but not every five decades either.

You have an obligation to operate such arms in a safe, reasonable manner.

Your weapons should be under lock and key except when you actually want to use them. Untrained people, including your own toddlers, should not have access to them. Do not point a gun at someone as a “joke.” Do not fire your gun at an uncertain target. “Something’s moving in the bushes” or “I thought I heard a noise” are not sufficient reasons to fire a gun. Don’t take your gun out “just because you’re upset” about your life or about what someone else has done. Don’t take your gun to unreasonable places like airports, airplanes, movie theaters, rock concerts, or Walmart. Don’t operate your weapon when you’re drunk, stoned, or otherwise incapacitated from illness or drugs. Don’t go looking for trouble with your weapons.

What other obligations do weapon owners have?

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Choose your Weapons

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Choose Your Weapons!

06 Wednesday Apr 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

beauty, essay, flower, flowers, guns, photos, USA

“Choose your weapons.”

An expression that perhaps goes back to the Roman Coliseum or “gentlemanly” dueling. What is a weapon? What can it mean to say, “The pen is mightier than the sword.”?

A few years ago, I decided to try a little experiment. I knew that studies showed that owning a handgun did not, in general, make you safer. Actually, it was the reverse. Nonetheless, I thought perhaps I would feel safer. For one week, I imagined that my cellphone was a lethal weapon. I could pull it out and cause someone else horrendous pain or to end their life or both. As you might imagine, I did not feel more secure or safer. I felt more paranoid about others but also afraid I might accidentally shoot someone.

In the middle of Monday night, one of our cats turned over some cat bowls and made a huge ruckus. I immediately yelled bloody murder and jumped out of bed. I would not want to have a gun if I’m awakened like that. My body is primed for action and my mind is not yet anywhere to be found. I literally have no idea as to what’s going on. It only last a few moments. But those few moments are enough time to grab a gun and shoot someone. And that someone is far more likely to be someone in your family than a home invader. Maybe they left a book in your room and couldn’t sleep so they came into your room to retrieve it. I don’t really think an error like that is self-forgivable. Your mood would be altered much to the negative for the rest of your life. The only alternative would be to shut off your feelings so completely that you literally became a heartless monster.

What occurred to me tonight taking pictures of flowers, as one is wont to do, is making a much better use of the iPhone than a gun for home protection is. For one thing, if you own a gun for home protection, you hopefully rarely use it. I use the iPhone nearly every day. The statistics say that you’re actually more likely to die in a home invasion if you have a gun, but let’s say, no, in your particular case, you did manage to shoot two people dead. And, that’s that.

Except of course, it isn’t done at all. You will find out that those two people you shot didn’t think it was so cool and they may sue you. Or, you may find out things about those families such as how desperate they were to make enough money to feed their kids that they turned to crime. Of course, you don’t want to hear that. They broke the law. And, indeed, in many states, that can be enough to get you off the hook.

The “hook” of the law, that is. But that’s not the only hooks there are. There’s the social hook. How do you think other people would view you? Maybe some will view you as a hero. But certainly many will not. You might end up being much more annoyed at those who view you as a hero that at those who view you as a villain. Either way, your life will never be the same. Those changes are much more likely to be negative on balance.

There’s another social hook. How would you feel about someone you care about marrying into a family where someone killed two young lads? Better protected? Or, might you be worried about how that gun might be used in the future, in say, a marital dispute? (Although, of course, suicides and accidental killings should also be on your mind, but those are always a possibility with a gun owner. But in the case of the dual killer, we don’t just know he might kill when provoked; we know he will kill when provoked. Maybe you think a home invasion is sufficient reason for murder. But how about a marital dispute? Surely you’ve noticed that even couples who love each other can come to a point where they are too frustrated to think clearly. I don’t really see how a gun helps a situation like that.

Lastly, there is your own hook. That may be the sharpest and deepest cutting hook of all. You will second guess your actions on the night of no matter what. That’s just human nature. Some dark, rainy evening, when that re-run is playing for the 13th time, it will hit you that you knew damned well they were unarmed. Another part of your brain screams “Bullshit!” And, so you block it out. Until several weeks later, you discover your cousin’s preferred brand of weed is way stronger than what you’re used to. And, as that snuff movie replays itself yet again, it occurs to you that you not only knew they were unarmed, you thought: “So what? Nobody’s going to put me in prison for it. In this state, they’l think I’m a hero.” Again, you hear the booming voice: “Bullshit!” Only this time, you realize that isn’t your voice at all. That voice is the one he used to destroy you when you told people about his molestations. That’s not you. Or is it? You might, at some point, find yourself depressed by this debate, perhaps riddled with self-doubt. At other times, maybe you’ll come to peace with your actions. But the debate will never stop.

I take pictures of flowers. They are for anyone to enjoy or ignore. No regrets. That’s my “weapon” of choice.

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The Open Road

19 Tuesday Oct 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

fiction, guns, halloween, murder, mystery, story

“That ain’t showin’ respect. That’s just showin’ you don’t give a good God damn.” Greg turned and spat an impressively large wad of chewing tobacco all the way off the front porch onto the ill-kempt and scraggly lawn beyond. It was a kind of tic that Greg had, as though something of Sunday School had rubbed off on him after all; some teeny niggle of guilt dribbled through his nervous system when he said a curse word with the word “God” in it. If he happened to be chewing tobacco, which was most of his awake hours, it caused him to spew his chew. He frowned. He hated losing such a fresh wad of Stoker. Papa’s old hound dog heard the splat and ran over to investigate. One good whiff and the Bassett (named Ole’ Bassie) sneezed and turned away. Sometimes Papa remembered to feed him and that was good. But he wasn’t above eating garbage and anything he could catch. This however was too foul even for a semi-starving dog.

Greg’s older brother Ron and he couldn’t seem to agree on much of anything these days except how much they hated God damned snowflakes, as they called them. The two of them revisited this particular argument about whether it was okay to let their dad drive into town every few weeks. Understand, it wasn’t as though they scheduled the argument. No, it wasn’t that. Neither brother paid much attention to clocks or calendars. But as though scheduled by a mindless office software package, every two weeks, Papa would end up demonstrating some new level of dementia that re-ignited the argument. It was as regular (and as useful) as the biweekly committee meeting.

Ron pursed his lips in a perfect, though unconscious, imitation of the most small-hearted and sanctimonious church choir member in the Farmington Baptist Church. Ron shook his head disapprovingly as Greg pulled out his pouch of chaw and bit off another piece. Ron looked skyward as though repeating a small, silent prayer. “You know what happens to people that chew they’s tobacco like that there? Mouth cancer. Lips. Gums. Tongue. Whatever. You’re going to die like a dog, man. Keep it up and you might go before Papa even.”

“Better’n dyin’ of the H, I and V like you might do. I got me a wife and that’s it. I’m tellin’ you, Ron, sneaking off with every skirt…”

Ron began to wag his head back and forth as vigorously as Ole’ Bassie did whenever he emerged from “Lake Woe.” “Lake Woe” is how Aunt Emily had dubbed the swamp that lay like a forgotten promise between the family house and US 250. The name was meant as a dig. For a few years, the entire family had listened to “Lake Wobegon” on the radio every week. According to Garrison Keillor, all the children in Lake Wobegon were above average. “Well,” Aunt Emily had said with a nod, “there ain’t none of you kids that’s above average. All you been is woe. We’ll call it Lake Woe. You git it? Named after you two.”

Whenever his older brother Ron wagged his head like that, Greg thought of two things. First, he was every time amazed that he could move his head that fast. Greg was afraid he’d smash his brains against his skull if he tried that crap. After all, he though, don’t they get concussions and crap from fights and soccer and football? Must be the same with his head shaking.

The second thing that snapped into Greg’s mind was this. He recalled Aunt Emily’s naming ceremony at Thanksgiving Dinner. Greg had initially thought it was wonderful to have something as fun as the swamp named after him and his brother. Ron though, being older, and more knowledgeable about how things worked in the world, knew right away that it was a put-down, an insult. She was having “fun” at their expense. Ron explained all this to Greg right after dinner. But Greg had stubbornly refused to believe his older brother. Greg had just figured Ron was trying to be a “smarty pants” and spoil the moment for him.

Ron said, “I’ll tell you what, you cud-chewin’ cow. I’ll outlive you, I’ll betcha’ right now!”

Greg was one of those folks who is easily triggered by every little one of those everyday annoyances that civilization gifts upon us. Of course, some folks were pretty adept at avoiding Greg’s “hot buttons” but there were so many, that even the cautionary ones would screw up on occasion and say something that Greg took as demeaning or terrifying.

There was that Christmas dinner when Aunt Millie had not partaken of the canned New England Clam Chowder.

She led with: “The health benefits of being vegetarian” — button pushed. In fact, he was half way there just from hearing the phrase: “The health benefits.” The other thing about the way Greg’s brain worked was that once he heard a triggering word or phrase, he stopped listening. What Greg had never heard was the rest of Aunt Millie’s comment: “The health benefits of being vegetarian are nothing compared with the taste of a good fresh steak or fried chicken or best of all, roast turkey. I’ll have some of those. Butcha’ know, I’m allergic to shellfish. Even a tiny bit & I break out in hives….”

But never mind. We’ll stop that narrative right there because the contents don’t matter. What matters is that Greg never heard any of it. If you’d ask him, he’d tell you that Aunt Millie is a friggin’ vegetarian.

While there were those folks who tried to tip-toe around Greg’s hot buttons, Ron was not one of those people. No. He delighted in upsetting his brother. To Ron, it was just a game. Ron hardly even faked being upset most of the time. On rare occasions, he would feign hurt or rage or fear or love or whatever it took to get Greg’s goat. And, the thing about Greg’s hot buttons, which Ron knew full well, was that pushing the button always caused the same reaction. He could turn his brother into his … puppet. That made Ron feel as though he had some power in this world after all. He had some standing. He was somebody. Maybe he couldn’t control everything but he certainly could control his brother.

Greg’s brain also had an interesting kind of “three strikes and you’re out!” rule. Perhaps he had picked it up from baseball or a questionable theory about criminality. In any case, if Greg got upset three times in one day, each reaction was a little more extreme. He didn’t back off. Oh, no. To Greg, it meant, three strikes and the monster comes out. Understand, Greg didn’t realize he had such a rule. Ron understood it, but it just made it more fun. He could not only make his puppet brother dance; he could make him dance at different intensities as well.

Greg ground his teeth. “So how we know who wins the bet, smarty pants?! Hah?! Didn’t think of that, did you?”

Ron smiled placidly. “Sure. No problem. Give me the money now. If you die first, I’ll keep it. If I die first … well, you’re my only heir. Well, almost. I did give a little to Audrey.” Ron tried — and failed — to keep a straight face as Greg began his final meltdown.

“Audrey! Audrey! Are you kidding me? Whaddya’ think my wife’s gonna say about that! Why did Ron leave money to your old girlfriend? What’s going on? Are you still seeing her? I’ll friggin’ kill you!”

“That’s what would happen, you God-Damned” — well, that’s what did it right there. Ron miscounted. Greg was already beyond the boiling point when he spat out a perfectly virgin wad of chaw. It was his favorite brand too: Stokers.

Of course, we can only speculate what might have happened, had guns not been readily available and already loaded. As it was, the police pretty quickly chalked up the murder suicide to a family feud. It happens. They shrugged it off as just another one. Tragic. But — within normal bounds. The worst thing about the crime was how everyone seemed to have forgotten about Papa. Perhaps they unconsciously thought he was gone anyway. No-one looked for him. No-one seems to have noticed he was gone for weeks.

Since these two boys were Papa’s only offspring, in a way, the police were right. It really was a murder/suicide.

The boys had agreed on one thing about Papa while they had still been living. They had put almost all their assents into a three-way checking account.

Papa didn’t live much longer.

But Fiji is beautiful. And, you can be sure Papa made the most of it. He really had a blast.