The mass shooting in Orlando over the weekend has our Philly editor doing some soul searching about how to make sense of the endless cycle of gun violence in this country and our inability to stop it.
This weekend, I celebrated my 40th birthday with a handful of friends and family. It was a wonderful reminder of how lucky I am to be a healthy, strong woman with a pretty awesome dude for a husband and two gorgeous daughters. And then, I woke up on Sunday morning to the news that there had been yet another mass shooting in this country, this time in Orlando at a gay night club. These shootings have become so commonplace that we discuss them in a macabre shorthand.
“Have you seen the news yet this morning?”
“No, why?”
“Another one.”
“Shit. Where?”
“Orlando. Night club. At least 50 people.”
Did you catch that? We don’t even have to use the words “mass shooting,” anymore, because these tragedies are so frequent that all we have to say is “another one” and our meaning is clear. Because in today’s America, we continue to deny the fact that the Second Amendment shouldn’t guarantee that anyone can arm themselves with military-style assault weapons nearly as easily as grabbing takeout from the drive thru. In today’s America, mass shootings have become so commonplace we can just pull up an old meme about Fred Rogers looking for the helpers, slap it up on Facebook with a #prayersforinsertcityhere hashtag and call it a day. No disrespect to Mr. Rogers and that sentiment (or the power of the hashtag), but Christ Almighty, it’s exhausting.
So, how do we raise children in this madness? How do we protect them from this knowledge while also throwing a glaring light on what’s broken in this country and our inability to fix it (or even make an attempt)? How long before Orlando, the “deadliest mass shooting in US history” loses the top spot on that monstrous list? Our impotence to fight this phenomenon is staggering.
I honestly have no answer to these questions. I know my children deserve to be given some information. I will inevitably have questions from my first grader when she gets home today, because I heard her school principal call for a moment of silence in his morning announcements. And what will we say? How will we help our children make sense of this when we can’t make sense of it ourselves?
When we can’t comprehend the madness of an act, we try to distance ourselves from the horror. Maybe we do that by re-posting (again and again and again) that old Onion piece mocking the fact that we continue to find ourselves impotent to stop this violence. Maybe we do that by willfully ignoring the horror all over social media and simply posting pictures of kittens, panda bears, and birthday party revelry. Maybe we do that by raging against the insane insensitivity of our presumptive Republican candidate for President (as if we need an excuse to rage). Maybe we don’t say or do anything at all because HOLY FUCK how can this still be happening?
How can racism and bigotry and hate and fear be such an enormous part of our national discourse? And with the aforementioned Presidential candidate perpetuating – nay, encouraging – these attitudes on the national stage, the horror worsens. And our children grow up in a world where all their mother has to say is, “another one” and everyone knows what she’s talking about.
I may not have the answers, but I will carefully respond to my daughter’s questions with as many facts as I can muster. I can not shelter her from the knowledge that there are terrible things that happen in the world, nor do I think I should, but I will explain that the only way we can fight violence is with love, fear and hate with kindness, and racism and bigotry with tolerance and compassion.
I will tell her that she has an opportunity to be a leader and show as much love as she can muster in the face of such hate and horror. I will tell her that when she grows up, perhaps things will be a little different. I will tell her that people like her mommy and daddy and millions of others are always fighting for change, and we are ever hopeful our country will at long last be a nation of inclusion and kindness, not division and fear. And I will try like hell to believe those words as I say them.
Mollie Michel is a South Philly resident and a Philadelphia public school parent. A recovering non-profit professional, Mollie is also an experienced birth doula, Certified Lactation Counselor, and the mom of two awesome girls and a sweet pit bull named Princess Cleopatra. In her spare time, she is usually trying to figure out how Pinterest works, training for a(nother) half-marathon with her dog at her side, or simply trying to keep up with her increasingly wily daughters.