The Ineluctable Logic of Gun Ownership

When we were in our 20s, my friend Jim Ferguson would say that if you find yourself living someplace where you need to own a gun, you should move. That made sense to me then; it’s not so easy now to find safe places. If you live in a remote area, it can take the sheriff an hour or more to get to you, so if there’s a deadly threat from an intruder, you are on your own. And the past few years—indeed, the past few weeks—have shown us that gun violence knows no boundaries of geography, socioeconomic status, or age. Wherever you are, violence can find you. This reality has pushed me toward a moral dilemma: I wish no one were armed, but because practically everyone else is, I have a gun myself.

The problem with having a gun is that you can be tempted to use it. Guns also make committing acts of violence seem easier and less personal; if you’re not looking someone in the eye, it may not seem as real when you pull the trigger. To control that risk requires mental and emotional preparation, as well as rigorous training. As a reluctant gun owner, I continue to be baffled by the lack of regulation on gun ownership. Shouldn’t it be at least as difficult to get a gun license as a driver’s license—or better still, as difficult as it is to get a private pilot’s license? Gun owners should have to prove their competency and their ability to exercise good judgment, just as other licenses require. Responsible gun owners will consider every other alternative before pulling out a gun, even in states such as California that have a “castle doctrine” that permits, in certain circumstances, a homeowner to use force (including deadly force) in self-defense against an intruder. Gun owners’ first thought should always be to avoid confrontations in the first place, and they should have a clear understanding of when using a firearm for self-defense is acceptable.

I realize that the phrase responsible gun owner has become a trope of the gun-rights lobby, but behind the cliché, it can actually mean something. Every two years, I take six hours of firearms training with an off-duty police detective. Most of the day is spent on finding ways to remove myself from a dangerous situation before things escalate. Can I run? Can I hide? Running and hiding are not cowardice; they mean taking the higher moral ground of avoiding confrontation in a situation where the person seemingly threatening you might be drunk, or off their meds, or simply confused about which is their car or the right address.

My education as a liberal gun owner began when my 70-year-old mother, living in Bel Air, Los Angeles, felt that she needed to get a pistol. My sister and I were against it, figuring that if she ever tried to use it, the most likely outcome would be that she would shoot my father. Despite our objections, she bought herself a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum. That same day, my father bought himself a Remington 870 12-gauge shotgun (I assumed to defend himself from intruders, not from my mother).