I Hated Guns, Then I Moved To America

My brain and my guts are fighting over my new reality

This is yet another title I never thought I would write. Growing up in France, even in the suburbs of Paris, guns were never really on my mind. We would hear about shootings in the United States, mostly in school, we would deplore the lack of action, then go back to our lives.

Guns were props in movies, not a part of reality.

Until 2015 and the wave of terrorist attacks that scarred France forever. From then on, soldiers patrolled Paris, armed with military guns. It was a strange feeling to be standing on a subway platform with guns so close. It was reassuring, yet scary to be needed.

I always wondered if those men and women would have been ready in case of attack. It’s one thing to train, another to be caught in a surprise attack. Thankfully, I never had to find out.

I profoundly disliked guns. I couldn’t understand the protective love some people showed their guns. It was only steel, death bringers. How could someone cherish something so dangerous?

This was my mindset when I first came to the United States as an exchange student. I was sent upstate New York, in a very rural environment. The village with the university was progressive, while the rest of the county was more conservative.

I remember talking to a student, a couple of years younger than me. She was looking forward to turning 21 as she knew her parents were to gift her a gun. I asked why — it seemed like a strange gift to me. She talked about the bears living in the area.

Then she talked about protection.

It’s what I hear most when meeting gun owners or gun lovers. Wildlife and protection. Even though I disapprove of many hunting techniques, I can understand the want to hunt their food or protect their pets from attacks.

House protection, however, is more complicated to accept for me.

It’s always the same debate: if attackers have guns, so should they. If someone tries to break into their house, they should be armed.

I always answer the same things too: if you take all the guns, everyone will be on an equal footing. And yes, sure, some people will still be able to get guns on the black market — but those people would kill you anyway.

For normal people, it is safer not to have guns. Fewer school shootings, fewer accidents... it should be worth it.

It’s a sterile conversation. I know it. We are different people with different cultures. I will never understand, it’s not a part of me.

Things started to change. My situation changed. From a busy woman in a big city, I became a housewife, alone for hours. I now live in the middle of nowhere, too. Fewer people, sure, but also fewer witnesses.

It’s not the bears that scare me — they won’t break into my house.

I’m scared of men, and what they can do to me. Most women can understand that fear. I don’t know any men scared of rape or being beaten to death. They are lucky that way.

I am scared, on my own, and I can see the guns laying around my in-laws’ house. More than I would need to defend myself. Enough to save my life, or to take a life.

It is the fundamental truth of owning a gun: the power over life.

It is more responsibility than I want to bear. It shouldn’t be such a normal reality. Killing should be hard, traumatic. Never accidental nor easily triggered.

I don’t know how to use a gun. Yet. I’ve been going back and forth about it. I’m terrified. It’s a step I can’t take back, something I can’t unlearn, a responsibility I will carry around for the rest of my life.

What if I’m ever in a position where I hold up a gun against someone? No time to think, analyze. Instincts might take over. After all, I’ll know what to do.

How to do it.

It might save my life just as much as it might destroy it. How do you carry around those lost by your fingertip? You can’t repair a life like you repair broken glass. There’s no glue strong enough to hold life in place when a bullet shatters it.

I’m scared for myself. I’m scared of lonely hours, and dangerous men. But I’m also scared of what I could do if I had the knowledge. I’m scared of the power I could hold in my terrified hands.

Would I have had these thoughts in Europe? No. I’ve been home alone in Paris, many times. I’ve met dangerous people too. Never have I felt like I needed a gun. It was not something missing. Maybe it’s because there weren’t guns around. Or maybe it’s because we’ve learned to live without them.

Fear attracts fear, violence attracts violence, and I don’t believe the United States will ever be unarmed.

What do you think?

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