Saving the children

 

Last week I wanted to refer to a comment that a friend had made on one of my blog posts. This meant scrolling through recent posts until I found the right one. It was an educational experience. Seeing my blogs as a whole, I realized my voice was—there’s no other word for it—shrill! Granted, most of what I post is shared material, not my own writing. But it’s still shrill and angry and not peace-making.

An old friend told me long ago that because she’s such an activist, she makes sure to post about her grands, her garden, her dogs and cats, so that people will know that there’s a warm, fuzzy side to her. Except for food-related posts, I have fallen down on that end of blogging.

Shrill is what men criticize about women in public affairs or politics when what they really want to say is, “Shut up, sit down, and tend to your knitting. Let us men handle the affairs of the world.” I surely don’t agree with that attitude, but I don’t want to be known as a shrill female. Thoughtful, insightful, concerned—yes, all of those things. But shrill? No. I resolved to change my tone, perhaps post less often.

And then Nashville happened. How can any of us remain silent in the face of this recurring butchery of our children? I remembered back in the sixties, before Roe v. Wade, when we were encouraged to vote a one-issue ballot: if a candidate was for women’s rights to their bodies, we should vote for them; if not, nada. It didn’t matter what a candidate’s stance was on any other issue—the decision was made on the basis of the attitude toward abortion.

I am feeling that way again today. Two issues will determine my vote: gun control and abortion. I will not now or ever vote for anyone who opposes reform for those two issues. Yes, I know that saving the climate is crucial and immediate, and voter suppression is a problem, and yeah, I’d vote against any Republican who wants to withdraw support for Ukraine because that says to me they have no understanding of international relationships and do not deserve to hold public office. But those problems are not of immediate concern to me; the lives of children take precedence.

I was still mulling over my shrill voice when I attended church (via LiveStream) Sunday. Russ Peterman’s powerful sermon was about the school shootings. Pointing out that the leading cause of death in school children in this country is violence (and we are the only country for which that is true), he suggested that we are failing our children, failing our responsibility to keep them safe. Oh, some would have us keep them safe from drag queens and books that might enlighten them about our LGBTQ neighbors or the drag queen who reads stories to them, but not safe to live.

A meme on Facebook this week has a seven-year-old telling his mom he doesn’t want to go to school. “Why not?” she asks, and he responds, “I’d rather be dumb than dead.” Think of that. Let it soak in.

Admitting that the solution to gun control is complicated, Dr. Peterman pointed out that we have solved much more complicated problems. My thought was, “Yes, we are about to put men (and a woman) on the moon again, after fifty years.” But we cannot keep our children safe. I sent my kids off to elementary school in the late seventies and eighties—I cannot imagine how I would have felt if there was the slightest possibility of one of them being shot at school.

Dr. Peterman talked about compromise, with both sides trying to see the other side. For me, that’s so hard as to be impossible. When someone writes they will pry his AR-whatever out of his “died hands,” I know what kind of enemy I’m facing. When a Tennessee representative dismisses the whole things with, “We aren’t going to change it,” I know the enemy. I am beyond tired of people who don’t want to get involved or who withdraw for some peace—there is no peace, ever, for parents who lose their children in a shooting. And there is no reason we cannot ban military weapons in the hands of civilians. When Clinton did it, shooting deaths declined dramatically.

So watch for me to continue to be shrill, because I cannot in good conscience not speak out. If you want to tune me out, so be it. Dr. Peterman quoted someone who said, “Our faith does not  allow us to remain silent behind stained glass.” Either you  put your faith to work daily, or you are a Sunday believer.

Fittingly, our church service ended with the singing of “Tell Me the Stories of Jesus.” Jesus, be he prophet or teacher or divine god, loved the little children. How about you?

An apologia: this post is couched in the terms and traditions of Christianity, because that is the faith I know. I recognize that not all of my friends nor all of my readers are necessarily Christian but I am sure the beliefs herein can be adapted to your faith.