Hoplophobia
Molon Labe! (Mo-LONE lah-VEH)
Come and get them!
(Spartan King Leonidas, to Persian invaders who offered to spare the lives of his men if they would lay down their arms.)
Today, February 28, 2002, was a weird day. I took a little trip over to the Human Resources building for a meeting with the Student Relations Director. I haven't been able to get it out of my mind since.
To clarify: I am in the School of Electrical and Computer Engineering at Purdue University, and I Co-op. That means I alternate semesters at school and semesters working out in the industry. During this spring semester, I am on the job--my third trip out to Cedar Rapids, Iowa to work for an aviation electronics company.
The company sets me up with an apartment that they pay for. And they assign a roommate. I have never really had any problems with the company roommates. They are all engineers and scholars, and a grade above some of the dolts my university has paired me with. They have all been easy-going and pretty quiet. You can't ask for much more. My current roommate seemed even better than past ones. I felt we had the same wry sense of humor.
So you can imagine my surprise when I received a call yesterday from the Director of Student Relations requesting a meeting to talk about the moving out of my roommate. What? Beg pardon?
We set up a meeting for this morning, the 28th, and I was left to wonder what the hell was going on. It couldn't be because...? No, that would be ridiculous. It must be something else. I poured over the events of the past week and a half trying to figure out what was going on.
As I recall, I came home to a note a week ago Monday that Tony would be gone for a few days. I didn't see him again until late Thursday of last week. Turns out his grandfather had died. We had a brief but pleasant conversation and I went to sleep. Then things got interesting.
The AK
After work the following day (Friday) I stopped off at Taylor Guns, the local, family-owned store. Something caught my eye. It was a Romanian-made AK clone. I asked if it was semi-automatic (fearing it was fully automatic, for police use only) and was told it was. The large, infamous banana magazine? Included. And Pre-ban, of course. Price? $350. I would later find out that this is a few bucks more than should be paid, but it sounded like a sweet deal to me.
This is the exact model I bought: The WASR-10.
So I bought it. There was the standard FBI background check, which took all of three minutes, and I was done. I took it home. I debated about whether or not to bring it into the apartment, but I figured I would ask Tony about it. If he had a problem with it, I would throw it in the trunk. My preference would have been to keep it protected from the elements.
I called my parents, because I had some things to ask about, and while I was talking to my younger brother, new gun on my lap, Tony came into my room to hand me some of my mail. I said thanks, and he casually left. I have not seen him since. He did not sleep at the apartment Friday night. I had to get up and turn off his alarm clock Saturday morning. He has not stayed any night in the past week. I have never seen any sign that he has been to the apartment at all.
So when I received word, second-hand, that he was moving out, I poured over these events. It couldn't have been the gun, could it? I never saw him as some whiney, hand-wringing worrywart. It must have something to do with that family death, or something else. We always got along fine. It couldn't be that. But I could think of no other explanation.
The Human Resources Department
The Human Resources Department. It is predominantly female, and the females are predominantly perky and annoying; they use made-up words like "synergy" and keep direct eye contact, nodding in the affirmative, even if they are in complete disagreement or are helpless to act. For the life of me I do not know what they do all day, or why they need so many people.
As I sat down with the spunky director, we were joined by another woman. I do not know who she was or why she needed to be there, except perhaps as something to do to fill the downtime between the morning coffee break and the lunch hour. I always imagined that people in HR departments spend a great deal of time in meetings, where they talk about meaningless things, develop feel-good solutions, and generally accomplish nothing tangible. It is all concocted as a way to make them feel like they have done something productive. It would seem that my contemptuous facsimile is not too far from reality.
"As I mentioned to you on the phone," the Student Relations Director, sitting across her desk from me, began,"Tony has requested to be moved to another apartment."
The mystery woman, seated next to me, chimed in, "There were some issues with a weapon that we understand you have." (I wish I could have taped the intonation and pronunciation of the two words "a weapon". It was very telling.)
I laughed out loud. I could not believe it: the most ridiculous explanation my mind could come up with was actually the truth. He really did want to move out because he saw me, for the few seconds he was in my room, with a rifle. To fully convey just how ridiculous it all is, consider: he was doing two semesters in a row. He had been in the apartment, alone, for four months when I showed up six or seven weeks ago. Even now I feel like it is his place, and I am a guest. Now he is willing to be anywhere but that apartment.
I explained how I had wanted to ask him about the rifle, but had never had the chance to talk to him about it. Then I did something I am not proud of. Mystery Woman asked me if I had the rifle for hunting. I said no, which was the truth. I mentioned that I had just planned on doing some target shooting. That is also true, but not entirely honest. I do plan on target shooting, but I should have given the real reason. I mostly bought the rifle because it looks big and intimidating. It is the most recognizable firearm silhouette in the world, and it demands respect. Some moron trying to break into my apartment might not respect me, with my medium build and thick glasses, but he has to think twice when I am holding something that looks like a machine gun (but is not). It may not be as powerful or deadly as its reputation, but with 30 round magazines it can be very forgiving to a novice shooter in a bad situation.
I bought it for my own protection, mostly. And until I get around to buying a handgun, it will be my first line of defense. I do not know why I felt the need to gloss over that point. I should have been forceful with it.
The Final Straw
Then, the kicker. Because the company is paying for the apartment, it is, in a sense, an extension of company property. Since company policy is to prohibit firearms in the workplace (don't get me started on that stupidity) the people from HR would feel better, from a liability standpoint, if I took the gun out of the apartment. When I offered to just throw it in the trunk of my car, that was unacceptable. You see, that would mean I would be driving it to work. The company parking lot is also company property. They suggested I let my parents hang on to it, and I mentioned that I may leave it home when I visit in a couple of weeks. That seemed like a lovely idea to all (not me), and the meeting was over.
I returned to my building, and took extra care to note the sign posted outside the entrance. The company prohibits "dangerous weapons, such as guns, knives, etc." and also prohibits drugs, alcohol, and indoor smoking. You know, standard stuff. Most companies in the United States have a comparable list. But this got me wondering. If my apartment is also company property, does that mean I can have no booze of any kind? My roommate keeps the fridge stocked. Do I have to throw out the steak knives the company provided for me? Why is the company unconcerned about liability here? And why can't the "company policy" simply be that they accept no responsibility for any accidents, unless they relate to their own poor upkeep of the facilities?
What if I am murdered? Can my parents sue because my employer insisted I be defenseless?
Guns, knives, and bottles of booze. What do they all have in common (other than the company ban)? They are all inanimate objects. They, alone, have never done any harm. They can be used for good (killing food, cutting it up, and marinating it, respectively) or they can be used to facilitate evil. I stress the word "facilitate". They are not, objectively, good or bad. Only tools.
What will I do now? Well, I do not recall specifically promising or agreeing to leave my gun with my parents. Actually, with my younger brother at home, it might be far more hazardous to leave it there. The HR people didn't seem too concerned about me keeping it in the apartment for the "couple of weeks" before I get a chance to go home, so I wonder how serious they are about all of this. I am guessing that it was a knee-jerk reaction to a non-problem perceived to be one, and the appropriate feel-good solution was reached through a series of meetings and a lot of "synergy". I can only imagine the emergency meeting they first called to discuss the crisis, with people in HR frantically saving their current game of Minesweeper and heading off to the conference room.
I am not sure what I will do, but I am certain I have not signed any employment contracts where I gave up the natural right of self-defense. When it comes to animals, like snakes or mother bears or anything else, we accept as a given that, when cornered or threatened, they are doing nothing wrong by using every means at their disposal to repel other animals--including humans. In fact, we often accuse the invading party of foolish disregard, lack of common sense, etc. When it comes to other humans however, it would seem that many of us prefer that our fellow man remain helpless. Isn't this the most obvious and only real "natural" right?
Hoplophobia
"Hoplophobia" is a term used in the Gun Rights Community I frequent online. "Hoplo-" comes from the Greek for weapon, so the term has been taken to mean "an irrational fear of firearms and other weapons". In the past, it has been applied to Gun-Control activists. The kind of people who say things like: "We've got to get rid of these dangerous guns. I don't want someone going on a homicidal rampage in my neighborhood because they have a bad day."
The obvious question, to me at least, is: Why do you think your neighbor would go on a homicidal rampage? Do you believe your neighbors are all that violent? Do you think, on bad days in the past, that your neighbors would have actually done such things but didn't only because they had no gun?
Some in the community even theorize that it is not paranoia of their neighbors that lead people to think in such a way and say such things. It is because, deep down, Gun-Control activists think that is what they themselves would do with a firearm on a bad day.
But I have encountered a new, weird kind of hoplophobia. It can only be described as an irrational fear of an inanimate object. My roommate was so scared he has not spoken to me or set foot in the apartment since he saw an inanimate object. He didn't even investigate to find out if it was a toy. Or a plastic replica. He never asked me about it, expressed his concerns, or flat out demanded that I get rid of it. I probably would have. I was coming into his home. I didn't want to make waves.
Instead, he ran. He frantically called the other hoplophobes at the HR department and begged to be anywhere but near that--gasp--weapon. He didn't even know if it was real! Come now!
The good-for-nothings at HR came up with a ridiculous solution to a non-problem. It is a legal gun. I bought it from a store with a valid Federal Firearms License and was checked through the NICS, the National Instant Check System overseen by the Department of Justice. I complied with all state and federal laws. I am old enough, have never been convicted of a felony or judged mentally ill, and I have never been a drug addict or alcoholic. What in the world is wrong with me possessing a rifle? How is it any of HR's business?
If it is the official policy that I am not allowed to have this rifle in my place of residence, my hearth and home, my sanctuary...then it is time to stand up against hoplophobia. I will not be defenseless in my own home because some other people have irrational fears as a result of ignorance or their own moral failings.
I am not the problem. The inanimate object resting quietly against the wall is not the problem. We are not going anywhere.
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