By Noah Rothman
Wednesday, March 24, 2021
The news of the horrific shooting deaths of ten people in
a Boulder, Colorado grocery store on Tuesday was not yet hours old before the
speculation into the killer’s motives began. And as is often the case,
observers were quick to assert that his obsessions probably mirrored their own.
Political columnists and commentators presumed that
the shooter was a “white man” and a “white supremacist,” in part, because
“white men are the greatest threat to our country.” Their assumptions were,
they contend, rooted in statistics about mass shootings and terribly
uncharitable calumnies against police, who they claimed would not have allowed
the alleged murderer to leave the crime scene upright if he was of minority
descent.
Those assumptions were dead wrong. The situation was far
more complex than is allowed by the popular one-dimensional perspective that
presumes all phenomena are rooted in American racial tensions. But just as the
emerging evidence displaced this superficial theory of everything, it was replaced
with another: The ubiquity of guns in the United States is the problem.
The time has come once again for another national debate about the defunct assault-weapons ban—mostly because such a thing has little
chance of passage in Congress. It is, therefore, a low-stakes debate that has
the added advantage of allowing political commentators to prosecute their case
against white supremacy in another venue. The availability of guns in this
country, the preferred mania maintains, is not an outgrowth of a constitutional
right but the manifestation of American white supremacy. Everything is a
nail.
And yet, when atrocities like this occur, speculation
into the shooter’s motives and the exogenous conditions that might have
animated him are not valueless, even if we are also grasping toward a sense of
agency in a moment of profound helplessness. We do it all the time. But in
recent years, we’ve lost the vocabulary to describe what increasingly seems
like the profile this shooter presents: that of a deluded and disturbed
individual.
The alleged killer was described by one classmate as “violent, short-tempered
and paranoid.” One of his brothers told reporters that he was mentally ill
and occasionally talked about his fear that he was being
followed or chased. “He was always talking about (how) people were looking at
him and there was no one ever where he was pointing people out,” said the
shooter’s former high-school wrestling teammate. He was lonely, seemingly
unable to form stable relationships with friends and with women—something about
which he agonized over in public forums. He was apparently detached,
dissociated, and living in a world of his own making.
Some of these traits comport with a psychological profile
that is susceptible to a variety of influences, among them self-radicalization
by Islamic radicalism. This shooter is Muslim, and his social-media posts are
replete with references to his religion. And the lack of exogenous factors that
would presumably contribute to his own radicalization is no obstacle to
becoming radicalized. In some cases, like the 2019 attack on the Naval Air Station at Pensacola, Florida, external factors
that give way to radicalization are present and identifiable. In others,
including a 2017 vehicular attack in New York City that killed eight
people, they aren’t.
But this, too, is an ultimately unsatisfying explanation
for events. There is little evidence that this alleged gunman consumed racial
or extremist propaganda, which most aspiring Islamist terrorists do. What’s
more, as a Dutch study affirmed in 2009, Islamist radicalism’s
homegrown executors are not usually mentally disturbed, materially deprived, or
estranged from their communities. “They are often, in fact, quite well
integrated and indistinguishable from the general population,” the study
determined.
As more evidence emerges, it seems unlikely that this
shooter will provide us with confirmation that our ideological enemies can be
blamed for this event. We’ve been similarly robbed of a satisfying
public-policy solution that would have prevented this event. Save for the
miraculous rapture of the millions of semi-automatic weapons on the streets,
the legal fail-safes designed to interdict events like these seem to have
misfired.
As the Washington Post reported, the city of Boulder had
passed its own assault weapons ban in 2018, but a court blocked that ban and
this attack followed just ten days later. The implicit suggestion is that the
judge’s ruling, in this case, contributed to the tragedy that followed.
But the court’s ruling, which follows similar decisions in
Washington and Pennsylvania, maintained that the city’s gun ban violated the
state’s preemption law. In other words, the city could not invalidate the
state’s overarching gun laws. Moreover, it’s not entirely clear that the Ruger
AR-556 pistol used in this attack would have even been covered by the city’s
ban. Finally, claims about Colorado’s “lack of rules on assault weapons and
large-capacity magazines at the state level” notwithstanding, the state does
have an enforceable magazine capacity limit on the books.
And Colorado is no stranger to mass gun violence, just as
it is occasionally rocked by failed efforts to rein in the state’s gun culture.
Following the 2012 massacre of moviegoers at an Aurora, Colorado theater, the
state’s Democrat-led legislature tried and failed to pass a series of strict
gun-control measures. That effort alone resulted in two state legislators’
recall election just
five months later, including the state Senate president. The notion
that gun control is a popular ideal to which politicians are just
insufficiently committed is pure fancy.
As Stephen Gutowski, the Washington Free Beacon’s encyclopedic
firearms reporter, noted, the revelation from the shooter’s relatives that he
suffered from “fairly severe mental problems” should have triggered the state
of Colorado’s “red flag law.” Those ordinances bar the sale of firearms to the
unstable if and when a close relative, household member, or law-enforcement
officer seeks from a court a temporary petition against those sales to flagged
individuals. But, from what we know so far, no such petition was sought.
Gutowski also wondered why, if this person was such an
obvious danger to himself and others, his family did not seek his involuntary
commitment. But since the Supreme Court’s 1975 decision in O’Connor v.
Donaldson, which was designed to curb abuses and ensure the civil liberties
of the detained, institutionalization became a more onerous ordeal. The state
of Colorado made efforts to remedy this potentially hazardous situation in
2018, but only an officer of the law, a licensed medical professional, or
clinical social worker can invoke involuntary civil commitment. As the Denver Post reported, “Some parents of schizophrenic
and severely bipolar adult children maintain that it is too difficult to get
long-term involuntary commitment for their loved ones.”
These are all bedeviling and complex problems that do not
lend themselves to table-pounding, moral preening, and self-righteous
condemnations of your political enemies as the sole obstacle to a better world.
And yet, the pounding, preening, and self-righteousness flows unabated. We have
closed down the thoughtful venues in which these problems could be discussed in
good faith and replaced them with echo chambers. But of all the problems that
contribute to our current predicament, that might be the easiest one to
address.
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