Some thoughts after a shooting

Glimpse of Golden Gate Bridge from Marin Headlands, California

Earlier this week there were shootings in my home state of California, including one near a small town where we often go for the creative galleries and yummy artichoke soup. I can’t turn away and pretend these shootings are not happening, although that is what I would like to keep doing. They usually seem so far away and incomprehensible. 

Gun violence is one of the characteristics of my birth country that I can’t ever make sense of, or try to explain to non-Americans. How could I when it makes no intrinsic sense? I can explain how some of the things I don’t agree with came into being, and what the history or genesis of various perspectives are, but the rampant gun violence matched by the political unwillingness to deal with it? No way: it is unforgivable and unexplainable. I just can’t.

After a few years living in the UK, I realised I wasn’t afraid in my subconscious anymore. I wan’t afraid to walk most places by myself, I wasn’t afraid of a crazy driver pulling out a gun when they got mad. I don’t even think about people having guns.

I didn’t notice it until we went back to the US for a visit and I felt my body tensing up in little ways I had forgotten about. As soon as we got on the subway from the airport, I noticed my previous unconscious wariness had returned, and with it, the street-smart behaviours that one learns early to keep safe. 

Take a close but surreptitious look at all the people around you; who looks like they are potentially unstable; where are the exits, where are the safe places closest to me I can run; if I am in a crowd how can I get out; is my handbag in my hand, are my wallet and phone protected, etc. etc. etc. 

Some of these behaviours come from being a woman, and needing to keep safe in general. That’s a whole other set of issues, but the behaviours are useful training for basic street-smarts. 

The year we lived in France, after 6 years in the UK, I had to get used to guns again since the country was on high alert for terrorist threats and the patrolling gendarmes were carrying guns. There were (mostly) men with guns outside all the train stations, and even the shopping malls. Our bags were searched before we could go into most museums, stores, or any large cathedrals or buildings. I felt a flutter of terror just approaching any of these unsmiling people. 

A few years ago we were staying at a house near the beach in Southern California for the summer. (I know-tough life, right?) Fireworks are illegal in California due to fire risk, but still they were going off periodically in the evenings, mostly down at the beach. I was asleep one night when I was awoken by the rat-a-tat-tat sound of gunfire. I dropped onto the floor between the window and the bed, terrified that there was a gunfight outside. I heard a car drive away, and nothing further. My partner was away; I was trembling and only a long time later did I crawl back in bed and eventually fell asleep. Nothing further happened except for the pounding of my heart and crazy imaginings in my brain.

Of course in the light of day and after talking to a more rational friend did I realise that it was probably just fireworks, possibly a car misfiring, and very likely not gunfire. But the fact that gunfire is what I assumed was not a good realisation for me. The possibility that it could be was what was flickering in the back of my mind always, whether or not I recognised or acknowledged it. And that made me sad, and angry. Honestly, I was a little bit relieved to know I would be going back to our seemingly safe little corner of the world on an island where gun violence is not your first thought when you hear a popping noise.

Pelican on a pier in Southern California

This has become another thread to my consideration when people ask me which place I prefer: my home state of California, or my adopted England. Of course I can’t say I prefer one to the other, as I really don’t. They have both been amazing places to live and grow and learn, and enjoy life. 

England is a bit more even keeled, and steady. California is the showy one: the landscape, the weather, and especially the food are all big, audacious and not to be forgotten. Life in the UK pootles along gently: it is safe, very enjoyable, comforting, but rarely drawing exclamations of rapture or fright. It is a lovely place to be living now that I am past the years of raising children, and working full-time pursuing something like what I thought might be a career. 

California is a great place to explore possibilities, raise children to believe they can be and do anything, and enjoy the freshest, most diverse food from so many cultures. That cultural diversity is what I delight in when we go back to California. And of course, conversely, it is perhaps one of the reasons that lead (some) to gun violence. 

There are no words of wisdom coming out of my shock at this latest round of shootings. I am so very sad for the families of the victims and the communities themselves that have suffered this painful tear to their fabric. These shootings rip a little bit away in all of us, and take away our illusions of safety in our community and homes.

4th of July community parade, Monterey California

I always look eagerly to my trips to California, and revel in the company of my family, friends, and the glorious food. I love the landscape, the drier climate, and my sense of ease from knowing how to navigate the language and customs. I treasure my connections there, and try to remind myself that most of the time we are fine. 

And maybe each day now again, I will try to remember to be kind, as we never know what sort of day each of us has had. And it could be that being kind will make all the difference.

Sending love to you all-

Sabrina

Monterey Bay Aquarium, California