years ago, I was waiting in line at Kinko's late one evening when
a ruckus broke out among the copying machines. A young man, possibly
an NYU student, came running up to the counter saying that some
of his materials were being stolen. Everyone turned to look where
he was pointing. An African American man of about the same age and
height as the other fellow — who was white — was striding out the
door. He hurled some abusive words at the complainant as he left.
he's leaving with my stuff!" said the complainant, wringing
his hands in frustration.
the counter were three or four young men in their early twenties,
all white, all sporting some combination of bizarre haircuts, earrings,
pierced noses, and other countercultural appurtenances. All stared
blankly at the customer who was complaining. No one made a move
only person who acted was the manager, a chubby, bespectacled young
woman no taller than five feet. At first, she looked around at the
male employees, as if expecting them to do something. Then, with
a sigh of frustration, she came out from behind the counter and
rushed out the door herself — alone — to confront the alleged thief.
it was a confusing situation. The manager returned only moments
later, empty-handed, and took the irate customer aside to speak
with him. I have no idea what they discussed. For all I know, the
whole incident may have turned out to have been some sort of interpersonal
dispute, with complexities unknown to bystanders such as myself.
something about the glazed passivity of those male employees bothered
me. At the very least, they should have approached the alleged thief
and politely asked him to help clarify the situation. Instead, they
stood like mannequins and allowed a five-foot-tall woman to take
all the risk.
I'm getting old. I can remember when young men would have been ashamed
to behave that way.
age nineteen, I worked as a short-order cook at an eatery just off
the Syracuse University campus. In those days, in the late 1970s,
this establishment boasted an eclectic clientele of students, hippies,
bikers and other "townies." Late at night, as the beer
and wine flowed, it transformed from campus hangout into urban honky-tonk.
night, around closing time, a gang of townies – Italian Americans
from the North Side – started a brawl. They pushed the manager to
the floor and began stomping him mercilessly. We employees jumped
in at once.
was a frightening experience. Chairs and heavy glass beer pitchers
flew through the air. One of our regulars – a hard-boiled Vietnam
vet with a beard like Jeremiah Johnson – entered the fray on our side
and ended up in the emergency room with a deep gash on his forehead.
Not being an experienced streetfighter, I'm afraid I took more punishment
than I delivered that night. But I gave it my all.
when I had returned to the dishroom, my broken glasses hanging crookedly
down my nose, Bill, the manager, came up to me and shook my hand.
you," he said. "Thanks for jumping in."
turned out that not all the employees had jumped in. Some had just
stood back and watched. A deep feeling of pride surged through me
as I realized that I was among the chosen few who had proved their
bravery. When Bill shook my hand, it was as if he had bestowed a
Bronze Star on me. For days afterward, those of us who had participated
in the fight told and retold our stories endlessly over pitchers
of beer. It was a minor brawl in an insignificant bar in a city
that most people have never heard of. But from the way we talked,
you'd think we had all landed together on Omaha Beach.
a violent situation, there are innumerable good reasons for hanging
back and not getting involved, ranging from fear of injury or death
to wariness of lawsuits or even arrest, should things go awry.
one force can overcome these inhibitions and goad any man into action.
force is shame. It is the fear of being called a coward.
I stood in Kinko’s that night, it occurred to me that those glassy-eyed
young men behind the counter with their earrings and pierced noses
did not know this fear. They had probably been taught to fear accusations
of "racism," "sexism" and "homophobia."
But the word coward was not in their vocabulary.
were feminist men.
was in my late thirties that night at Kinko’s, separated from those
clerks by a generational gap of only fifteen years or so. But what
a long fifteen years it had been, and how deeply America had changed
in the interim.
of the more intriguing blogs on the Internet is BadEagle.com — the
home page of Comanche Indian writer and historian David Yeagley.
I take a special pride in Yeagley's work, because I recruited him
and gave him his first regular column when I was editor of David
Horowitz's Web site FrontPageMagazine.com.
first column for FrontPage was titled, "Warriors and
Weapons." In it, Yeagley puzzled over America's sudden obsession
with disarming its own people. He wrote: "Long ago, the government
took away the Indian's weapons and put him on reservations. That
is history. Indians know all about broken promises. But why would
the White Man betray himself? Why would the U.S. government take
the weapons away from its own good citizens?"
follows is worth quoting at length. Dr. Yeagley wrote:
found myself wondering why Indians have not played a bigger role
in the gun rights debate.
are an integral part of our culture. In Indian country, it's taken
for granted that everyone shoots and hunts. Perhaps the use of
arms is so fundamental to us that we don't even think of it as
a right that can be lost.
I visited Indian friends of the Salish-Kootenay Reservation in
Montana. It was a few days before a funeral. Extra food was needed
for the mourners. "I've got to go get a deer," my friend
Terry said, as simply as most Americans would say, "I've
got to go to the store."
Indians, the weapon is a symbol of honor. If you weren't waging
war, you were preparing for war. It was the duty of every member
of the tribe to be ready, just in case.
modern America, women seem to have turned against their own men
over the gun issue, judging by the polls and the Million Mom March.
women have a different mindset. It was the women who taught Comanche
boys how to use their weapons. Long before anyone ever heard of
Xena the Warrior Princess, a woman called the "adiva,"
or governess ran the Comanche training camps.
nowadays seem to be forgetting what it means to be a warrior.
They don't value preparedness. They think the government will
always be there to defend them from enemies and criminals.
not the Indian way. That's not the way of a man.
Yeagley made a crucial point when he wrote, "In modern America,
women seem to have turned against their own men over the gun issue."
Women have, in fact, formed the backbone of the modern gun-ban movement.
And ideological feminists have provided much of the leadership.
To give but one example, when John Ashcroft was undergoing nomination
hearings for the post of Attorney General, one of the loudest voices
speaking against him was Patricia Ireland, then president of the
National Organization for Women (NOW), and one of her chief objections
to Ashcroft was that he supported gun rights.
feminist position on guns was expressed with unusual candor by Alana
Bassin in a 1997 article in the Hastings Women's Law Review,
entitled, "Why Packing a Pistol Perpetuates Patriarchy."
Bassin bluntly confessed that the anti-gun agenda was really an
are a source of male domination — a symbol of male power and aggression,"
she wrote. "First, the gun is phallic. Just as sex is the ultimate
weapon of patriarchy used to penetrate and possess women, the gun's
sole purpose is to intrude and wound its victim. Historically, men
have used guns to conquer and dominate other people." Bassin
concluded that women needed to oppose gun rights, in order to "curb
the perpetuation of patriarchy."
link between anti-gun and anti-male attitudes was further documented
by H. Taylor Bruckner, in a 1994 paper entitled, "Sex and Guns:
Is Gun Control Male Control?" From surveys of Canadian college
students, Bruckner concluded:
and women have different patterns of motivation for being pro
gun control. The men who favor gun control are those who reject
traditional male roles and behavior. They are opposed to hunting,
are pro homosexual, do not have any experience with or knowledge
of guns and tend to have "politically correct" attitudes.
The women who support gun control do so in the context of controlling
male violence and sexuality. Gun control is thus symbolic of a
realignment of the relation between the sexes.
findings imply that there is more to the anti-gun movement than
meets the eye. Publicly, it presents itself as a reasoned response
to problems of crime and safety. But the movement's true vitality
may spring from its ability to tap into the deep, unconscious ambivalence
that some women feel toward men and sex.
Wish to Castrate
June 23, 1993, a Venezuelan immigrant named Lorena Bobbitt hacked
off her husband's penis with a knife while he lay drunk in bed,
then fled, throwing his severed member out the car window. Bobbitt
later explained that she had acted in self-defense, fearful of her
husband's physical abuse. She failed to explain how amputating his
penis was supposed to make him less violent toward her. But the
jury bought Bobbitt's argument and, in January 1994, found her not
guilty on grounds of "temporary insanity."
the news of her acquittal, the Washington Post reported,
"Women cheered and whooped brazenly as they crowded around
office televisions; men crossed their legs and made nervous jokes
about sleeping on their stomachs." ABC's Cokie Roberts seemed
greatly amused by the whole affair. On This Week with David Brinkley,
she taunted men for their discomfort, implying that they were only
getting what they deserved. "You've been lording it over us
for 5,000 years," she laughed.
desire to castrate men may not be quite as widespread as the mass
media would have us think. But for those women who share the fantasy
— such as Cokie Roberts, apparently — gun control may provide a
convenient and socially acceptable metaphor for an otherwise taboo
act. According to psychiatrist Sarah Thompson, women's anxieties
toward men and sex can often manifest themselves in an unconscious
identification of guns with the male sex organ. In the case of Alana
Bassin, cited previously, the identification is quite explicit.
For such women, Dr. Thompson observes, "opposing gun rights
is likely a displacement of the desire to castrate."
is a peculiarly appropriate metaphor for gun control. The urge to
fight, defend and protect lies at the core of male identity. Strip
him of his warrior status, and a man is broken.
an everyday level, guns are actually more useful to women than to
men. Only with a gun can a woman defeat a bigger, stronger male
adversary. A woman who offers no resistance to an attacker is 2.5
times more likely to suffer serious harm than one who resists with
men cherish their firearms in a way that goes beyond the practical.
Deep in their hearts, men see themselves as warriors. In the mastery
of weapons, they find completion and peace. "In Comanche tradition,
the young man grew up with the bow," writes Dr. Yeagley. "Its
mastery was a test of manhood. The relationship of man and weapon
was intimate and lifelong."
the Indian man was stripped of his arms and corralled in reservations,
the Indian woman wept, for she knew that her power faded with his.
She knew that when the warriors lost heart, the whole people suffered.
women today seem to have forgotten this basic rule of life. They
have come to view men as rivals in a struggle for jobs, money and
status. Some even view men as foes to be disarmed and defeated.
How did this happen? What force could have been strong enough to
sunder the bonds of love, trust and need that have drawn men and
women together since the dawn of time?
Guns and Communism
[send him mail] is a New York
Times-bestselling author and cyberjournalist. His latest book is
Seven Myths of Gun Control,
from which this article is excerpted and adapted.
He writes for NewsMax.com and runs his
own blog site.