To my Republican friends: Reflections from a rally after the Nashville school shooting

I’m not asking you to change who you vote for. I’m just asking you to talk to them.

Last week, in the wake of the Nashville school shooting, I stood with more than a thousand people outside the Tennessee State Capitol. After we were refused entry to the building, we heard several people speak.

Dr. Katrina Greene described how heartbreaking it is to work in an ER that looks like a war zone, especially when the victims are children.

“One thing my training did not prepare me for was the soul-crushing, heartbreaking sound of the wails of mothers when you tell them that their child has died,” she said.

A senior in high school talked about being afraid to go to school, and how horrifying it is to be downtown begging legislators to protect him — in the exact same spot his sister stood five years ago. She was a senior at the time, and she skipped school to do the same thing after a different mass shooting.

An 8-year-old girl simply asked people to vote.

But one of the speakers that stuck with me most was Maryam Abolfazli. She’d been inside legislative plaza, and she spoke about overhearing legislators saying, “I can’t do anything,” and, “This is why I homeschool my kids.” Obviously, both sentiments are infuriating. If you can’t do anything, why did you run? The other … I can’t even begin to tackle.

But then she cited facts. One was how effective the 1994 federal assault-weapons ban was in preventing tragedies like what happened here on March 27 . Embarrassingly, I didn’t know much about it, so I looked it up. A report from the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee puts it pretty clearly: Gun massacres fell 37% while the ban was in place — and rose by 183% after the ban expired.

Some experts project that, had similar legislation been in place from 1981–2017 (rather than just 1994–2004) it might have prevented 314 of 448 mass-shooting deaths. That’s 70% fewer Evelyns, Cynthias, Mikes, Hallies Katherines, and Williams. Another fact she cited: strong social ties and a sense of community are shown to help reduce gun violence and produce resilient neighborhoods. After she cited that research, she asked a simple question: “Where does community start?” The answer: “School.”

As Tennesseans, we all agree we want kids to be safe at school, despite the fact we rarely agree on how to get there. But as I looked around last week, it was the signs that struck me most. I saw simple ones — “Not one more” and “Protect kids, not guns” — and I saw poignant ones held by teenagers: “Arm us with books, not guns” and “Will I make it to my own graduation?” But the ones that had a surprising effect on me were the clever, biting ones. A doctor held a sign that called out “Bloody Bill Lee.” I was holding one a friend handed me that read, “Tennessee legislature: Life begins at conception and ends at school.” But as this week has gone on, I’ve found I like those messages the least.

I believe in a woman’s right to choose. I believe in gun control — to a level that goes beyond an assault-weapons ban. But neither of those issues are what this is about. We live in a polarized society, and that chasm widens all the time. In Tennessee, it affects our daily lives more than it does in other states because the people we love most often hold beliefs that we find not only problematic but morally wrong.

But here’s what last week taught me: It’s easy to be extreme. To be glib. To make a clever sign and stand and scream. That can be cathartic, and I don’t blame anyone for doing it, on either side. But there is one thing that’s much harder: finding common ground. America has gotten to a place where extremism is not only accepted but revered. But being extreme and refusing to see the other side doesn’t make you smarter or more dedicated or more virtuous. It makes you ineffective. And it makes you weak.

Far smarter people than I — F. Scott Fitzgerald, Albert Einstein, the folks at Harvard — believe that intelligence is measured by the ability to change your mind. And if there were ever a time to be our most intelligent selves, it’s now.

So let’s do this: Let’s agree that our kids are safer when every person who wants an assult weapon can’t easily buy one. And let’s do something to make that our reality in Tennessee. In some ways, it is that simple.

If you still think the Republican you voted for is the best person for the job, great.

• Reach out to that person and ask them to support the assault-weapons ban.
• Schedule a meeting with your legislator — yes, they have to meet with you; It’s kind of their job — and ask them their position.
• Learn about red flag laws, attend an event near you, or just sign up for emails to stay informed.
• Everytown has a Summer Action Series I just signed up for that will help you take real action in less than 20 minutes a week.

Obviously, all Tennesseans should take these actions, not just Republicans. But here’s the thing: As a Conservative in Tennessee, you have the power. The Republicans making our laws don’t care about people like me, the ones who are never going to vote for them. But they care about you. That means you have more power than I do to stop this kind of thing from happening again — and more of a responsibility. Please do something with it.