People ask on a regular basis why I choose to carry a firearm. The crime rate in this state is low. I live in a safe neighborhood. I don’t work in any kind of law enforcement or security type field.
In fact, my statistical chance of being a victim of a violent crime are quite low.
I carry because the chance isn’t zero.
I carry because this guy exists. A guy that can be turned down at a bar and so he follows the girl into the bathroom. When she again resists his advances, he hit her twice in the face and shoved her into the stall. He broke her nose and eye socket and caused a laceration requiring 50 stitches. A friend found her unconscious in the bathroom with her pants partially removed.
Yeah, the police caught him. But really, how much difference does that make to the girl in a hospital room that needs her face rebuilt? Even if the can reconstruct her to some semblance of what she looked like before, it will take years of therapy for her not to live in constant fear. The police weren’t there to protect her. They can’t be there. The only way the police could really protect you is if each and every person had a personal officer escorting them every moment of their lives. No one wants that.
I carry because that guy really believes he has a right to take what he wants from women without consequences. And I want him to know I carry. I want him to start thinking lots and lots of women are carrying. I want him to think that maybe one time, on the other side of that bathroom door, there will be something far harder to overcome than manicured nails and high heels. I want him to start to question if the drive in his pants is worth his life.
The fact that the police caught this guy is no deterrent. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to feed him and house him for a couple of years before he’s released because he’s ‘paid his debt to society.’ In two years that girl might be finished with all the reconstructive surgery and recovery. She’ll still be in therapy. She’ll still have a sinking fear in the pit of her stomach every time she turns away some guy. She’ll always have scars.
And he’ll have a record. You know, they don’t tattoo that on a guy’s forehead so you can see them coming. I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that he won’t be able to legally own a firearm. Of course, you can’t legally beat girls unconscious either. I think I’d rather take my security into my own hands. It is a personal matter after all.
The only person that is always available to protect me is me. I hope that I never have to employ deadly force in my own defense, but I am prepared to do so if I must. I’d rather spend time in therapy dealing with that than in the hospital having my face rebuilt. And then there will be one less of those guys. I really hope just knowing that more and more women are purchasing firearms and learning to use them is making guys like that one start to think twice.