I enlisted at age nine and served for about five years. I fought primarily in WWII, inspired by my father’s stories of his service in that war, and by television shows like Walter Cronkite’s 20th Century. The episodes in this series focused largely on WWII battles, and I especially remember the winter war — the Russian Front, the Battle of the Bulge — and when I carried the battle outside to our own south Idaho winter I could fall, mortally wounded, in a cushion of snow.
The wars I fought in the sagebrush hills around our place were also drawn from more distant history. One particularly lengthy conflict — which history books have overlooked — was a war between Norway and Sweden. It began in the early 1900’s. Looking at a map I saw the long, sinuous border between the two countries and thought war was inevitable, and sure enough the conflict started over a minor incident at a border crossing. It went on for years, the armies pushing to and fro, in triumph and retreat. The ending was inconclusive. In fact it was the only war in history that ended because the combatants grew up and lost interest.
The choice of weapons I used were infinite, ranging from sticks to store-bought replicas. One particular favorite was a version of a military rifle, complete with bolt action. It was realistic enough that I remember my mother’s slight cringe as she asked if I really wanted to spend my saved up allowance on it. But one of the best, though from an earlier era, was a cracked pool cue. Given my stature, it was a perfect muzzle-loader. Better yet, I somehow got hold of an army surplus bayonet, which fit perfectly onto the end of the cue. And there you have it, wave after wave of redcoats fighting their way up the hill behind our orchard.
Little boys need no more than a stick to transport themselves into a world of war, adventure, heroism, and make believe death. And now we have grown men showing up at demonstrations carrying not sticks, but real weapons. They bring with them a world just as imaginary as a war between Norway and Sweden, a world in which it is somehow necessary to carry a military-style semi-automatic weapon, capable of killing everyone in sight in a matter of minutes, when walking the streets of Carson City.
I’ll leave it to others to psychoanalyze the issues these men are acting out, although at first glance they are much closer to the couch potato end of the spectrum than Rambo. Nevertheless, a man with a gun living in his own world can be a menace, especially if he decides to intrude into ours. That’s the thought process of a mass killer, although I would like to think none of the men who showed up at the governor’s mansion the other day would take it to that extreme. But they are exposing themselves to public ridicule. For all their anger and bluster, they are little boys playing army. So to what end are they taking such a risk?
Is it a show of support for the Second Amendment? If so, they are accomplishing just the opposite. The idea that they represent a “well-regulated militia” is laughable on its face. Parading around in a crowd with what might well have been loaded weapons is the same abuse of the right to gun ownership as the proverbial shouting “fire” in a crowded theater is to free speech.
An attempt at intimidation? I doubt the governor got the message. The actual law enforcement personnel on the scene, the ones with not only superior weaponry but the knowledge and training to deal with any situation that might arise, didn’t seem fazed either.
Was it persuasion? Was the idea to convince others that the COVID-19 lockdown and social distancing measures now in place were wrong, and should be abandoned? Sorry, men so self-absorbed in their own, gun-toting world don’t care what anyone else thinks. There are those who might be persuaded, but not in the way they think. These characters were not alone. They didn’t just attach themselves to a larger demonstration, they hitched on to a larger cause. Call it what you will, a political party, a movement, or just a shared idea of the way things ought to be. It’s a collection of people like you and me who might now take a second look, give a second thought, and ask what kind of party, or movement, or shared idea is it that so willingly makes room for these intruders and their bizarre, childish things.
Erich Obermayr is a writer, long-time Silver City resident, and Chair of the Comstock Democratic Club. He can be reached at erich@historicinsight.com.
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