Gun Show

While ducking under a Confederate Flag at the gun show this drill weekend, I bumped into a circle jerk town hall meeting led by a card carrying black NRA member from the hood.

“And you know, ain’t no criminals in here buying guns. It’s just people that wanna protect their families and hunt and shit,” he said.

“I know brother, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with this president,” said a talking mullet.

As circle jerks do, the Astroglide was passed around to each of the participants and they took their turn stating–in slightly different derogatory terms–how the president is evil, wants the guns, all the guns all the time, and how hostile it is to demand that someone get a background check when buying a firearm. They made claims about how unpatriotic and “dumb” it was to require universal background checks.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t mention the lack of patriotism in sporting the Confederate Flag. I didn’t ask whose car had the Swastika on it in the parking lot. I didn’t inquire about why said parking lot was prioritized for gun show goers instead of soldiers.

Sometimes I forget that there is a physical face to the enemy of every ideal I’ve ever held. It’s easy to declare particular ideologies dumb at a distance. I’ve completely dismissed many, but it’s easier to dismiss an argument from an office or your apartment, or a Facebook post than it is to confront the reality of an asinine belief in someone who shouldn’t really exist. I’ve frequently had conversations with people who say “Donald Trump supporters don’t really exist, no ones that racist, sexist, etc. and willing to admit it.” False. Plenty of those at work and in the army. But another supposedly non-existent character, I’ve been told, is the hood nigga NRA member.

For quite some time I couldn’t picture any of the dudes I grew up going to school with, playing ball with, listening to Nas with or even getting beat up by ever considering membership in the organization. Clearly I was wrong but I wasn’t a believer until I turned 21 and this was the first time I had seen one in person.

It was much less Bigfoot, more Loch Ness, with only the head exposed and the real magic of the scene–the cognitive dissonance with NRA connotations/supporters–hidden beneath all the nauseatingly phallic bro-ness. I was certainly not the first to spot the creature, but I wanted to take a picture anyways. Instead I decided to ask “does anyone know whose car has the Swastika on it out there?” But no one said anything.

 

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