Editor’s note: This commentary is by Sharon Panitch, who is a part-time theater producer and full-time mother of three school-age children. She is also a volunteer with GunSense Vermont.
[I] thought that we were prepared to attend the public hearing at the Vermont Statehouse regarding Senate Bill 31. I had picked up my mom and a couple of friends, then we stopped by the elementary school where my daughter and her friend had just finished play practice. The girls clambered excitedly into the car and we were off to Montpelier. We talked about the bill and its three main provisions. We talked about why people might be opposed to it. We talked about hunting, safe gun ownership, gun culture, and school lockdowns.
My daughter is a smart girl with an activist streak; in fourth grade, she convinced her teacher of the necessity of reinstating the student council so that students could have a voice in the running of the school. She asked to come to the hearing with me, and after some discussion, my husband and I agreed that it would be a good opportunity for her to witness the democratic process. I reminded her that there would be a lot of people there opposed to the bill, and that we would hear a lot of things that we don’t agree with and that might even make us mad. I reminded her of the importance of being respectful and keeping an open mind, and above all, not to take anything personally.
It turns out that we were not prepared at all.
We arrived at a Statehouse packed with people in hunting orange. People were being sent to overflow rooms to listen to testimony. My daughter and her friend donned some fresh GunSense T-shirts and asked if they could go up to one of the balconies to find a place to squeeze in and watch. I told them where we would be and let them go. A few minutes later they returned, looking stricken. It turned out that someone in hunter orange had walked by these two 10-year-old girls and made the comment, “Nice shirts, girls. Hope they’re bulletproof.”
Hope they’re bulletproof.
I wish I could say that the bullying ended there, but it didn’t. I was told that I should be tried for treason, which I was able to simply laugh off. Not so laughable was the experience of a survivor of domestic violence who testified in favor of the bill. When she returned to her seat, a man dressed in orange seated behind her gave her the two-fingered “I’m watching you” sign. A woman who spied my daughter and her friend in their green T-shirts brushed by me and muttered, “Those poor kids.”
It turned out that someone in hunter orange had walked by these two 10-year-old girls and made the comment, “Nice shirts, girls. Hope they’re bulletproof.”
Now I know that not everyone there who opposed the bill would make nasty or menacing remarks to two children, or anyone for that matter. There are opponents, I trust, who are thoughtful, who talk to their children the way we talk to ours. There must be people who are compassionate, who respond to someone’s story of losing a loved one to gun violence with something other than laughter and derision. But I didn’t see or hear them at the hearing. These are the people that need to speak up and come to the table, people who can see that Vermont is not an island, that we face the same problems faced by the people of Newtown, Connecticut, and Aurora, Colorado, and Marysville, Washington, and Santa Monica, California. And short of reasoned people coming to the table, we must beseech our lawmakers to recognize that, while Vermont is often touted as one of the safest states in the nation, it is unlikely to remain so without action.
My children are growing up in a much more violent world than I did. The places that should be safe havens have become targets. My children accept “lockdown drills” as a matter of course, just in case some mentally ill person with an assault rifle decides to take out his frustrations on a school. And my children went to the Vermont Statehouse, the People’s House, to see how anyone, anyone, has the right to state their point of view to their lawmakers, and came away feeling threatened, shaken, and furious.
But make no mistake: They are extremely fortunate kids. They are growing up in Vermont. They have parents who are teaching them to look past rhetoric and understand when people are frightened and angry. My children are learning compassion and empathy, and they are learning how to stand up for themselves. They have parents who will keep working for the safety and welfare of all of our fellow human beings, and will work even harder as a result of experiences like we had at the Statehouse. My daughter insisted on wearing her GunSense T-shirt to school today. She is no “poor kid.” She is undeterred and brave and I will follow her lead.
