I am a Mother

I started writing yesterday morning. In the glow of the computer screen, I could see the reflection of my own face; my mouth in a tight line, my brow furrowed as I tried to express the horror I felt at all of the violence and hatred in the world today. And as I typed, as I lamented, yet another mass shooting was taking place mere hours from where I sat. Add more bodies to the count.

I am a mother. And I am terrified. I am scared. I am frightened by what I’m seeing on the news, on the dangers that await my family around every corner. I’m petrified that the violence I’m seeing will spill onto my children. I’m fearful of them going to the movies, for my association is no longer of dim lights and popcorn. I don’t picture timid hand-holding or the smiles of youngsters as they view their favorite characters on the big screen.  I think of murder. I think of people trapped in the dark, pushing each other to escape the mayhem.

I’m scared of the pattern of domestic terrorism that we see every day here in the United States. I’m a mother. And I’m afraid to send my children to school. I don’t see schools as havens anymore. I don’t imagine the smell of library books or hear a locker slam. I see big, heavy doors with bullet proof glass. I see tall fences lining the exterior and metal detectors poised at entrances. I hear frightened screams of the hunted.

And, contrary to what the media is displaying, my deepest fears are not of ISIS. I’m not scared of a small minority of extremists. I’m scared of your husband, your father, your brother and maybe even your son.

I could rattle off statistics about gun violence in the United States, but I’m anxious that bringing up guns at all will automatically will turn half of you away. My intentions come not from my political affiliation or my beliefs on automatic weapons. Frankly, I don’t give a shit who you voted for, if you lean more towards red or blue, or how you interpret the Second Amendment. I am writing this as a mother. I am writing this for my children and yours.

I keep seeing headlines about Syrian refugees, and the panic and distress that their mere existence is causing. As a person, but especially as a mother, I do not understand. I do not understand why we are nation of Islamaphobes, but we look past the race of the majority of mass murders—you know, the white ones.

Can you imagine if we were actually scared of the stereotype that we should statistically be afraid of? Old ladies would be holding their purses closer when a Caucasian male steps onto the elevator. Technically, shouldn’t I be more afraid of the 30-something white men that pass me in the grocery store, and less afraid of the women and children seeking refuge? (It should be mentioned that refugees, especially from Syria, have to go through an exhaustive process just to enter this country which takes 18-24 months and includes background checks, retina scans and the consensus of over nine Government Agencies. Here in California, that middle-aged dude next to me at the gas station would only need a driver’s license to obtain an automatic weapon. And the same people toting guns and blaming abortion clinics are simultaneously shouting that #alllivesmatter. I do not understand how that phrase can come with an asterisk. Do you see where I’m confused on fear-based, racial stereotyping?)

The school four blocks from my house has a sterling reputation. It is a prestigious religious school, which houses children ages 3-18 years. The preschool has a strict policy of locking their classroom doors at 9am. 35 little bodies are not being sealed behind thick glass and steel to protect them from ISIS. Those teachers are not afraid of the refugees. They’re afraid of your enraged, entitled teenage sons.

Or take the recent attacks on Planned Parenthood – again they push white males back into the spotlight. It wasn’t a suicide bomber that killed two civilians (one of whom was an Iraq veteran) and one police officer at a clinic in Colorado. And even in the wake of this latest assault on Planned Parenthood, people are not blaming Christian white males (which this man allegedly was). There is an undercurrent of whispers that implies that maybe Planned Parenthood got what was coming to them. Perhaps they deserved it. Really? The majority of women in that clinic were there for a variety of other services that every doctor’s office in the United States performs.

Whether or not you agree with abortion, that is less than 3% of the services that Planned Parenthood provides. For me, they biopsied my cervix twice due to irregular cells that might have led to cancer. For free. They provided me STD testing and PAP Smears, every year when I didn’t have the financial resources to have health insurance. Their staff counseled me on birth control options and gently checked in with me at each appointment to make sure the relationships I was partaking in were healthy ones. Those sons of bitches afforded me remarkable care for next to nothing.

I am not writing this to pander to any political affiliation or group. I am not trying to aggravate anyone’s specific qualms with an organization.  I am writing this as a mother. I’m not concerned with your religion, sorry. I don’t care where you come from. I could not care less what color your skin is or who you voted for. Drop the party-lines and partisan associations and hear what I am saying—we have a real problem here. Mother to mother, parent to parent, person to person.

Fear can overwhelming. It can paralyze us and make us forget the real enemy. Our foes are not distinguished by their heritage, the color of their skin or their religion. They are recognizable by their guns and aggression; by their anger, which is spilling over to movie theatres, schools and city streets.

If we refuse to address the hatred, if we continue to let labels drive our fear, than we are doing exactly what all of our enemies—near and far—want. We are losing what makes our mixing- pot of a country great. We are letting them tear us apart from the inside out. A gun or a bomb is concentrated; it can only reach so far. But panic and terror spread easily in this digital age, perforating our newsfeeds and emails. Rhetoric in promotion of phobias is splashed across our televisions and passed along in conversations. Our fear is their greatest weapon.

The headlines this morning read, “Another Mass Shooting.” And no one is surprised. No one seems to be enraged. No one knows what to do. We’re all sitting in front of our screens, staring back at our frightened reflections. Doing nothing.

I’m a mother. And I’m fucking frightened.

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