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As the murder trial of Oscar Pistorius continues, one of the latest facts highlighted in court has been the Paralympic champion’s understanding of his legal rights and responsibilities as a gun owner.
It’s been established that Pistorius, who shot and fatally wounded his partner Reeva Steenkamp through a closed door after allegedly mistaking her for an intruder, was well-versed in gun safety laws before becoming the owner of a licensed firearm.
This has caused many of us to question whether it’s truly possible for any gun owner, no matter how pure their motives or legitimate their methods, to do no harm.
When I was 19, a man I loved held a gun to my head and made me beg him not to pull the trigger.
I don’t know whether or not he was a licenced gun owner, or whether he was trained to use a firearm at all. I do know that he kept the weapon loaded, in his family home, either under his pillow or in an unlocked bedside cabinet.
I know that during our relationship he was in the habit of bringing it out at the slightest provocation, threatening to take his own life and sometimes mine. I know that it would have been instantly accessible to anyone in the household who happened to stumble upon it, including his five-year-old brother.
And I know with a chilling certainty that the appearance of that same little boy, unwittingly toddling into the room right in the middle of my predicament, was the only thing that made my partner lower the gun that day.
That single split-second was all that prevented my transition from a living, breathing human being to a cold and clinical list of statistics, ballistics and forensics.
I also know that this man was well-respected by those close to him, and by the community at large. He was trusted and admired, highly intelligent, well-spoken with a professional but courteous manner.
He would have had no trouble in passing a competency test, background check or inspection of his premises – all of which are steps required for legal gun ownership in South Africa.
Nobody could have known or even suspected that behind closed doors, he would use that weapon to bully and terrorise a woman he should have been protecting.
Disastrous relationship choices aside, I’m not actually opposed to gun ownership – although I admit I do find the issue a difficult one to be truly objective about.
On one hand, I agree with Sam Harris’ assertionthat guns are necessary in a world where violent crime has become commonplace. “A world without guns” says Harris “is one in which the advantages of size, youth, strength, aggression, and sheer numbers are almost always decisive.”
He’s right – in cases of legitimate self-defense, a firearm can give the more vulnerable party the upper hand against a larger, stronger attacker or intruder. And I’m fully in favour of that. It’s an advantage I would unquestionably want my mom, my younger sister or my granddad to have if any of their lives were in danger.
On the other hand, largely because of my own experience I struggle to believe that any human being could truly be trusted with a gun – an object with the potential to instantly and irrevocably shift the balance of power.
I’ve known many responsible, sensible gun owners who keep their firearms in custom-made safes, who attend shooting practice regularly and who follow the necessary laws to the letter. I would state, without hesitation, that these people are ethical and trustworthy.
But then, I trusted my former partner right up to the moment I saw his finger on the trigger.
And so do many South African women who, like the late Reeva Steenkamp, weren’t as lucky as I was.
It also strikes me as worth noting that every gun owner I’ve met over the years – that includes friends, colleagues, partners and the stranger who tried to hijack my old Toyota – every last one has been a young, able-bodied male, as opposed to an example of those more vulnerable individuals whose protection Sam Harris was advocating.
Not only that, but the majority of women I broach the issue with tend to view guns as “boys’ toys”, and it’s high time we woke up to the reality that gun ownership is, in fact, a women’s issue.
The saying goes that “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” – but too many South Africans seem to forget that, on a daily basis in South Africa, a man with a gun kills a woman.
The protection of women is something that we as a nation have failed to obtain, again and again. Does the prevalence of firearms bring us any closer to making that protection a reality? Or does it simply exacerbate an already desperate situation?
Should we, as women, be calling for the abolition of firearms, or should we be learning to use guns of our own?
I don’t have the answers, but what I’d like to see is the beginning of a practical, constructive discussion among gun owners, both male and female, and among those on both sides of the ongoing gun ownership debate – in a world where violence is ever-present and firearms are readily accessible, how are we best able to protect our loved ones and ourselves?
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It’s been established that Pistorius, who shot and fatally wounded his partner Reeva Steenkamp through a closed door after allegedly mistaking her for an intruder, was well-versed in gun safety laws before becoming the owner of a licensed firearm.
This has caused many of us to question whether it’s truly possible for any gun owner, no matter how pure their motives or legitimate their methods, to do no harm.
When I was 19, a man I loved held a gun to my head and made me beg him not to pull the trigger.
I don’t know whether or not he was a licenced gun owner, or whether he was trained to use a firearm at all. I do know that he kept the weapon loaded, in his family home, either under his pillow or in an unlocked bedside cabinet.
I know that during our relationship he was in the habit of bringing it out at the slightest provocation, threatening to take his own life and sometimes mine. I know that it would have been instantly accessible to anyone in the household who happened to stumble upon it, including his five-year-old brother.
And I know with a chilling certainty that the appearance of that same little boy, unwittingly toddling into the room right in the middle of my predicament, was the only thing that made my partner lower the gun that day.
That single split-second was all that prevented my transition from a living, breathing human being to a cold and clinical list of statistics, ballistics and forensics.
I also know that this man was well-respected by those close to him, and by the community at large. He was trusted and admired, highly intelligent, well-spoken with a professional but courteous manner.
He would have had no trouble in passing a competency test, background check or inspection of his premises – all of which are steps required for legal gun ownership in South Africa.
Nobody could have known or even suspected that behind closed doors, he would use that weapon to bully and terrorise a woman he should have been protecting.
Disastrous relationship choices aside, I’m not actually opposed to gun ownership – although I admit I do find the issue a difficult one to be truly objective about.
On one hand, I agree with Sam Harris’ assertionthat guns are necessary in a world where violent crime has become commonplace. “A world without guns” says Harris “is one in which the advantages of size, youth, strength, aggression, and sheer numbers are almost always decisive.”
He’s right – in cases of legitimate self-defense, a firearm can give the more vulnerable party the upper hand against a larger, stronger attacker or intruder. And I’m fully in favour of that. It’s an advantage I would unquestionably want my mom, my younger sister or my granddad to have if any of their lives were in danger.
On the other hand, largely because of my own experience I struggle to believe that any human being could truly be trusted with a gun – an object with the potential to instantly and irrevocably shift the balance of power.
I’ve known many responsible, sensible gun owners who keep their firearms in custom-made safes, who attend shooting practice regularly and who follow the necessary laws to the letter. I would state, without hesitation, that these people are ethical and trustworthy.
But then, I trusted my former partner right up to the moment I saw his finger on the trigger.
And so do many South African women who, like the late Reeva Steenkamp, weren’t as lucky as I was.
It also strikes me as worth noting that every gun owner I’ve met over the years – that includes friends, colleagues, partners and the stranger who tried to hijack my old Toyota – every last one has been a young, able-bodied male, as opposed to an example of those more vulnerable individuals whose protection Sam Harris was advocating.
Not only that, but the majority of women I broach the issue with tend to view guns as “boys’ toys”, and it’s high time we woke up to the reality that gun ownership is, in fact, a women’s issue.
The saying goes that “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” – but too many South Africans seem to forget that, on a daily basis in South Africa, a man with a gun kills a woman.
The protection of women is something that we as a nation have failed to obtain, again and again. Does the prevalence of firearms bring us any closer to making that protection a reality? Or does it simply exacerbate an already desperate situation?
Should we, as women, be calling for the abolition of firearms, or should we be learning to use guns of our own?
I don’t have the answers, but what I’d like to see is the beginning of a practical, constructive discussion among gun owners, both male and female, and among those on both sides of the ongoing gun ownership debate – in a world where violence is ever-present and firearms are readily accessible, how are we best able to protect our loved ones and ourselves?
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