If One of the Churchgoers in Charleston Had Been Armed . . .

My husband David on how it’s our civic duty to carry a weapon:

While it may be weeks or months before we know the full details of Dylann Storm Roof’s alleged attack on Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, S.C., the early reports are both heartbreaking and infuriating. Roof allegedly entered the church, attended a Bible study, sat next to its pastor — state senator Clementa Pinckney — and then opened fire. It’s hard to imagine a more callous and profane act.

It appears that the shooting was quite deliberate. He’s said to have reloaded five times during the course of the attack, allegedly even taking the time to talk to his victims. According to the New York Times, he said: “I have to do it. You rape our women and you’re taking over our country. And you have to go.” If these reports are true (again, it’s early), Charleston, S.C., has just suffered a race-motivated terror attack.

As I read the news and watched the coverage, I felt stricken for the victims, fury at the attacker, and more than a little personal conviction. Not because of any silly notions of collective white guilt or other nonsense peddled by the radical Left — and certainly not because I’ve long opposed the Left’s gun-control efforts and supported the individual, inherent right of self-defense, including the right to keep and bear arms. No, I felt conviction because of the numerous times that I’ve walked out of my house unarmed and thus largely incapable of defending myself — and, more important, others — from violent acts.

Perhaps I chose not to wear the right kind of clothing — pants that allow me to conceal my carry pistol, for example. Perhaps it crossed my mind to carry, but I thought, “I’m not going anywhere dangerous.” The men and women at the Emanuel Bible study probably didn’t think they were in any danger, either. When we go to the movies, or a political rally, or show up for work — or go to any of the sites of recent mass shootings or other acts of violence — danger is generally the last thought on our minds.

Yes, I know the chances of violence on any given day or at any given location are vanishingly small. Yes, I know that even if I’m traveling in higher-crime sections of my community, the odds are overwhelmingly good that I’ll be fine. But I know this: If the unthinkable happens, and I watch as my family, my friends, or even members of my community I’ve never met are hurt or killed when I could have prevented it by carrying the weapon I’ve trained myself to use, I could never forgive myself.

Read the rest of this on National Review here.

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