Hostility and tension engulfed me as soon as I walked into the Capitol. The halls were lined with men wearing plaid shirts that barely covered their protruding stomachs. They wore cowboy boots or combat boots, were in desperate need of a haircut, and reeked of musk—and not the sensual kind cologne companies advertise.
I could feel their eyes bore through me as I passed them, my heels loudly echoing off the thinly tiled floor and I became uncomfortably aware of, well… all of me, as my eyes scanned the hall, desperately avoiding eye contact with the scary men waiting to get into the hearing room.
It was the fall of 2003, and Washington CeaseFire, which was trying to outlaw assault weapons in the state, had invited me to testify at the Washington State Capitol. Specifically, they’d asked me to testify in a Senate hearing about Columbine and how destructive the assault weapons the shooters used were on that awful April day in 1999.
Being an advocate for gun safety didn’t match with my deep-seated desire to avoid conflict. It was the exact opposite. Working in gun control was inherently full of conflict, contention, and controversy. Intellectual and emotional fights about how to stop gun violence were common, and when I started dipping my feet into the legislative world, things became intense. The gun guys were stubborn, dismissive, and angry, and they consistently showed up to state houses across the country to show their support for bills that loosen gun laws and oppose bills that tighten them.
A dozen or so senators filed into the room and found their seats in large leather swivel chairs above us on stadium-like risers that were clearly built so we’d all understand who the most important people in the room were. They were literally looking down on us. I felt intimidated. Adrenaline surged through my body as I fought my instinct to make myself small.
When my turn came, my testimony focused on the vivid horrors of Columbine, emphasizing the destructive capacity of assault weapons. I shared my personal experience with an AR-15, detailing the physical shock and moral disgust felt with each pull of the trigger, which left me with a profound sense of the lethal power such weapons wield.
As the hearing concluded, I gathered my notes and exited into the quieter hallway, now cleared of the earlier hostile crowd. Yet, the peace was short-lived. A towering man approached, confronting me about my statements on AR-15s. His proximity and tone were threatening as he insisted on the validity of using such weapons for hunting—a point he was keen to argue despite my references to discussions with knowledgeable hunters about the inappropriate nature of using such firearms for deer hunting.
The exchange was tense, my previous feelings of inadequacy surging as he loomed over me. But as he escalated, a fellow advocate intervened, pulling me away under the pretense of needing my signature. Her timely rescue prevented the situation from worsening, though part of me regretted not standing firmer.
