Sound and Silence

Given our theme of Peace & Harmony, and in honor of Mr. Torres’ presence, I’ve been thinking about Sound – and Silence.

We know too well the sounds of gun violence. The explosive pop and whirl of a discharged bullet. The rhythmic, repeating BAM-BAM-BAM of an assault rifle. The quick metallic slide of a reload. Then the alarming crescendo and decrescendo of sirens. The cyclic creak of gurney wheels over hospital tiles. The rapid, inspiratory breath-catch of sobbing. The unrelenting quiet that follows.

We are all-overexposed to those sounds. Media has desensitized us. Exposure to violence in even PG-13 movies has tripled from one generation to the next. Before age 18, the average American child has viewed 200K acts of violence on TV alone. Factor in video games and the Internet, it is almost deafening. Of course, too many of us know those sounds personally, intimately. Some of us re-live those sounds.

Think for a moment - what does prevention sound like?

In 2011 Florida passed a law to silence doctors from asking about guns in the home or family. Doctors, especially pediatricians, are taught to practice prevention. Based on evidence, we know that more guns mean more deaths – gun suicide, homicide, unintentional deaths. We know that unlocked and loaded guns increase that risk. We know that many people underestimate the risk. So we talked about it, asked about it, counseled on it. And they tried to silence us.

Not just us, after the Physician Gag Law was passed, the FL legislature introduced a bill to gag uniformed law enforcement from speaking up against gun violence. Fortunately, that was unsuccessful.

It took us 6 years to remove the Gag – the law was eventually overturned for violating the 1st amendment. It turns out, doctors have a right to talk about gun risk, and patients have a right to listen.

Still, most people don’t often have those conversations. Outside of this room, why don’t we talk much about guns? Maybe some of us here have sometimes held our tongues?

In the era of oversharing, of Facebook, it doesn’t seem like there is much left that is taboo in terms of discourse. Certainly not religion or politics. Money was once on that list, but with the exception of certain tax returns, I think we have moved beyond that. So, what’s off-limits? We no longer whisper about the “C-word.” Michele Obama pulled back the curtain on infertility struggles. MH conditions and substance abuse are readily discussed. We are inundated with ads about ED drugs, stool testing, bras, tampons, and the best underwear to cradle men’s genitals. Sexuality is uncloseted, as is sexual abuse, thank goodness. Is anything still unmentionable?

Maybe gun ownership, or more to the point, risk for gun violence.

There’s been progress. Led by grieving MSD students, we are finally, finally talking about assault weapons and better application of background checks. That is a big step forward. We can be louder still.

I want more. Most Americans are afraid to ask someone if they have a gun, or to follow up and ask how it is stored. They don’t know how to ask someone not to bring a gun into our homes and businesses. Or to tell someone our children will not play or stay at their home if there is risk for gun discharge. Not knowing the risk, places us at higher risk. HIV taught us that. So did Opioids.

But when it comes to firearm injury prevention, as a people, we are silent.

Remember those sounds of gun violence? They are loud. They are jarring, piercing. They are life-altering.

So, what is the cost of speaking up? Of asking about exposure risk? Is it we’re afraid of offending someone? What is the offense, exactly? Why should someone with a firearm at home be more easily offended than the person asked about the pool fence, the dog in the home, the alcohol at the party, the parental supervision . . . On the other hand, what’s the cost of not asking?

It is time to take gun-talk off the list of unmentionables. - Because our silence facilitates death and injury. Our silence leads to more loud sounds, none of them harmonious or peaceful.

I take care of children who have been shot, left with pain, fear, scars, paralysis, brain damage, recurrent infections and recurrent nightmares . . . I’ve cared other children who are no longer with us. At some point, a family member cries out, “I wish I could have done more.” That phrase, that sound, hurts deeply, because sadly, sometimes they could have – they could have locked their own gun, or insisted that a loaded gun was removed from the house, or asked a parent or relative about guns in their home or car before the child went to stay . . .

Many couldn’t have done anything differently, but someone else could have -- could have educated a new parent that even toddlers can pull triggers, that teens don’t always follow our rules, that batterers will use more than their hands.

Someone could have – should have - asked about gun ownership for the relative with signs of dementia, the increasingly despondent friend, tennis or golf partner, or the neighbor who’s x-boyfriend seems too aggressive.

And more of us have to speak up about our most at-risk communities, where gun violence is frequent, the trauma goes underreported, the neighbors don’t feel protected, feel ignored.

So, prevention sounds like care, like courage, like community, like equity. Prevention is not silent.

Just a few weeks ago, while his 7y/o brother watched, a FL toddler shot himself. His name was Jayden Piedra. Initially, the media had few details, but I know this: It wasn’t Jayden’s gun. The two-year-old found it loaded and unlocked. Jayden’s mother had been sleeping quietly. Imagine the sounds that woke her.

Now imagine if Jayden’s mother had heard a symphony of voices on prevention.

Let’s make some noise!

Thank you for all you do to make prevention happen – for supporting The Melissa Institute.