The New York Times Magazine, Sunday, August 22 - Unauthorized ...
The New York Times Magazine, Sunday, August 22 - Unauthorized ...
The New York Times Magazine, Sunday, August 22 - Unauthorized ...
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Killers Among Us<br />
it makes them monsters and maniacs and demons, not quite human.<br />
But how was their rage so different from mine? Obviously, that I did not actually<br />
shoot anyone. Though had I shot up a house full of drug dealers, the media<br />
response would have been quite different. And a good many people who have been<br />
successively sickened during this plague year would be considerably less<br />
devastated, perhaps relieved and maybe even a little thrilled. <strong>The</strong> rage is the same,<br />
only we share the hate.<br />
Calling for the execution of a<br />
murderer. Or in really bad traffic. It's<br />
the same impulse, whether horrific or<br />
honorable, and we've all had it, at<br />
some time and to some extent. Men<br />
seem to have it more often than<br />
women; they certainly walk into<br />
places and start shooting more<br />
frequently. We've heard the theories:<br />
men are rewarded for their aggression;<br />
men are more avid consumers of the<br />
pop death cult; men are reared to<br />
believe the world will bow before<br />
them and are frustrated to learn it's<br />
actually the reverse; men are denied<br />
outlets for their pain. . . . Most of<br />
these explanations, myriad as the talk<br />
shows and magazines that pander<br />
them about, all suggest that men kill<br />
because of something society does to<br />
them. But in nature, animals who don't<br />
watch TV or work in go-nowhere jobs<br />
kill all the time: for survival, for<br />
ON THE BRINK: A POLL<br />
According to the Gen Y2K Report, a recent<br />
survey of 2,000 young men and women:<br />
Of those ages 16 to 19, 41 percent say there are<br />
people they want to get even with.<br />
43 percent say they sometimes are pushed too far<br />
and feel they will explode.<br />
58 percent of this explosive group agree they<br />
would use a gun "if I had to."<br />
53 percent of this group watch TV movies,<br />
compared with 34 percent of those who do not<br />
feel they will explode.<br />
<strong>The</strong> study's authors, Liz Nickles and Laurie<br />
Ashcraft, report that controlling parents may be<br />
to blame for kids' volatility. "Most people assume<br />
that teens who exhibit . . . violent tendencies are<br />
the result of hands-off parenting," Nickles says.<br />
"In the population we studied, the opposite is the<br />
case." Says Ashcraft, "Overscheduled, pressured<br />
children are an emotional powder keg."<br />
territory, for power. Men who kill do so for the same simple objectives, however<br />
demented or hateful their reasoning may be. It may be as simple as that: men are<br />
animals, perhaps a little more so than women.<br />
So, "animals kill, guns don't kill," to paraphrase the National Rifle Association's<br />
boilerplate regurgitation? Well, that's true, in its own disingenuously dense way.<br />
Obviously, hatemongers with guns are much more efficient killers than<br />
hatemongers with knives and baseball bats. But I think there is something to guns<br />
beyond their convenience. In their very design, they are an eerily perfect extension<br />
of rage. <strong>The</strong> handgun in particular: you make a fist and point the metal finger at the<br />
thing you hate. Impulse to twitch, and a hard, hot bolus of fury hurtles out of you at<br />
hundreds of miles per hour. Point and click. Point and click. From urge to<br />
execution in a flash.<br />
<strong>The</strong>re have been many times in my life when I'm now happy I did not have a gun. I<br />
was a dour teen-ager, I'm told, and if I had had a handgun, I might have not shot up<br />
my school but perhaps a couple of particular individuals, including myself. <strong>The</strong>re<br />
were plenty of other kids in my school who could have made the cover of Time<br />
and <strong>New</strong>sweek, with enough ammo.<br />
Even as a hormonally stable adult, I didn't need something as gut-wrenching as the<br />
murder of a friend to unleash the impulse. Being jostled along the crowded,<br />
steaming streets of <strong>New</strong> <strong>York</strong>, there were days when, if I could have simply<br />
pointed my finger. . . .<br />
Table of Contents<br />
<strong>August</strong> <strong>22</strong>, 1999<br />
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