"Honor to the soldier and sailor everywhere, who bravely bears his country's cause. Honor, also, to the citizen who cares for his brother in the field and serves, as he best can, the same cause."
~ Abraham Lincoln
This essay has been one of the most difficult things I have ever written. It took me days to try and formalize my thoughts into something coherent, instead of the angry rants I kept composing. I know everyone is talking about the San Bernardino massacre right now but I want to focus on the shooting that took place in Colorado Springs in November. More specifically, I would like to talk about one of the victims -- Ke'arre Stewart -- and why his death hit me so hard. But first, I should tell you a little about myself.
I was born in Kansas, a very conservative and very red state where I was raised on guns and Jesus. I consider myself lucky to have had that upbringing because I was taught how to handle a gun responsibly and was instilled with the virtue to know it should never be used. Sadly, many with the same heritage didn't absorb that lesson. My mother learned, and excelled in, marksmanship in high school and made sure that I knew that a gun was not a toy. It's a deadly weapon that should be leveled at another living creature only when there is no other recourse. We didn't take out our guns to "squeeze off a couple rounds" for fun. The only times I was allowed to touch the guns were when my mother needed target practice and when she wanted to teach me how to sight, shoot, and clean them. Other than that, they were kept under a lock and key that only my mother and father could access. I'm 39-years-old and my mother still does not allow me to go near her guns without a completely valid reason. To this day, that mentality is what I think of when I talk about "responsible gun ownership," and that attitude towards guns was reinforced when I joined the military.
When I was 18, I joined the United States Air Force. I was young, naive, and full of patriotism; ready to defend my country's principles even at the cost of my own life. The universe nearly took me up on that offer a couple times. On my 21st birthday, I was on a temporary deployment to an undisclosed location in Southwest Asia. I was working on an F-16 with my mentor SSgt. Gutmueller when we heard a call go out over the radio: "Attention all channels. Be advised we have a 55 gallon drum pinging positive for radiation at Checkpoint Charlie."
I looked at my mentor and asked, "What does that mean?"
He just kept working and said nonchalantly, "It means it could be a nuclear bomb."
I started to panic. "So what do we do!?"
He stopped for a moment, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Nothing. We'd be dead before we even heard the boom."
I was shocked and speechless. We went back to work and I tried my best to pretend like it didn't happen. But that incident left an indelible mark on my psyche and I still don't know if it was simply a hoax, but considering several days later they discovered an unexploded IED in the shower tent, it doesn't matter. The only other experience I had with an IED was with one that actually went off. I keep that experience close to my chest still and I have only talked about it with other veterans and my wife because it affects me too much to share with others who wouldn't understand.
But here's the thing: In the entire time I served in the military, I was never shot at. In fact, that didn't happen until after I got out of the service and it was done by one of the very citizens whose rights I sacrificed 11 years of my life to defend. That was the first time I faced the nightmare of surviving the military only to be nearly killed by those I swore to protect.
Since I left the military in 2006, I have been shot at, or been in the presence of a gunman, three times. I know that might not seem like much to some of you, especially to my fellow veterans. But think about it. Eleven years in the military and I was never shot at. Nine years as a civilian and I have had three different people point a gun at me. That's why Ke'arre Stewart's death hit me like a ton of bricks. He survived nearly a decade in the Army only to be gunned down in his hometown by an unstable American citizen with access to guns.
Ke'arre is the type of veteran I consider to be a personal hero. It doesn't matter why he joined the service. It doesn't matter how he managed to survive his enlistment. It doesn't even matter what his service records show. What matters to me is that in the last moments of his life, he still showed a tremendous amount of valor by attempting to save others. Just typing that makes me shake and cry with anger.
Have no doubt, I blame the shooter (whose name I refuse to mention as to not give him more publicity) for Ke'arre's death. But not as much as I blame the American people and the ineffectual politicians they elect. The politicians we have elected are the real terrorist in this country. That is what you call someone who, minutes after an act of violence, takes to the media and uses the attack to further their political aims; to me, that's the very definition of terrorism. They may not be pulling the triggers themselves, but by refusing to take action and allowing this violence to escalate, they are complicit.
Friends and family remember Planned Parenthood shooting victim Ke'arr Stewart at Angelus Chapel in Colorado Springs, Colorado, December 3, 2015 (Getty Images)
To Ke'arre's family, I would like to personally apologize. No parent should ever have to bury their kid as a result of random violence. Your son has my highest respect and you have my deepest sympathies.
To his daughters, I would like to say please, in the years to come, try not to become angry from having your father taken from you so suddenly and violently. Instead, try to remember your father's actions that saved the lives of others. I have no doubt that he would have done it again. Your father was, is, and always will be a hero.
To his wife: Nothing I can say will make up for your loss. Despite not having met your husband, he was my brother. I can't stop crying as I write these words because his death was pointless. It accomplished nothing aside from robbing you of your husband, your daughters of their father, and the world of a hero we so desperately need right now.
Finally, to the American people I would like to say: I don't want to take away your guns. Taking that right away would be against everything I stand for. But I have no problem requiring a strict application process for gun ownership, including medical and psychological evaluations. I also have no problem with restricting assault rifles to law enforcement and military personnel only. If I can guard the perimeter fence of a stateside military installation on 9/11, hours after the attacks, armed with nothing more than a radio and a Leatherman tool, you can defend your entire family with a .22 rifle. And if you can't do that, then perhaps you need more training. If my uncle can take down a grizzly with a bow and arrow, you can defend yourself with a low caliber weapon.
I swore to defend the Constitution of the United States to my dying breath, and just because my enlistment ran up does not mean my oath has. I joined the military because I believed in this country and the spirit of its people, and I still do. This nation was founded by ordinary citizens accomplishing monumental things in the face of strong adversity. We are and can be a great people. Right now, we simply lack the leadership to show it. But until that day arrives, I will continue to support our Second Amendment rights. I just refuse to die because of it.
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Christopher Shane Coleman was born and raised in Kansas and now lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two daughters. He is a comic book enthusiast, actor, artist, writer, veteran, and the one person you can always rely on to tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear.