Brennan Center for Justice Beyond Law and Order in the Gun Debate
position as the one most beneficial to people of color — often while overlooking how that agenda engenders
complicity in the very structures that reproduce racial inequality and domination.
I admit that it is tempting to adjudicate between the two sides of the gun debate, especially on the question of
racism within these respective agendas. But this temptation, as Ibram X. Kendi reminds us, rests on a faulty
understanding of how racism operates in — and shapes — the United States. In Stamped from the Beginning,
Kendi invites us to look at the racial history of the United States as one of dueling racisms.
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Here, we can
understand racism as an interlocking collection of ideologies and institutions that justify an unequal
distribution of resources (time, money, treatment, freedom, and so forth) by dehumanizing a group of people
based on biological or cultural essentialism. Rather than an arc toward justice battled between racism and
anti-racism, Kendi sees different kinds of racism — from the overt Jim Crow–style racism of the 20th-century
South to the color-blind racism that pervades even the most putatively liberal U.S. institutions — as shaping
the history of race in the United States. Following Kendi, we might set aside the urge to label one side of the
gun debate as “racist” — an urge, scholars of whiteness remind us,
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that often does more to address white
discomfort than deal with dismantling racism. Instead, we might view the common allegiance of both sides of
the gun debate to the criminal justice system as evidence of Kendi’s thesis: namely, that complicity and even
collusion with the ideologies and institutions that reproduce racial inequality — such as the criminal justice
system and its attendant justifications — is the default in American society.
Kendi’s insights are thus vital to unraveling the gun debate — and how different positions within it are
structured by race. In interviews with nearly 80 police chiefs across Arizona, California, and Michigan, I found
that race shaped how law enforcement agents talked about and made sense of gun politics and gun violence,
but not necessarily in ways that neatly lined up with the usual sides of the gun debate: gun control versus gun
rights. In Policing the Second Amendment,
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I instead detail two brands of gun talk I found — gun militarism
and gun populism — and how they frame racial presumptions about who is a good guy with a gun, who is a
bad guy with a gun, and what should be done to enforce the line between the two.
Usually discussed in the context of urban crimes associated with people of color (such as gangbanging or
drug-dealing), gun militarism depends on the racializing trope of “bad guys with guns” to justify aggressive
gun law enforcement, including the embrace of the “warrior mindset” in the policing of communities of
color.
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I heard gun militarism, for example, when police chiefs cut up the boundaries between urban spaces
by saying “we like to keep our enemies on the other side of the gate,” or when they separately tallied gang-
related and non-gang-related shootings, minimizing victimization by noting that “90 percent of [gun violence
in a particular jurisdiction] is targeted. It’s people who are involved in a criminal lifestyle.”
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In contrast, police populism celebrates the “good guys with guns” as a boon for personal safety and even
public order — some police chiefs I interviewed even characterized armed private civilians as fellow “first-
responders.” As one chief explained to me, “if there’s an off-duty cop next to me in the store when I need back
up, I’m going to want that back up. And I don’t see what’s the difference between that off-duty cop and the
responsible citizen. There is zero difference.”
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Gun populism frequently appeared alongside color-blind ideals
of lawfulness and innocence that nevertheless reflect values, dispositions, and sensibilities associated with
whiteness: “normal people,” the “rancher with a gun,” the “teacher with a gun,” and “the farmer.”
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Further,
gun populism was often articulated in the context of active shootings commonly associated with
predominantly white rural and suburban spaces, and police chiefs talked about these victims differently from
how they described victims in the context of urban gun violence. Rather than minimizing victims as already
involved in a criminal lifestyle, they often expressed the shame and devastation they would feel if they were
unable to intervene to save innocent victims.
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