The mass killing at Virginia Tech has been all over the news and the blogosphere here since the disclosure that the gunman was an ethnic Korean raised in the United States.
The most surprising thing, for me—in addition to just the inherent shock involved in something so ghastly—is the number of Korean people here who seem to assume that Americans will hold all Koreans responsible.
This evening, David told me that he greeted the cab driver who took him to the train station with his usual icebreaker, “날씨가 좋아요.” (”It’s good weather [today]).”
The driver responded that it was, but that he was sick at heart (because of the shootings) and ashamed that the person responsible turned out to be Korean.
When I got to work today, my boss came over to ask if I’d heard about the tragedy—when I said I assumed he meant the shootings—he nodded and pointed out that he thought Cho Seung-Hui must have been badly abused, or had parents who were unable to take care of him, for something like this to have happened.
I told him what I’ve thought since I read the first news reports about who it was: The man seemed to be mentally ill and not rational, to have suffered some sort of psychotic break–though, really, we will never know.
But for me, it wouldn’t matter if he were Korean or Bosnian or a native-born American citizen, or whatever. He is no more representative of all Koreans than Sulejman Talovic was of his countrymen, nor Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold were representative of all Americans.
Living here, I do understand that Korean families tend to have a collective sense of responsibility for the actions of individual members. But to extend that to the entire country and/or persons of Korean ancestry?
I also think it’s useless to question whether there’s some element of Korean society that’s played some sort of role. There’s no evidence of that at all. And, there’s no way we will ever know since the only person who could tell us is dead. I think it’s much more likely that this is another case of a seriously disturbed individual with too little access to mental health services but all too easy access to guns. That statement could describe any number of other lone gunmen, too.
I can’t help but think that if it had been more difficult for this person (and a lot of the other shooters) to get the guns, this might not have happened. I don’t understand why we have so little problem with the government secretly wiretapping hundreds of its citizens without benefit of a court order or going to extreme lengths to prohibit the transportation of potentially dangerous breast milk on airplanes but will brook no meaningful discussion of stricter regulations on gun purchases and ownership.
It’s as if there’s no middle ground between an all-out weapons ban and any restrictions whatsoever. In many states in the U.S., you can buy a weapon with no waiting period—provided you have no documented prior history of violence—and no requirements for safety training, licensure, or mental health screening. We put stricter limits* on who can drive a car than we do who can buy a Glock-9.
It may not have made a difference in this case, if Cho had to undergo a mandatory waiting period, take a gun-training course, undergo a basic mental health evaluation and, perhaps, submit references in support of an application for gun ownership. Maybe he would have done all of those things and the result would still be the same.
I can’t help but think that if he hadn’t simply been able to go into a gun shop, purchase ammunition and two handguns immediately, with no questions asked, allowing him to buy and keep deadly weapons in secret, accountable to no one but himself and his violent fantasies, things might have been different.
*Link is to a PDF document file.
