A little under a year ago, I spent a good half hour trying to say something meaningful about the Virginia Tech massacre. I gave up for several reasons. Everyone had already spoken, many expressing themselves more eloquently than I could hope to match. I wasn't personally impacted. I didn't have a "pet theory" to put forward.

But whenever these things happen, I always feel compelled to say something. There are two reasons for this. First, every time there's a school shooting, some nutjob lawyer seizes the opportunity to self-aggrandize, to drag the spotlight onto himself and blame video games (of all things!) for the senseless acts of disturbed individuals. This is as wrong as it is stupid, and as an advocate for the finest medium of entertainment yet conceived, I am frustrated by the ignorance of those who believe that video games make killers. The older generation has ever been convinced that the younger generation is boarding that proverbial handbasket; from that "newfangled science" to "that immoral jazz" to the evils of "rock-and-roll." I actually have an uncle who believes that it is not just the older generation's prerogative, but their responsibility to hate the music of the rising generation. Video games are following that trend, and fifty years from now, it will be something else.

Second, however, is much more personal to me. I graduated in 1998, just before the Columbine incident. But I had a friend in High School who was quite fond of plotting murder and mayhem. He was a brilliant storyteller (and likely still is!) and had read Stephen King's Rage (if you don't know what Rage is, I recommend you read the Wikipedia link, it's important to my point in this entry). This friend of mine was often mistreated by his peers, and so was I, so I lent a sympathetic ear to his cathartic stories of plastic explosives and fancy weaponry.

These weren't the only stories he told--I'm not exaggerating in the least when I say that listening to his narratives was an aesthetic pleasure. He once delivered to me a monologue form of Alan Moore's Batman: The Killing Joke that I still remember vividly--and fondly. His own stories, other people's stories, it didn't matter--he told them well, and he told them to me, and I enjoyed the experience. But yes, one of his stories was how he would go about exacting his bloody revenge on the social elite of my high school.

The day after the Columbine massacre, I got an email from this friend expressing his dismay and sadness. Specifically, he mentioned our little tête-à-têtes and emphasized that this was not the sort of behavior he could ever condone, let alone perpetrate. I don't remember every detail of that email, except that my dear old friend was shocked that anyone could ever carry out a plan he had always perceived in the realm of macabre, surrealistic fantasy.

It concerns me greatly that, in our growing national awareness of these tragedies, we have resorted to causal inquiries that result in increased alienation. The latest media buzz surrounding the NIU shooting is playing up the antidepressant angle--the shooter was off his meds. Did Prozac cause the shooting? Did a lack of Prozac cause the shooting? Jack Thompson is up to his old tricks, trying to pin the deed on the video game Counter Strike. Others are trying to point a finger at the store where the shooter purchased his guns. And every pointed finger is accompanied by a talking head. "We'll stop the next shooting before it happens," they say, "by eliminating violent video games." "By medicating more liberally." "By watching for warning signs such as violent writings or drawings." "With zero-tolerance gun policies." "With zero-tolerance bullying policies."

So we wind up with children--who for some unfathomable reason (like, say, human nature) are naturally fascinated by sex and violence--getting thrown to the psychoanalytical wolves because they drew a violent picture, or wrote a violent poem, or kissed their classmate on the forehead, or brought a flare gun to school, or... well, or pretty much anything. We are so deathly afraid that someone will "damage" someone else (physically or psychologically) that we fail to take into account the damage we are doing to our children by punishing the slightest exhibition of individuality, the smallest forms of "acting out." The curious and the creative are the first to suffer under this preventative regime. No doubt my aforementioned friend and I would be expelled today for having the conversations that we had. Yet he is a respected member of the academic community and I am in law school.

So the guy who told the violent stories is fine, and his audience is a raving sociopath! d^_^b

Seriously, though, I was a weird kid, and I worry for my children. But I don't worry that they will be shot--frankly, the odds are long on that count, and what's more, there will always be crazy people. Forget video games and rap music; people who kill other people have problems that go much deeper than their choice of media--problems best addressed by encouraging parents to raise their children in a healthy and loving environment. No, what I fear is that overzealous attempts to prevent tragedy will simply create more tragedy, in the form of children too medicated to grow, too afraid to function, and too repressed to think.

So, before you go looking for someone or something to blame, blame the shooter. Then move on with your life. My sympathy and prayers go out to the victims and their families in this latest tragedy. But to those who would twist this tragedy into a soapbox rant against the freedom to play video games, to buy guns, to live life medication-free, to artistically express violent emotions, or to just in general be different: shove off. You're not making a positive difference and you're not preventing squat. You're just another spotlight-grabbing attention-monger.