I’ve just spent four days in Krakow, a beautiful Polish city rich with architecture, delicious food and a bounty of fascinating history.
I was flabbergasted at the sheer scale of the industrial murder camps in Auschwitz and I left with a headache from crying throughout the tour.
To avoid upping the dosage of my anti-depressant, I figured I needed some levity, so naturally I arranged to shoot some guns the next day.
We’ve all seen movies where an FBI agent goes to the shooting range to blow off some steam and I figured that if it was good enough for Jodie Foster, then I should give it a whirl.
I wanted to experience what it was like to hold a weapon and fire it because I spent my childhood accustomed to seeing the ‘walking trees’ in our street.
This is how my sisters and I referred to the soldiers prowling around in their camouflage holding rifles – although I always wondered why they didn’t have the pattern of a brick wall on their uniforms, considering that it would blend in better with Lenadoon than the jungle green gear.
One of us would be tasked with asking “Mister, let us look through your gun?” and would sometimes be rewarded with a quick glance down the scope of said soldier’s rifle, before being unceremoniously trailed into the house by the ponytails with our ma bawling “I TOLD YOU NEVER TO STAND NEAR THE SOLDIERS.”
So, at 37 years old I finally got to look through the scope of a rifle without the danger of losing my favourite hair scrunchie to my mother’s grip.
I must admit I was slightly anxious in the minibus on the way to the range as I observed the strangers travelling with us, and began to subtly analyse the chances of anyone turning on me while holding a pistol. I think my husband felt the same way as he was especially nice to me that morning.
We were greeted by a Polish ex-serviceman who simply asked to see our ID before leading us to all the deadly weapons. Health and safety first, of course: we wore ear protection and goggles before being handed a gun.
When I felt the weight of a Glock 19 in my hand, it was more than just the 21 ounces of steel and polymer. I also felt the weight of lethal potential, accompanied by a terrifying amount of cautious responsibility.
The thing that surprised me was how easy it was to fire. One gentle squeeze of the trigger and the target paper I was aiming at had a little hole in one of the brightly coloured balloons it was adorned with. All of a sudden, I was Annie Oakley and letting off rounds became easier with every new gun I was handed, one of which being a rifle with a scope.
My moment had arrived as I finally got to look down a soldier’s gun and pull the trigger.
The sound that reverberates though the air is so powerful that it almost has mass. I can feel the skin on my face tingling with the force of it and I am suddenly very appreciative of the ear protection.
The sound that reverberates though the air is so powerful that it almost has mass. I can feel the skin on my face tingling with the force of it
It then occurred to me that I would be horrified if the fun balloon target was an actual human being. I can’t believe that as a child I stood fearlessly next to these things and walked past people wielding them as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.
I now understand why my mother grabbed my hair in a panic and told me to stay away. I began to wonder how anyone could fire a gun at a person – to protect my own child perhaps? Or any child?
Does it get easier if we set certain parameters of morality when it comes to who we can and cannot aim this weapon at? Can those lines become so blurred that they may render the person behind the scope blind to the human at the other end?
I can see how this powerful feeling might be addictive for certain personalities. The ability to extinguish a life by uttering “Fire” could become a heady drug for the unchecked.
Unlike Krakow, where I paid roughly £1.20 a bullet, there are people actually being paid to do this, and with that realisation, I left the shooting range with a better understanding of why the world is always at war.
The phrase from the Holocaust museum is living rent free in my head now: “Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it”.
Given what is happening in Ukraine and Palestine, I think our world leaders must have Alzheimer’s.