Politics & Government

Campus-carry Firearms Advocates Stage Abbreviated Drama

Counter-protesters out-stage gun rights aficionados

DOWNTOWN AUSTIN/UT, TX -- In the end, it ended with a whimper, not a bang.

Gun rights advocates calling for University of Texas at Austin officials to allow them to openly carry their firearms on campus promised a grisly mock mass shooting demonstration Saturday—complete with realistic fake blood, pretend victims writhing in pain and a faux attack carried out with military-like precision. Details of their docudrama were outlined days prior through social media in an effort, they contend, to illustrate the horrific nature of mass shootings---thus, by their reckoning, the need for abundant guns on campus to counter potential strikes.

Ultimately, it was more of a guerrilla-like skirmish: A mere handful of firearms aficionados quickly descending upon their pre-determined stage just off-campus—before counter-protestors were able to make the scene—pretending to shoot each other up before sketching rough chalk outlines of the pretend-fallen.

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A new state law that allows the open-carry of handguns is scheduled to take effect Jan. 1, with a companion campus-carry provision scheduled in August from which private universities are able to opt out. Enter UT-Austin President Greg Fenves, who has publicly voiced his reservations about the presence of guns on campus, even while acknowledging the school would have to adhere given its public university status.

His concerns prompted pro-gun activists groups Come and Take it Texas and DontComply.com to reveal details of a “theatrical skit” to illustrate the horrors that ensue after a mass shooting--and, by their way of thinking, the need for unfettered access to guns on campus as a line of defense.

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Initially, the two groups calling for campus-carry had hoped to stage their grim play on campus, before university officials alerted they would be charged with trespassing if they followed through. The would-be thespians opted for a location off the university’s main drag on Guadalupe Street instead that would adhere to the 2:30 p.m. start time of their skit—alerting of their new staging area through social media outlets. Instead, gun rights advocates staged a shortened version of their skit before the scheduled staging, and their presentation was largely missed.

As counter-protesters—comprising UT-Austin students, alumni and even some professors—made their way to the new staging area, word came from a passerby who watched the impromptu drama that the bloody theatrics had already concluded. Upon their arrival at the intersection of West 27th St. and Whitis Avenue just off-campus, they bore witness to crudely drawn chalk outlines of mock shooting victims representing the aftermath of the make-believe bloodbath.

En route to the post-drama scene, UT-Austin sophomore Kyla Harrison conveyed why she decided to voice her disapproval of campus-carry advocates’ tactics. She said her protest sign written in a stream-of-consciousness manner—“No. Why R U Doing This? I’m confused. Pls Stop”—reflected her bewilderment about gun advocates’ chosen form of grisly theatrical expression—coming just weeks after horrific terroristic attacks in Paris and San Bernardino, California.

“It’s weird that we’ve become so desensitized to mass shootings that this is okay,” Harrison, 19, said.
She then explained the cryptic nature of her sign: “if they want to mock a serious issue, then we’re going to mock them right back. They don’t deserve a real protest.”

Her fellow counter-protester—also en route along Guadalupe Street to the scene of the then-concluded theatrics—was more blunt about his motives in voicing his counter-protest: “It seems crazy to me that they would choose this venue,” he said, referencing the 1966 campus killings of 16 people by Charles Whitman, who commandeered the university’s since-closed tower as his sniper’s lair in carrying out his mass murder.

Upon arriving at the scene of the gun rights advocates’ rescheduled play stage, they were met with just a few fellow protesters, roughly 50 or so, each bearing witness to the chalk outlines of the pretend-deceased etched on the sidewalk that were quickly erased by a mop-and-bucket toting pair of simpatico protesters--their janitorial duties met with cheers from the gathered crowd. But within minutes, throngs of counter-protesters arrived to enjoin the protest, loudly chanting their disapproval along the way.

The most curious among those descending the scene were self-proclaimed farters—counter-protesters armed with gun-like implements mimicking the sounds of flatulence. Members of that camp said they opted for the gaseous expressions to illustrate the equally surreal nature of their adversaries’ form of theatrical expression.

All told, some 150 counter-protesters made the scene, according to an on-scene member of the university police force. Some 20 minutes later, the crowds began to disperse. The campus-carry advocates who ignited the entire ruckus, meanwhile, were unavailable for interviews as they were nowhere to be found.

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