Being a Chapman student from out of state is like being an exotic animal. Being a Chapman student from Cincinnati, Ohio, is more like being a critically endangered species. Despite the lack of Cincinnatians, I keep close tabs on my hometown through social media and updates from my family and friends
On the morning of Sept. 6, like most other mornings, I woke up to multiple message notifications from two groups of hometown friends and a few from my mother. It was my father’s birthday, so I expected a series of well-wishes and an annual “breakfast in bed” photo.

Instead, “I’m safe” was the first thing I read when I opened my phone. Confused, I kept reading.

Eventually, I put together that there had been a shooting in the heart of the business district in downtown Cincinnati. I did what any well-trained millennial would do and turned to Google to catch up on the news. As I read, I not only learned chilling information about the events that took place, but I discovered something disappointing about myself.

While reading, I was curious as to why none of the articles I found were from national news outlets, and for a moment that lasted too long, I thought, “Well, it was only four people.”

How desensitized must I be to mass shootings to have degraded the deaths of four people with language like “only?”
I immediately felt ashamed. These people each meant something to hundreds of others, and although I didn’t know them, chances are that I could have.

And still, I thought, “Only four.”

I continued reading, and immediately recognized the “local ice cream store” and the “bank building” mentioned in the Cincinnati Enquirer. I mentally followed the route the shooter took and realized that I’d probably walked that same path before. I felt nauseous and heartbroken as I pictured confused passersby, ducking behind the iconic fountain in the center of the town square as the first shot pierced the air.

But still, I thought, “Only four.”

Officials have since learned information about the shooter, who was shot and killed by police, and his three victims. It’s a narrative many have heard before: a troubled man who had been asked by his family to seek psychiatric care.

There are articles about vigils, the families of the people who died and the first responders called to the scene. But two weeks later, there is hardly anything about why and how a man with a criminal record and mental health problems was able to get his hands on a firearm. He walked five blocks from his parking spot to the city’s center with a legally purchased deadly weapon and around 200 rounds of ammunition in a briefcase.

There have been no demonstrations or pleas to call our representatives, many of whom happen to be notoriously linked to the National Rifle Association (NRA). Few have even remarked on how this event ties into the apposite issue of gun violence in this country. Cincinnati, a relatively liberal city in a mostly conservative region, seems to be walking on eggshells and rhetoric that would lend it to a national conversation.

This is cowardly, unproductive and terribly frustrating. How many hometowns need to suffer senseless loss for us to take action? How many smaller shootings like this have been deemed unworthy of national news and perpetuate shootings like Parkland as the new standard for reportable tragedy? And how many people need to die for us to see a news story and feel relief that “only four lives” were taken? It’s already been too many.

You can accuse me of using an abhorrent event as a political platform, but if this isn’t an appropriate moment to speak out against a flawed system, one in which citizens are more likely to die at the hands of a gunman than in a car accident, when is?

On the seal of Cincinnati are the words “juncta juvant,” which roughly translates to “strength in unity.” Maybe if our country was actually united, we would have been strong enough to say “enough is enough” long before this particular tragedy came to be.