Shooter: A Coveted First Person Narrative

This spring I took a mandatory class: Writing 122. I loved my gtf, and the space she gave us for our papers. Our first paper needed to be "something about art. How you think of it, what it is, where you find it, be creative. Or you can write about the Virginia Tech shooting." Well, duh.

20 April 2007
Shooter: A Coveted First Person Narrative

Adam was backed up against the brick wall. He looked frantically from side to side. "What are you doing?” He screamed. “You think you can just solve all of your problems right here!?” In answer, I looked straight down the barrel, steadying my aim. Everything was right; shooting-range grasp, arms braced for the recoil, feet in a broad, resolute stance. I pulled the trigger. Unflinching, I closed my eyes and felt his blood spray onto my face. I exhaled cathartically, and slowly rolled my gaze to the left. The glare of a steeled killer reflected back at me.

Only days after the Virginia Tech massacre I acted in a film a friend of mine is making. The script was delivered to me shortly before filming, so I didn’t have much time to analyze the overall plot or action in my scenes. Besides, I needed only concern myself with the deliverance of my lines, not the content of his film.

During the filming I was handed a plastic gun, which had been spray-painted black to look convincingly real. Then the stage direction “pulls trigger” made complete sense. My character was responsible for abruptly extinguishing the life of the protagonist. Shooting my friend, Adam, point blank required many takes, after each of which someone wiped the red cornstarch blood off of my face. Earlier we all praised the creator of the stage blood for its realistic color and texture.
Though I act in the University of Oregon’s campus TV show, and have played violent parts, never had I been recruited to perform such an intense role. With it, there was a promised sense of empowerment. The confident handling of a firearm, the not-taking-shit attitude, the calculating precision, all personas were alluring to an amateur actress. I was honestly anticipating my ability to pull of the character of an assassin.

As if anticipating killing another human, in any fashion, wasn’t horrifying enough, I hadn’t realized the grotesqueness of my excitement until days later. The blood looked so real, I looked so sure, and when it finally sunk into my palate, it tasted like bile. Most Americans would describe the taste of blood as metallic, like the cold steel and hot lead bullet that rips a body apart. The taste of blood has been glorified; and we love it.

Days after the biggest school massacre in history I was, completely willingly, perpetuating the culture that thrives on such violence. I am an active part of this culture, destroying itself from the inside out, which is something each and every responsible American needs to recognize for themselves. And then maybe we will understand how we all played a part in the Virginia Tech tragedy.

It is common for people to ask, “Why did he do this? Was he refused treatment? How can we help people like this?” While these questions are coming from a compassionate place, they are examining the wrong side of the issue. By asking, “Why him?” We are also saying, “Him and not us.” We dislocate ourselves, making this a matter of isolated incidents, rather than the obvious symptoms of a diseased culture. The real question is how we could create, and maintain, an environment that fosters this kind of behavior.

After the massacre, threatening and tragic images saturated all forms of media; television, internet, magazines, newspapers. We communicate in images, which is something Cho Seung Hui bet all his marbles on, and rightly so. After committing such an atrocity, he spoon-fed it to us. News agencies thirsted for it. NBC slapped their brand on the propaganda package mailed to them faster than a doctor slaps a newborn. CNN did the same thing with a piece of cell phone footage, filmed by a VT student. Periodicals wallowed in the shock value of the pre-assembled press kit. Our media agencies served as the perfect tool for Cho’s violent message. He used us to hurt us. We let it happen, and we make it happen every day.
Our media distributors provide us with thousands of daily images, which makes them accountable for treating their audience ethically, and setting a standard. It is the very coverage of such incidents that shapes our perception of reality. The more violence we see and hear about, the more there will be. We make it real. We create violence by showing it because the media is a tool for reflecting ourselves. Is this how we want to see ourselves? Is this what we will continue to support?
By circulating images of the killer we thoroughly perpetuate the attitude he created. However, in defense of the average violence and media consuming American, it could be argued that we are burned out on the news, and all the terrible things shown at nine o’clock. People don’t like living in a shadow of violence. They don’t want it in their everyday life. Which must be why God invented movies.

A movie is the glossiest portrayal of life. Here we have the pretty faces, the budgets, the resources, and the most creative intellects in the world, to compose or retell stories for a global audience. With that in mind, what was the best picture this year? Was it a striking film about communication across cultures? How about one of dignity and courage? Maybe it was a heart-warming family film about loving each other for all that we are? It was none of these. It was incredibly violent and harsh: The Departed. It is a shame that a gory, violence oriented film managed to beat out spectacular competition. It’s as if the Oscar board decided, “Well, the creative solutions are cute, but we wish we could just kill our problems instead.” These films are some of the most powerful art forms known to our culture. They speak to us. They are widely available. We, and our macabre fantasies, are the main stars.

Art is a word connected to vast interpretations. Art means beauty, invention, inspiration, provocation. The advancement of the human race is characterized by the forms of art it produces. Does our art reflect us, or do we reflect our art? Though the answer to this question is debatable, our actions aren’t. It is obvious how we choose to spend our money and time. Why would we call glorified killing “art”? Why do we praise it, feeding it millions of dollars?

The Korean film “Old Boy” artistically inspired Cho’s rampage. Stills of Cho are patterned just like the movie. For a quick fix, it’s easy to place blame on a source that can’t speak for itself, like a movie or video games. Then let the Internet Movie Database describe this film. Some of the plot key words are “Tooth Pulling, Revenge, Suicide, Torture, Hammer, Knife In Back, Scissor Stabbing, Severed Hand, Shot In The Head, Stabbed In The Ear, Murder of Wife”. It won the 2004 Cannes Film Festival.

The public speaks clearly about what it wants. For some reason, we don’t want to see people killed in real life, but we do want to see people killed in movies. And we want to point the finger at individuals who act unethically, supposing that they, alone, have a problem and they, alone, need treatment. It has been hotly debated whether or not it was ethical for periodicals to publish the images of Cho pointing a gun at the readers. People found it assaulting and threatening, and they should. We should feel threatened by the culture that we have created. We are a part of this history and we all need to be a part of the solution.

My friend’s film is scheduled to premier in late May. I am still going to see it on opening night, but with newfound reservations, and a burning guilt for my direct contribution to our bloodthirsty society. When I later asked the filmmaker why the protagonist needed to die amidst such gore and malice, he replied, “Because it’s art. It’s contemporary.”