Pro-immigrant readers see what's in front of their eyes

Mason Sergio Mejia shows up at short notice and saved us last year during the great mothball debacle. 

     Monday's column, "Show me where the immigrants hurt you" rang a lot of bells. The floodgates opened. On Wednesday, I printed a few few of the anti-immigrant replies, mostly Fox News lies chewed a few times and spat back by their well-trained viewers.
     But lots and lots of pro-immigrant comments came in as well, and as Friday's column can only run 750 words, I thought I would jump the gun and run a few today as well.
     You know how I like a good historical argument, and Alan Rhine, of Glenview, offered this:

     In your Monday column you reference a letter that you received that asked what the founding fathers would have thought about the immigration trends from the past 30 years? This reader should consult the Declaration of Independence to see what was stated by the founders who signed this document. In discussing the repeated injuries and usurpations of the King of Great Britain, one of the points made was that:

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

     The same Declaration of Independence did not speak favorable about the native Americans, who were the indigenous people that were already here. Another complaint against King George was:

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

     Immigration reform is not a new issue. To me it appears that if the founders had responded to your assignment, they would have been more concerned about harm from the indigenous people than from immigrants. 
   P.S. Alexander Hamilton was not born in the 13 colonies. If he had not immigrated from the Caribbean Island of Nevis, we would not have the play about his life.

      Unlike the nebulous imagined generalities of the antis-, supporters of immigrations have almost universally actually met immigrants. Bill O'Connor of Lake Geneva writes:

     Thank you for this opportunity. The youngest of our three was a sophomore in high school, and I knew from experience he would be around less often. I attended classes, learning to teach English as a second language.
     My first volunteer assignment was on the southwest side of Chicago. Spanish speakers, male and female, working jobs all day and arriving for tutoring on time and enthusiastic. Aquilo, a fortyish male student wanted to learn English so he could communicate better with his teenage children as well as his co workers. After about a year, I gave him a final assignment. Write a presentation on any subject and present it to me the following week. The following week he appeared all smiles and with a single construction bolt about ten inches long. His company makes these and he explained the process thoroughly. His closing statement with a huge smile, “ and these are the bolts that anchor the new street lights on 294”.
     I retired and moved to Southeast Wisconsin. A new setting but the same enthusiastic, prompt students. Elana is a single mother of two sons and was working fifty hours a week at her factory job, 6 am to 4:30. She showed up every session at 4:45, willing to work. On one occasion she was troubled. She had heard of another mass shooting at a school and feared for her sons. I suggested we compose a letter with her concerns and send it to a politician. Several weeks later, she walked into our session beaming.In her hand was a letter from Senator Tammy Baldwin, sympathizing with her and outlining her gun control efforts.
     I do not know if these people and many others I tutored, are legal and I do not care. They are doing the same thing my ancestors did, working hard and trying to improve. These are two, there are thousands and thousands just like them.

     A frequent theme is the hard-working nature of immigrants.

     This is Mike Shawgo from Second Pres. My experiences with immigrants have all been from them stopping by at the church. The first time, a group of about six guys showed up on a Saturday, when the church is open for tours. One of the tour docents came to get me to see if I could help them. The church has various supplies that we use for our lunch bag program, which wasn't open at the time. They were trying to talk to me, but my Spanish is limited. Then one of them got their phone with the Google Translate app. They were asking if we had any food. I brought out some sandwiches from lunch bag refrigerator, and also retrieved a bunch of plastic shoe boxes that had toiletry articles, wheeled them out on a cart and set them out on a table so they could take anything they needed. They picked out just a few things, then a couple of the guys started putting the lids back on the boxes, stacked them up and put them back on the cart, which I thought was nice. Then as they were leaving, saying "gracias" over and over, one of them offered to help me get the Google Translate app on my phone, which he did.
     Another time, again on a Saturday, an immigrant showed up at the church. I was there because I had volunteered to help re-set and screw down pews in the balcony that had been moved for scaffolding. This guy was sitting in a pew, and as I walked over he got out his phone with Google Translate and said he just came in to pray. I tried to speak with him a bit, and he said he had just recently arrived, and was looking for work. That gave me an idea, and I checked with the other volunteers who were working on the pews and asked what they thought about asking him to help with screwing down pews. I said I would pay him something. They said that would be great, so using my translate app, I asked if he would like to work on a project here at the church, and I said I would show him what it was. He was very enthusiastic after I showed him what we were doing, and he started screwing down pews with a passion (this was just using a regular screwdriver). He was really going to town, so one of the other guys and myself just quit working on it. One other guy had a power screwdriver, and after a while the immigrant went to him asking for the power screwdriver, which he gave him, then that guy also sat back and let him do the work.
     A group of ladies were having a meeting in the church hall and had ordered pizza for lunch. After their lunch, they had leftover pizza and came in to the sanctuary and asked us if we wanted leftover pizza. I told the immigrant we were breaking for lunch, and to come back to the church hall. Luckily one of the ladies could speak Spanish, and she described the pizzas. He said at the table with us, and was telling us (with the app) about his wife and daughter, and how he was trying to make enough money to bring them to the US. When we tried to get him to eat more pizza, he said no thanks, he was getting to fat (gordo). Then he went back to work. Meanwhile, I went to an ATM and took out $100 to pay him. When he was finished, I asked him how much pay he wanted for his work. He didn't want to take any money, and said, I think, something about that he had done the work out of the goodness of his heart (I recognized "mi corazon", and he put his hand on his chest). I said no, he did the work so he had to be paid. I gave him the $100 but it was folded up bills so he didn't know right away how much it was. But he immediately crossed himself, put his hands on his chest and looked up "to heaven." We never saw him again after that.

     There is no limit online, but I realize I can't go on forever —  I have dozens of these. One more and we'll wait til Friday. Paula Hyman, whose 3rd grade CPS classroom I visited in 2006, writes:

     I was in charge of helping my brother-in-law clean and declutter his condo. I hired a decluttering company, and she brought along three Venezuelan immigrants to help, one man and two women. Neil, I have never seen cleaning people work so hard! They spoke little English, so we used our phones to translate. They happily got right to work cleaning, scrubbing, mopping, and organizing everything in the condo. Although they worked fast, it took two all day sessions for them to finish. The condo has not been that clean since he moved in twenty-five years ago. Everything was shining, immaculate and looked like new. These people were not afraid of hard work. You could tell they had pride in their job and were grateful to make some money. It took two days, but my brother-in-law’s place place took on a whole new life. (I won’t give you details on how disgustedly filthy and cluttered it was.) I am going to hire them to do jobs at my house where I can use some help 
     Each of the immigrants had spouses that worked and kids in school. The kids all loved school here in Chicago, which was good to hear. They were each living in a decent apartment in the nicer part of East Rogers Park. I have been telling everybody that I encounter about my positive experience with these “lazy, criminal migrants.” Although I do not speak Spanish, their enthusiasm for the USA was palpable. They were so grateful to be safe in the United States. I really enjoyed working with them and gave them each a grateful hug when we parted. I plan on staying in touch and I am hoping to help them in some way.

     That'll do for today. Thanks everyone for writing in. It's a relief to remember that there are still good, decent people here, people who are able to see what's in front of them, instead of surrendering to fear and fantasy. 

Readers offload bad feelings about immigrants

     At the end of Monday's column on candidates stoking fear against immigrants, in a fit of madness, I made two requests.
     First, these slurs are so general — someone somewhere doing something — that I invited xenophobic readers to send in specific stories of harm that actually happened to them, the real life incident that turned them against immigrants.
     Then, impulsively, I asked readers who are not hot to deport millions of hard-working would-be Americans why they look upon immigration positively, despite the suffering immigrants' presence supposedly brings.
     That second request was a last-minute afterthought, which is ironic, because the response ran 5-to-1 pro-immigrant.
     The original idea was to present the pros and cons in one column. But given the massive response, I decided to run the "Immigrants Bad" responses today, and the "Immigrants Good" sampler on Friday.
     Those opposed to immigration, as a rule, didn't understand the assignment — share something that actually happened to you — instead, like Tom Howard, regurgitating Fox News talking points. He came in hot:
     "I dislike the immigrants who break our law entering our country while thousands of immigrants doing it the right way waiting in line!
     "I dislike immigrants that enter illegally, who are taking over hotels and schools and disrupting American life.
     "I dislike immigrants that enter illegally and are bringing diseases and death to innocent Americans."
     There's more, but you get the idea. This passion for the rule of law —breathtaking, really — is a common thread.
     What struck me is how readily the bile is ingested, then regurgitated back. Consider this, from Tony Zucchero, a perennial correspondent:
     "We are Not Talking Legal Immigrants! We are talking about Criminal Illegal Aliens! You Ready, here we go! The Following are Facts! They are Raping, Murdering, Child Trafficking, Selling Drugs, Stealing, Beating, Robbing, Abusing American Citizens, Overwhelming Our Health Care System, Hospitals, Schools, Our Welfare System, Lowering Wages, They are Eating Our Pets, They are Taking Away Benefits, Housing and Medical from Our U.S Veterans, They are Raising the Cost of Insurance because they are Given Drivers Licenses Without the Requirements that American Citizens Have to go through to Obtain a Drivers License, Record Number of Automobile Accidents ..."

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The Erotic Waffle

     We stayed in a hotel called The Evelyn, 27th Street and 5th Avenue, on our recent visit to New York. I liked the place: the room was so small it couldn't become messy. There was a serviceable little gym in the basement that I used several times. The front desk handed out free bottled water and tangerines. When we left the bellman gave us directions to take the subway to LaGuardia that were better than the mess Google Maps offered.
     My wife picked The Evelyn for its location — convenient to Jersey City and our son and daughter-in-law, to Brooklyn, where the wedding festivities (the son of a college buddy, not one of mine, this time) were held. We walked as far north as Times Square and as far south as the Battery, to the West Village and nearby Madison Park.
     But one aspect of its location had not been anticipated, an adjacency I neatly summed up upon arrival.
      "You booked us next door to the Museum of Sex," I observed. We went about our business. Saturday night, got back to the hotel about 10 p.m. after coffee and cheesecake at Caffe Reggio. Investigating the place seemed in order — here, you enter through the gift shop. We were greeted by a woman holding a large dildo — this is New York City after all — who said that tickets to the museum itself cost $36 and included the special exhibit, "Super Funland: Journey Into the Erotic Carnival."
     Had I been wearing my columnist hat, I of course would have ponied up to experience the wonder. But I was wearing my frugal traveler after a long day hat, and so we both saved the $72 and skipped the place. It is expensive — you can get into the Met for only $30.

     I did think of EGD earlier, passing the shuttered Erotic Waffle cart above. Maybe because we parsed the word "waffle"here previously. Though honestly my curiosity centered around the word "erotic" — not heard in popular culture as much, lately. My guess being that it's like "oriental" — a term that once described a certain realm of exotism that has been banished in our world, fragmented into a hundred identities. Fifty years ago Bridget Bardot in a French maid's outfit could be described as "erotic" — now of course that would reflect cisnormative supremacy. What would erotic even mean anymore? The "to whom?" part is too immediate and variable.

     Not that "erotic" hold much interest, etymologically. From eros, obviously, the Greek god of love, though I'd better confirm, since it's what you think you know that trips you up. "Of or pertaining to the passion of love," is how my OED puts it, tracing the word, not to any divinity, but to the Greek word for "sexual love," no gods involved. That's why you always check.

     Perhaps damningly, I did not wonder what an erotic waffle could possibly be. In fact, I wondered whether the cart could be a mere decoration — a prop that did not actually open and serve commestibles.

     Wrong again. It did, and leaving the Museum of Sex, we saw what the an erotic waffle consisted of. Rather binary of them, now that I think of it. I took a few photos, though my wife worried that social media, which can be astoundingly prudish when it isn't peddling pure smut, would permit its posting. We'll see. You have to look closely; too close, I hope, for an algorithm to notice and take offense.

Show me where the immigrants hurt you

"Mobile Construction, Trees, 2000" by Nick Cave (Museum of Contemporary Art)

     Chicago's population was 2.7 million in 1990. It's 2.66 million now.
     That's bad. Fewer people means fewer taxpayers and a city in decline.
    What's good is when those busloads of Venezuelans started showing up, courtesy of Texas Gov. Greg Abbott. A political thumb in Chicago's eye for daring to call itself a "sanctuary city" and welcoming immigrants the way America has — grudgingly — since the Pilgrims landed in 1620.
     Sure the new arrivals were a hassle. Finding them temporary shelter at a moment's notice — actually, no notice at all. Getting them food and warm clothes and enrolling their kids in school.
     It was expensive, in the same way building a house or putting money in a 401(k) is expensive. An investment in the city's future. Because many of those Venezuelans are going to stick around.
     We are at a moment of anti-immigrant frenzy in this country — another anti-immigrant frenzy, as common as dirt in American history, almost like saying "Today is a day ending in a 'Y.'" A good time to take a breath and assess the facts.
     Maybe it would help to look around the world. Across the globe is an industrialized nation called Japan. Japan's population in 1994 was 125 million. Today, 30 years later, it is ... still 125 million, having slowly peaked in 2008 and begun to steadily fall. The Japanese Health Ministry projects that by 2060 it will be 86 million.
     So ... a good thing? Less crowding? No. A bad thing. Population decline and economic ruin go hand in hand. You can buy a Japanese house for $1 in towns that are emptying out. Let me teach you a Japanese word, "kodokushi." It means "lonely death" and is used to describe individuals who die at home and nobody notices, sometimes for weeks or even months. Cleaning up is a chore.
     There are several reasons for this precipitous decline. Japanese couples are getting married later, if at all, and having fewer children. But the stake through the nation's heart is immigration, or lack of it. which.
     Japan welcomed 175,000 immigrants in 2022. The United States let in 2.6 million. See a difference? Immigration is saving America. Immigration is why the population of the United States is not declining, and it's also much younger. The median age in the United States is 38.5 years. In Japan, it's 50. Younger is good.
     Immigrants are younger, work harder, commit less crime and bring the range of cultural diversity that our nation is so proud of — at least those who don't wet themselves if they hear Spanish spoken in the break room.
     That's why some folks prefer to imagine crimes and assign them to immigrants. The whole Haitians-are-eating-pets slur. As astounding as it was to hear that calumny spoken at a presidential debate, the true shock is that even after it was firmly established as a complete lie, vice presidential candidate JD Vance shrugged and kept repeating it. “If I have to create stories so that the American media actually pays attention to the suffering of the American people, then that’s what I’m going to do,” he said.

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Flashback 2004: Disabled vet's battle with VA over benefits was news in '73 too

Folk art, Smithsonian Institution, Museum of American History

 

     We went to Wicker Park Friday night and saw Mitchell Bisschop's one-man show, "Royko: The Toughest Man in Chicago" at the Chopin Theater. I liked it, while at the same time felt my colleague Bob Chiarito nailed its shortcomings in his review. Both can be true because I'm the rare audience member who is also a working newspaper columnist.  I actually choked up when, as the Chicago Daily News folded, Royko cast his reaction in the voice of a kid on the last day of summer pleading to play just a little bit more. C'mon guys! Don't end this yet. Just one more hour. I feel that way every day.

     Royko's widow, Judy, was there — she said it was her fourth time seeing it — and when a friend introduced us, her frosty, "I know who you are," before turning on her heel and walking off reminded me how her late husband hated younger columnists and treated us like crap at every opportunity — apparently deputizing his family members to carry on the tradition for him, from beyond the grave. Nice to see you too, Mike, and thanks for the reminder — that's why I'm always elaborately kind to whatever ambitious young journalist comes my way. Not that many do.

     The play highlights a Royko column about Leroy Bailey, and I mentioned it to a friend who invited me to see the play that I dredged up Bailey 20 years ago when the VA was in the news for treating its veterans shabbily. She expressed interest in seeing it, and I said I would post it here. It's from when the column ran a thousand words and filled a page, and I kept the other items here , in case you're interested. The really cool part is that, after it ran, Tom McNamee tracked down Bailey and visited with him. Alas, that column isn't online.

Opening shot

     Of the several thousand columns written by Mike Royko, the absolute best is easy to pinpoint: It was published Dec. 10, 1973, in the Chicago Daily News and told the story of Leroy Bailey, the man without a face.
     Bailey had had a face when he went into the Army and was shipped to Vietnam. Then a rocket slammed into his tent and exploded. Eyes, nose, teeth, gone. He was living in his brother's basement in LaGrange, knitting wool hats, when Royko found him. The doctors at Hines Veterans Hospital had told him nothing more could be done for him. But an Oak Brook doctor thought he could reconstruct Bailey's face enough so that he could eat solid foods, instead of taking his nutrients by squirting them down his throat with a syringe. The doctor began the series of operations that would allow Bailey to eat normally. But the VA had refused to pay because they decided that the treatment was for something "other than that of your service-connected disability." Eating like a person, the VA decided, was a needless luxury.
     This will sound grimly familiar to readers who were aghast this past week as the Sun-Times detailed the delay and indifference of the VA here, how vets have to struggle for benefits they have already paid for with their blood, and how Illinois is among the most stingy states in the nation when it comes to helping vets. Not only is it a disgrace, but — as Royko's piece reminds us — it's nothing new.
     Americans fall over themselves to pay lip service to our military. We love a parade, and act like anybody who doesn't support our troops is a coward and a traitor. And then we turn our backs on the most deserving — the wounded vet — not by accident, not individually, but en masse, as a matter of policy.

Whoops! Hey, sorry . . .

     I know you're not supposed to think about the stuff on television. That, for the most part, it's moronic mush designed to roll unchallenged over viewers too tired and numb to extend critical thought. But my God. Perhaps the Orwellian name "The Learning Channel" implies some kind of higher, educational standard, but the lurid fare it serves up as entertainment gets under my skin. I was flipping the channels last week, and I settled on a TLC program. In my memory it was "Medical Miracles," but it could have been "Surgical Surprises" or even "Hospital Hootenanny."
     The story was of a 6-year-old girl, severely burned after her father thought it would be a good idea to use gasoline to jump-start a fire in the fireplace. The story focused on the medical challenges, on the skin grafts and surgeries, introducing the heart-tugging aspect of the twin sister, who at age 6 consented to have some of her own skin stripped away so that her sister could live, complete with poignantly plinking pianos over photos of the pre-burn sisters hugging each other. While dad did address his judgment error that sent a fireball rolling out of the fireplace, burning his daughter over 80 percent of her body, the term he used, I believe, is that he felt "bad" (though he might have said he felt "very bad" or even "terrible." But that was it).
     Call me a cynic. (And the choice nowadays seems limited to "cynic" or "idiot.") But if I had the members of this star-crossed family in front of a camera, happily re-creating their nightmare for a moment of TLC fame, I would have given another 30 seconds to the issue of dad setting little Mandy, or whatever, ablaze, and not just dismiss it with a two second kiss-off. And if I were that dad, I don't think I could bring myself to blandly sit in front of the camera and rehash my moment of bottomless stupidity that had so wrenched my child's life.
     Funny. We relentlessly censor the bloody images of real carnage streaming in daily from Iraq because the public squeals if forced to see the handiwork of our policies. Then we fill the void with the wildest Grand Guignol TV can get away with. If there isn't an Autopsy Channel, it's not because somebody hasn't tried to start one. Maybe next year.

Yeah, that's us

     Last week, I wrote about the unique Canadian ability to fixate and complain about the United States. Canadian sympathizers sent in a lot of flak (including a charmingly succinct if unpersuasive "You're wrong!"). But after the column was reprinted in the Nagging Neighbor to the North, a number of its denizens recognized truth when they saw it, such as Montreal radio host Ted Bird, who writes:
     "Saw your Canada piece this week, reprinted in the Montreal Gazette. I'm no self-loathing Canadian, but man, have you got us pegged. It's actually quite embarrassing. Please be advised that the self-styled intellectual left doesn't speak for all of us, and there is a silent majority of Canadians who still consider America to be their closest friend and ally, and a force for good in the world. Most of the rest are system-sucking crackpots like welfare recipients, erstwhile flower children whose grandkids wish they would get a haircut, and students with heavily subsidized tuition practicing their right to free speech that was bought with blood in epic battles detailed in history books that they've never bothered to read. I wish they would find the energy to mobilize mass protest every time our outrageous income taxes take another jump, but then, they'd actually have to have jobs [to] be affected by taxes."

Was the sponsor Guinness?

     Americans would rather be bored than offended; most places, it's the other way around. Thus, 500 art world types in Britain, surveyed by Gordon's Gin, sponsor of that country's prestigious Turner Prize, just voted Marcel Duchamp's 1917 "Fountain" — an ordinary porcelain urinal the artist signed — as the most influential work in modern art. They're right, sadly. The idea that an artwork should be finely wrought or — God forbid — beautiful went out along with sock garters. What I want to know is this: If the idea of art as whatever shocking item you can pluck out of the junkyard, is 87 years old and counting, and is aped in every museum and gallery in the world, doesn't that mean we can move on to something else? Something new? Or — dare I say it — old?

Neil Steinberg will discuss his new book, Hatless Jack, from 9 to 11 p.m. Tuesday with Milt Rosenberg on WGN-AM (720).

—Originally published in the Sun-Times, Dec. 6, 2004

"I just don't understand it"

     How can the election be this close? A dead heat in the polls. How can Americans look at the two candidates and pick the one whose election would literally mean the dismantling of democracy? How can anyone be undecided? Scratch their heads and go, "Ooo, I don't know...they're both so similar?"
     Future generations will look back — assuming they can, assuming history is allowed — and wonder what the appeal could possibly have been. And all I can do is keep repeating my mantra, "The duped are invested in the fraud." They've punched the ticket, gotten on the train to Crazyworld, and nothing, full stop, nothing is going to pry them out of their seat. Not when the scenery they tell themselves they must be seeing is so shiny and glittery. Golden, not orange. Thrilling. Not nauseating.

    "The Jewish people would have a lot to do with a loss,” one candidate said — I'll let you figure out who. My first thought: "Let's fucking hope so; I'm trying to do my part." But that's the bright spin. Already pre-emptively blaming the Jews. Which might come as a surprise to Jewish supporters but, as I've said many times, once you get in the habit of ignoring reality, the specific details of the reality being ignored hardly matters. 

     And in a sense the details don't matter. Hate is fungible. Mexicans, Muslims, Jews — who the fuck cares? The point is to demean somebody, lord yourself above somebody. The precise sort of person is of no consequence. Anyone will do.
     Notice, I don't mention any names. Even on my own personal blog. I think that's months of trying to jump through the paper's 501(c)3 charity hoops wearing off on me. Or rather, grinding me down. We're not supposed to express a preference when it comes to candidates. A reminder to never forget the fiscal motive in all this. As Marge Gunderson says in "Fargo"  — "And for what? For a little bit of money. There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don'tcha know that? And here ya are, and it's a beautiful day. Well. I just don't understand it."

Who's going to get shot with your gun?

"Coming through the Rye," by Frederic Remington (Art Institute of Chicago)

     Black women have a higher suicide rate than white women. Rich or poor, doesn't matter — Black women in the highest income bracket kill themselves 20% more often than white women in the lowest.
     When they do, they generally use handguns — most U.S. suicides are with handguns, because guns are such efficient killing machines.
     This kept flashing in my mind reading Bob Chiarito's piece in Wednesday's Sun-Times, "Surprised Kamala Harris owns a gun?" This is not a criticism of Bob's article. He recounts the stories of real Chicago women who purchase guns to feel more secure and talks to a gun safety instructor, who says that of her 3,000 students, none has ever had to use her gun. He mentions the risks.
     Rather, I am writing to air the other half of the equation Bob cites only in passing. Guns get great PR in America. Yes, there is the increasingly muted horror at increasingly common school shootings. Some obscure town is projected into the news, parents race to the scene, terrified kids rush out with their hands on their heads. It all fades in a day.
     How can that compete with Clint Eastwood? "Dirty Harry?" The movie opened on Christmas 1971, and more than half a century later, we all know the message: The man — or woman — with the gun gets the drop on the bad guys. "Go ahead, make my day." Add all those surveillance videos of robbers getting gunned down on X. We never see videos of kids shooting each other.
     I don't want to ignore the value of guns as comfort objects. You may live in a dangerous area. You have a gun locked in a drawer, it gives you a sense of security. I live in quiet, safe Northbrook, am neither Black nor a woman. Who am I to have an opinion on this? To call guns "teddy bears with bullets?"
     Well, someone whose job it is, in part, to warn people of perils they might otherwise overlook. If you buy a gun, the chances of you, or your family, being killed by a gun jump. Yes, you tell yourself, if you hear someone breaking in, you can calmly go and unlock the drawer and protect yourself until the police come.
     But what if that break-in never happens? What about the rest of the time? Years and years? That gun sits there and is a menace only to the people in the vicinity — aka, you and your loved ones. You might have a dark night of the soul you never anticipated and use it on yourself. Or you might leave the drawer unlocked and your overly inquisitive nephew finds it.

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