I live my daily life, harboring a pervasive shadow at all times. It’s a darkness I can not dissipate — lingering during my train ride to class and my weekly grocery store trips, seeping through the cracks of the sidewalk as I take each step.
Living with the constant fear of dying from gun violence has become an inherent thread in the fabric of America – a normalcy that cannot be shed.
I constantly hold my breath, afraid that if I relinquish attention from my surroundings, the shadow will manifest into something tangible, and become a part of my reality.
Last year, there were more mass shootings in the United States than there were days in the year.
A country that makes up 5% of the global population has somehow experienced 31% of the world’s public mass shootings.
I walk with trepidation in public places, scanning jackets or purses and analyzing their ability to conceal murderous intent. I writhe in discomfort — trying to grasp the normality of a country that has a market for bulletproof backpacks and body armor for the typical citizen.
My American identity, one that is confined by my country’s violence, was excavated when I studied abroad in Italy last quarter. I walked the streets of Florence, faced with the biggest culture shock of all: safety. It was an immediate observation. I could close my ears, shut my mind and wander with obliviousness. Yet, I was constantly reminded, caught in the limbo of knowing that this was a temporary ease.
DePaul junior Emily Pederson, who spent a quarter in Ireland, noticed a similar shift.
“It was honestly very freeing to be able to enter a classroom and not think about the best way to barricade the doors,” Pederson said.
In 2024 alone, there were at least 219 incidents involving gunfire on school campuses — including both K-12 and college. The number has become so stark that the names of the victims have become buried in a sea of gun violence. Their memory has been swept into the tide of an ongoing crisis, overshadowed by the next tragedy.
As soon as I opened my mouth in Italy, revealing my American identity, it was taken as an invitation to interrogate me on my country’s politics. I was constantly asked how I felt as a citizen of a country distinctly known for its violence, and I became an outlet for Europeans to rant about how “crazy” America is. My stories of incessant fear were met with derision and disbelief.
“Huh, Chicago,” an Italian man remarked after I told him my hometown. Then he made a joke: “Is that a gun in your pants?”
It wasn’t said maliciously, but the weight of it was palpable — the assumption that, as an American, I am somehow defined by the violence.
Artemis Rohrman, a DePaul sophomore who studied abroad in Vienna, Austria, was also struck by the way gun violence was casually woven into discussions about America.
On a school trip to the United Nations, her professor quipped, “You cannot bring weapons on this trip, so for the Americans, make sure you leave your guns behind!”
“I lost count of how many times I was asked if I personally own guns,” Rohrman said. “Or if it’s true people keep gun collections in their homes.”
My experience studying abroad in Europe was a visceral reminder of how profoundly gun violence had shaped my identity as an American. It’s debilitating to constantly balance the weight of my identity with the weight of the violence that surrounds me. What does it mean to be an American in a country that allows such fear to go unchecked?
It’s a tough pill to swallow — realizing that this violence is not just the result of a broken system but a direct consequence of our country’s leaders. With a president who is fully backed by the National Rifle Association, who actively rolls back executive orders that are meant to curb gun violence, our country is not only allowing this violence to persist, it is reinforcing it. We are tied to this constant fear, as our leader stands as a figurehead for the very thing that shapes our lives — a culture where guns are defended, celebrated and treated as inseparable from the American identity.
So here I am, an American back in America, which means I am, by association, part of a culture that has accepted these numbers as inevitable.
When your country is defined by the violence it allows to fester, who are you without it?
Maybe that’s the most terrifying thing of all.
Related Stories:
- DePaul students help Garfield Park school build memorial garden for victims of gun violence
- Devastated by gun violence, a mother seeks justice after loss
- 19 killed, 63 wounded in Chicago weekend gun violence
Stay informed with The DePaulia’s top stories,
delivered to your inbox every Monday.