One of the first things I was repeatedly warned about on moving to Texas almost two years ago was to be careful not to accidentally step onto someone’s yard or property. Laws such as the Castle Doctrine authorise people in many states in America—such as Texas—to use any level of force to defend themselves against perceived threats.
I had also heard about the omnipresence of firearms in the United States and how easy it was to get them. A recent spate of gun-related deaths—with Dylann Roof opening fire at a Charleston church on 17 June 2015 killing nine black people; and in July 2015, John Houser shooting up a movie theatre in Louisiana, killing two and injuring nine others before killing himself—had infused in me a very real fear. Both Roof and Houser had been able to purchase guns despite failing background checks. Each of these incidents was followed by discussions on the need for stricter gun control; US President Barack Obama was reduced to tears earlier this year when he spoke about “college students in Santa Barbara, and high-schoolers at Columbine, and first graders in Newtown”—all victims of mass shooting incidents—whose “inalienable right to life” was snatched away by bullets.
And yet, so pervasive is the gun lobby in the United States that for the first time ever, the National Rifle Association (known for its unofficial slogan “guns don’t kill people, people kill people.”) sent its chief lobbyist Chris Cox to speak at the Republican National Convention held in Cleveland, Ohio, last month. Civilians were even allowed to carry military-grade weapons in downtown Cleveland, but were prohibited to have items such as tennis balls, cans or umbrellas.
On 12 June this year, Omar Mateen shot and killed 49 people in Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida. The incident, one of the worst mass shootings in American history, renewed conversations around both gun control and immigration (Mateen was the son of Afghan immigrants). As someone dependent on a non-immigrant visa holder (my husband is on a research scholar visa), could I be a part of the gun culture in the conservative state of Texas? I decided to find out. Google Maps threw up several options for “gun shops near me” in Houston, where I live. I shortlisted four.
My first stop, on 9 July was Academy, a huge Texas-based chain for sports gear. The firearms section was not hard to miss with its giant sign. As my husband Didier and I made our way there, we wondered if we would have to declare a reason for wanting to purchase a gun.
As we reached the counter—where a variety of weapons were casually displayed—I ventured an explanation to the salesman: “We recently moved to Houston. We were advised to keep a gun for safety.”
He nodded. “What kind of guns are you looking for?” he asked.
I replied haltingly, “Something small, I guess?” “First-time buyer?” he asked, sensing my uncertainty. Yes, I answered.
He recommended we go to a shooting range to try some guns first. “It’s only because we have a no-returns policy,” he said. “Having said that, I will show you what we have.” His reticence gave way to an enthused display of excitement as he proceeded to explain the various uses and characteristics of the weapons in stock.
In the 45 minutes that followed, I learned that state law enforcement recommended shotguns for home safety (because of a characteristic dissuasive sound while loading), that the Remington 870 was a popular shotgun thanks to its low recoil, and that handguns were more difficult to master. Shotguns were as cheap as $200, while big rifles, euphemistically called hunting rifles, could cost up to $2000.
“Try handling some,” he said handing us one gun after another. To me, he showed the “girlie” version of hunting rifles: pink, floral and light. “These guns are often gifted to young girls,” he said.
My husband inquired about assault rifles— the type of firearm Mateen used in the mass shooting in Orlando. “Do non-military people have access to assault rifles?” he asked the salesman. “Of course. We have civilian versions of those,” the salesman replied. He moved towards a store room and went inside. Soon, he emerged with a case carrying a hefty black rifle similar to an AR-15. The civilian version is semi-automatic—it fires one round with each pull of the trigger as opposed to ceaselessly—and has a 30-round magazine. In Texas, there is no cap on magazine capacity, and while you need to be 21 years of age to buy a handgun, you can get a rifle at 18.
In 1994, US President Bill Clinton passed the Public Safety and Recreational Firearms Use Protection Act, which banned large-capacity magazines and put restrictions on military features on a gun. The ban expired in 2004 and hasn’t been revisited since.
I asked the salesman if, as a non-citizen, I was eligible to buy a gun. “Just bring your Texas ID and immigration papers. Normally, citizens can get a background check done in a minute. But for you, it might take up to three days,” he told me.
The following week, I visited Houston Outfitters, a small, independent gun store in a residential neighbourhood in the city. I repeated the story about a firearm for home safety.
Contrary to Academy’s salesman who had recommended shotguns, one of the men behind the counter suggested a Glock 19 ($595), a handgun popular with law enforcement, and easy to learn. He said that his wife carried it all the time. The Hechler & Koch VP9 ($699), with its low recoil, was in demand too.
They reasoned that for a small apartment like mine, handguns were a safe bet. He explained that if one missed the target, the energy dissipated and it only created a hole in the wall. “But if you manage to hit the person, he will never get up,” he said.
I asked if I needed a permit for a handgun.
“Not if it’s in the glove compartment of your car, or at home. You need a permit only if you want to keep it on you,” he said, sliding a gun in his pocket.
Carry permits are usually of two kinds. “Concealed carry” is the practice of carrying a gun in a concealed manner in public. All 50 states have made provisions for this. “Open carrying,” on the other hand, allows for people to carry a gun in public if it’s visible. Thirty-one states, including Texas, allow this practice— although in some cases the gun must be unloaded.
Meanwhile, a shotgun standing on the floor, away from all the firearms on display, caught my eye. The second man who had been silent thus far noticed and said it was loaded because there had been a thwarted burglary attempt at the store only a couple days before.
Then, he delivered an almost passionate speech. “Guns are toys, after all. You’ve got to have fun playing with them. The more you use them, the more confident and comfortable you’ll get. Go to shooting ranges and practise,” he said excitedly.
Eventually, I asked about the actual feasibility of buying a gun for a non-citizen. “It doesn’t matter. We recently sold a gun to a Chinese person who had just arrived and didn’t have all his documents. It will take two minutes for a background check,” the salesman told me.
“If it’s so easy, firearms could go to the wrong people.” I said. The duo shrugged. “Sometimes it can be problematic,” one said.
The following morning, I went to meet Shep Gee, a gun hobbyist who owned several of them. A common friend had told me about Gee and put us in touch. Gee met me at around 11 am at the Action Pawn store, where he was going to retrieve a gun he had pawned the week before. The procedure to retrieve one’s own gun is the same as buying one. A frequent visitor to the shop, he was greeted with familiar hellos. He introduced me to a salesman, Lalo Islas, as a journalist.
Until now, I had only inquired about buying a gun. At this store, which boasted a happy coexistence of watches, bicycles, sunglasses, jewellery and firearms, I intended to follow through with the process. Here, I got a glimpse into the National Instant Criminal Background Check System (NICS). Gee quickly filled form 4473, a prerequisite for buying a gun. He certified in the form that he had never been convicted of a violent crime, institutionalised for mental illness, or addicted to drugs. Less than five minutes after entering the store, he was handed his gun.
Gee and Islas took it upon themselves to educate me about the differences in gun laws in the US. “In California, they make it harder to buy firearms. There is a longer waiting period, it doesn’t allow open carry and high capacity magazines are banned,” said Gee. “I am glad I live in Texas,” chimed in Islas.
The discussion moved to gun control and they said that people who wanted to kill could do so using any other weapon, like a knife. Why restrict gun enthusiasts, they asked.
Islas, too, recommended I buy a handgun because it was easier to use. He said he even slept with one under his pillow every night and that it was useless to own a gun if it wasn’t close enough. A shotgun would be good only as a deterrent, he said, but if the occasion arose, a handgun worked better. I asked Islas what occasion would call for the use of a gun and if he would hesitate at all before shooting.
He spoke of a time when at night he hid behind the door of his house with a gun, suspicious of a group of men outside, who eventually drove away. Next day, when he found out they were his neighbours’ friends, he told his neighbour to make sure they didn’t do it again. “What can I do? I am paranoid,” he said.
I was told I couldn’t buy a gun in this pawn store because I couldn’t prove permanent residency—but that didn’t mean I could never own one. “There are many other ways,” said Gee. In Texas, a private individual can sell a gun to another one without further licensing or background checks, as long as each of them is a Texas resident and each is legally allowed to own a gun.
“But avoid murder. The law is too strict if you kill someone,” Islas warned me. “That is why it’s important to keep practising at a shooting range.”
My final stop, on 26 July was a massive store called Top Gun. At the entrance were safes for firearms as big as almirahs. Wherever I looked there were weapons and their paraphernalia complete with ammunition, gun cases and tins of food for survivalists. Stuffed animal heads hung on one wall. It was a busy afternoon and more than ten salesmen with handguns attached to their waists scuttled around. The store also had a shooting range where about five people were firing at targets of their choice. Here, one could rent 150 types of guns, including machine guns.
Seeing me dithering near the corner, Phil, the store manager, introduced himself and asked what I was looking for. I gave my standard reply. “Buying a gun is like buying a car. You need to love it and feel comfortable,” he said, adding that the only way to know what I liked was to use their shooting range. Wednesday was ladies’ day so I wouldn’t have to pay the $15 fee. “However, there’s no ranger or guard, so you need to know how to use a gun. We will give you a 5-second test and only if you pass, you will be allowed,” Phil said. On prodding further, I found that the test entailed being able to unload a gun.
Would I eventually be able to buy it, though? “Surely. Come with a hunting licence and immigration form I-94. You can buy a hunting licence from Walmart for about $25,” he said. A hunting licence is required, regardless of age, of any person who hunts an animal, bird, frog or turtle. It is bought by providing three proofs of Texan residence.
He added: “But it might take upto 15 days for the background check to complete and you to get a gun, since you’re not a citizen.”
Buying a firearm in the US if you’re not a convicted criminal, or drug addict, is like buying candy at best, and at worst like opening a bank account. If I were a green card holder or an American citizen, I could have walked out of each of those stores, armed, within five minutes. And if I really did want a gun desperately enough, it would have been easiest to buy it online by going as far as adding it to my cart and proceeding to checkout.