Another instance of a white male in America frustrated that privilege has somehow escaped him

By David Dennis Jr.
Contributing Columnist

Here we are. Again. Another mass shooting in America. Another instance where gun laws or some sort of focus on mental health or early detection could have prevented loss of life. And, let’s get to the elephant in the room: another instance of a white male in America frustrated that privilege has somehow escaped him, lashing out in violence. It seems as though America is fascinated with these mass murderers and the “why” of their actions.

Last week, after Elliot Rodger opened fire on dozens of people near the University of California — Santa Barbara before opening fire on himself, the media immediately began to wonder why. Rodger released a manifesto about his motives, namely his anger at women who rejected him and the fact “inferior” Black men were getting to date white women. Of course, his insane mini-book and Youtube video explaining his motives became Internet sensations, hitting every website with more than a dozen readers.

Of course, this all led to a larger discussion of how misogyny, privilege, and the way women are treated as objects for men to conquer. This is an important and integral discussion in the fabric of American culture. We quickly got to the heart of the larger issue at hand. As unfortunate as the murders were, it seems like it’s created a larger awareness of misogyny and how damaging it is to both men and women.

But what about crime in our own backyards? Why has America stopped caring about the “why”?

When there’s a Mother’s Day shooting spree or a Memorial Day array of gunfire here in New Orleans or one of the many weekends of violence in Chicago the rhetoric is the same: Black-on-Black violence from an under-educated and underdeveloped sector of America. However, every person that commits a crime is an individual and putting a broad umbrella to explain motives won’t solve any problems.

It’s as if America is more concerned with finding ways to distance itself from people who commit crimes, because they thought of “this could be any of us” frightens us all. So when a white male goes on a killing spree we have to find a way to show how he’s different. I truly believe that drives so much of the fascination with these murderers.

The problem is, inner city violence and Black-on-Black crimes are already seen as distant from white America. A murder in Uptown New Orleans or the Southside Chicago might as well take place on Mars for most of America, as these places are as foreign as any other in the world. Any middle American can end up near a college campus where a random shooting can occur. This is a scary idea. And we have to know why these bullets could end up flying our way. But in an American ghetto? These bullets have names of the underprivileged, forgotten and cast aside on them. The recipients and perpetrators of the violence have long been forgotten. America has given up on finding out why their lives were lost a long time ago.

Just last year, the surviving terrorist behind the Boston Marathon bombing was on the cover of Rolling Stone, in a pose reminiscent of any of the rock stars that frequent their magazine. Inside, the magazine dedicated thousands of words explaining how he was a “regular” kids “corrupted” by terrorist organizations. By the end, the reader is supposed to feel sympathy for him and the horrendous crime he committed. Yet the same people who read that story might be inclined to disregard an inner city burglar or criminal as just another “thug” bereft of any humanity. But these kids we see every day as victims and perpetrators of crimes deserve the same attention we give these terrorist rock stars. Yet, they remain faceless, ignored and incarcerated.

Imagine if we treated inner-city violence with the care and interest we treat these white male mass murderers. I’d like to think we’d at least go a long way toward at least figuring out how to diagnose the disease plaguing our kids.

This article originally published in the June 9, 2014 print edition of The Louisiana Weekly newspaper.