The Perplexity of “Null & Void”
My late husband Kirk and I spent a dozen years working in Native American schools in New Mexico. We lived in the teacherage on the campus of Wingate High School, where Kirk taught full time, and I had my office. I was the weekly speech therapist there and spent the rest of my days driving to remote Native schools overseen by the Eastern Navajo Agency. While on the job, I drove a government owned vehicle, more commonly known as a “gov,” which was parked, nightly, at the high school.
One morning I walked down to the parking lot to discover that all the tires on my gov had been stolen and the vehicle was left standing on cinderblocks. This created quite a conundrum—not only because I couldn’t get to the school that was expecting me, but also because it was unclear who I should call. We were on federal land, adjacent to reservation land and county land. A state highway provided access to the campus.
Did I call the county? The Navajo Nation Police? State Troopers? I asked my co-workers. Nobody knew. I called my boss—whose office was roughly 50 miles away. I can’t remember what she advised, but I do remember that this confusion was not unusual. Because there was always the question of who was really in charge, nobody quite knew who to call for help.
After our stint in the Land of Enchantment, Kirk and I moved to Arkansas. We found new enchantment in Eureka Springs and the surrounding countryside—with a bonus: water appeared to be plentiful. Here, we’ve felt happy, safe, and hydrated! Who could ask for more?
But now the Arkansas legislature has me on edge (again), having just passed a bill that declares, in advance, that new federal gun laws enacted by the Biden administration will be “null and void” in our state. Arkansas police officers who cooperate with federal law enforcement on “null and void” laws will be punished.
Will I again find myself wondering who is in charge? If there is an incident involving a gun, will there be confusion about how to resolve the problem given that there are different laws to choose from? If I call the police—who operate on Arkansas law—but, for whatever reason, federal officers are called to the scene, how will it get resolved? Maybe the feds and the Arkansas cops will shoot it out? Yes, I am being facetious, but merely to make the point that when we are operating under two sets of laws, there will be moments of perplexity when we can least afford to waste a second.
I respect people’s desire to keep firearms. I live across the road from a farmer who, on occasion, must use a gun to put down a cow or kill predators that disturb his cattle. And a neighbor who hunts deer and shoots groundhogs that creep into the well house. I have met people who are avid collectors of guns new and old. While pulling a trigger holds no particular interest for me, I have learned to respect people’s desire to own these weapons.
Still, the thought that there are more guns than people in the United States does not make me feel safer. The sponsor of the new bill is quoted in the Democrat Gazette as saying, “There’s nothing that I care about more—other than my family, God, and Jesus—than my guns….” I am left wondering where the teaching of “love thy neighbor…” fits into his priorities. Or “love thy enemies?” What would Jesus say?