The Second Amendment was never meant to guarantee the right to bear arms for everyone. Its history is marked by racial bias and a legacy of state violence against Black, Brown, and Indigenous Americans.
Since its inception, the Second Amendment has been filtered through policing, surveillance, and the routine threat of state force, long before white men who follow the rules. For communities of color, constitutional protections did not operate in abstraction but through institutions with guns, authority, and the power to decide in real time whose rights were recognized and whose were ignored.
Gun laws were written in racially tinged ink from the founding of America. In the colonial South, militias and slave patrols were created to control Black people and suppress rebellion. By the mid-18th century, this system was codified into law: As legal historian Carl Bogus recounts, between 1755 and 1757, Georgia law required every plantation’s armed militia to conduct monthly searches of “all Negro houses for offensive weapons and ammunition.”
The Second Amendment functioned as a political “bribe” to the South to not scuttle the Constitution. George Mason warned placing militias under federal control would leave slaveholding states “defenseless,” not from foreign invasion, but from enslaved people.
This same logic extended to the violent disarmament of Indigenous nations. In 1838, a state-backed militia forcibly stripped nearly 800 Potawatomi people of their weapons and drove them from Indiana to Kansas in what came to be known as the Potawatomi Trail of Death.
The legacy of this racialized approach to gun policy continues today. Counties that saw higher numbers of racial lynchings from 1877 to 1950 — many carried out with the complicity or direct assistance of local law enforcement — had higher rates of officer-involved killings of Black people, tying modern police violence to a longer continuum of racial terror.
In contrast, armed white men who kill protesters, occupy federal buildings, or aim rifles at police during standoffs are often treated as political actors, not existential threats. Kyle Rittenhouse was acquitted of murder charges after shooting and killing two protesters, and later bestowed with President Donald Trump’s blessing.
The Second Amendment has never been a guarantee for Black and Brown gun owners. Its promise is conditional in practice, administered through power, identity, and policing. Pretti's killing is a bitter reminder that, in the eyes of the state, some people will never be allowed to be the good guy with a gun.
For many white Americans, their understanding of the Second Amendment shifted in a moment — when the fantasy of universal gun rights met the reality of state violence. Many realized, for the first time, that exercising their right to bear arms is now a life-and-death gamble.
The real modern enforcement mechanism of the Second Amendment is not the Supreme Court or Congress but the thin blue line that decides, in seconds, whose rights count and whose do not.
Since its inception, the Second Amendment has been filtered through policing, surveillance, and the routine threat of state force, long before white men who follow the rules. For communities of color, constitutional protections did not operate in abstraction but through institutions with guns, authority, and the power to decide in real time whose rights were recognized and whose were ignored.
Gun laws were written in racially tinged ink from the founding of America. In the colonial South, militias and slave patrols were created to control Black people and suppress rebellion. By the mid-18th century, this system was codified into law: As legal historian Carl Bogus recounts, between 1755 and 1757, Georgia law required every plantation’s armed militia to conduct monthly searches of “all Negro houses for offensive weapons and ammunition.”
The Second Amendment functioned as a political “bribe” to the South to not scuttle the Constitution. George Mason warned placing militias under federal control would leave slaveholding states “defenseless,” not from foreign invasion, but from enslaved people.
This same logic extended to the violent disarmament of Indigenous nations. In 1838, a state-backed militia forcibly stripped nearly 800 Potawatomi people of their weapons and drove them from Indiana to Kansas in what came to be known as the Potawatomi Trail of Death.
The legacy of this racialized approach to gun policy continues today. Counties that saw higher numbers of racial lynchings from 1877 to 1950 — many carried out with the complicity or direct assistance of local law enforcement — had higher rates of officer-involved killings of Black people, tying modern police violence to a longer continuum of racial terror.
In contrast, armed white men who kill protesters, occupy federal buildings, or aim rifles at police during standoffs are often treated as political actors, not existential threats. Kyle Rittenhouse was acquitted of murder charges after shooting and killing two protesters, and later bestowed with President Donald Trump’s blessing.
The Second Amendment has never been a guarantee for Black and Brown gun owners. Its promise is conditional in practice, administered through power, identity, and policing. Pretti's killing is a bitter reminder that, in the eyes of the state, some people will never be allowed to be the good guy with a gun.
For many white Americans, their understanding of the Second Amendment shifted in a moment — when the fantasy of universal gun rights met the reality of state violence. Many realized, for the first time, that exercising their right to bear arms is now a life-and-death gamble.
The real modern enforcement mechanism of the Second Amendment is not the Supreme Court or Congress but the thin blue line that decides, in seconds, whose rights count and whose do not.