The Outside Blog

Dispatches : Books

Paul Theroux's Last African Journey

As he’s setting out for the west coast of Africa, travel writer Paul Theroux likens travel to dying. “When you’re only a dim memory, a bitterness creeps into the recollection, in the way that the dead are often resented for being dead. What good are you, unobtainable and so far away?” But Theroux’s writing is firmly rooted in the land of the living, and the sparsely traveled locations he writes from are exactly what make it compelling. 

In the just-released The Last Train to Zona Verde, a follow-up to 2002’s Dark Star Safari, Theroux recounts with characteristically vivid prose one last, ambitious trip from South Africa through Angola. It may be the last he sees of the continent for a while, but it won’t be the last we hear of him. We spoke to Theroux about his nomadic career, his beef with the “big, horrible cities” of the world, and his next great adventure.

OUTSIDE: You’ve been doing this for almost 50 years now. How have your adventures changed since you first started?
THEROUX: I joined the Peace Corps in 1963 in Nyasaland, which became Malawi. That was really the beginning of my adventures in the world—I mean, the real world. At that time, African countries were just becoming decolonized. It was very hard to get to Central Africa. All in all, about five flights. I knew I was going into a country of troops and no paved roads. All that’s changed. The two significant periods I can think of are before the jumbo jet and after the jumbo jet. After the jumbo jet, travel became much cheaper, available to more people.

I understand you’re not a huge fan of planes.
Do you know anyone who is? It’s just awful. It’s a quick way of getting from one place to another, but if anyone really wants to see a country, you have to see it on the ground. You want to see Mexico, you go from Arizona into Nogales, Mexico, and travel by road. You don’t fly to Baja. I’m an advocate of overland travel. No matter where you go, there’s more reality to it. Sometimes more difficulty, but it’s not a distorting mirror of going from one national capital to another.

You seem to have a skill for finding those non-touristy places, and moments of serendipity. Where does the planning stop and the luck begin?
I think you do basic planning—you have to get yourself to the place. The advantage that I have is time on my hands. If you have unlimited time, you can go anywhere, find out things, and serendipitous things take place. I don’t do a lot of planning. I don’t look people up. It’s a question of I suppose moving on. You get on a bus, walk somewhere, meet someone—you keep moving until you create this sort of vortex of energy, and things happen. But four of the people I met died, so I also had this gloomy feeling about travel, that if you push your luck you might be making a fatal mistake.

Is there anything else you really fear on the road?
Meeting a young person carrying a gun. I do not like that. It’s happened a few times—well, half a dozen times. It could happen to you in New York City. But it could also happen to you in Kenya, in Angola. Someone pointing a gun. Everything else is sort of negotiable.

Does it change how you feel about traveling after things like that happen?
No, I’m not turned off travel. I love it, I need to do it. The things I don’t like are the big, horrible cities of the world. Outside magazine is a proponent of adventure travel, wide-open spaces. Outside magazine is not committed to the urban nightmare, am I right? So the trouble is that Africa, to use an example off my book, is becoming much more urbanized. It’s become going from one big horrible city to another big horrible city. There’s nothing to report. They’re places that people are trying to escape from as well as trying to get to.

What animates me is getting to a landscape that I can travel in, doesn’t matter safely or unsafely—your luck is your luck. But you want to feel that you’re not confined in a city. I want to feel that, anyway.

What do you think constitutes a successful trip?
What I look for is a sense of liberation. The fact that you’re away from home, you’re managing, making some discoveries about the place, about yourself. You just have the sense—even though it might be a struggle—of personal freedom. And then seeing things before they melt away. The world is changing, traditional life just disappears. So see it before it goes away.

That reminds me of the first chapter of the book, where you visit the Ju/’hoansi people, who were living traditional lives in Namibia. But you got the sense that they were putting on a show.
There is a certain romantic illusion that people are living traditional lives when they’re really not. There are very few places in the world that live as they used to. So that was certainly an illusion. I thought that I was seeing traditional life, not just seeing people putting up.

But you still appreciate it, even if you know it isn’t exactly real.
I met an old man and he was telling me about his life, and I thought, however false this other aspect was, at least I met this guy and he was leveling with me. One of the things that I value in travel is talking to people who remember the way things were. They may be dressed in a Chinese T-shirt and wearing a baseball hat, but they have sort of a sense of continuity that’s not obvious in the way they dress.

Is there anywhere in particular you’d still like to go and learn about that?
When I joined the Peace Corps in 1963, if I had tape-recorded, say, a 70-year-old person—they would have been 10 years old at the turn of the century. They would have remembered the First World War, the way it was fought in Africa too. No matter where it is, memory of the past; it’s extremely valuable. In so-called travel-writing, that’s what interests me. The traveler is not going to museums or churches, but actually talking to people and hearing about their lives. 

What is it that you want to give your readers, as a travel writer?
I’m sharing my experience such as it is, no matter how trivial. I’m also doing what writers ought to do, which is to give some shape to the world. What am I doing really, writing about some far-off place? It’s just a letter to a friend, telling them what happened, and trying to be as truthful as possible. The basic pursuit is to enlighten—and also to divert.

When you decided not to complete your trip at the end of Zona Verde, did you feel you weren’t going to get that out of the rest of the journey?
I felt at the end that it would be repetitive. For some people, the metropolitan experience is very thrilling. It’s not for me. The idea of rootless people trying to leave the country, it’s not my line in writing. And I found that I was taking 10-hour bus rides from one big horrible city to another big horrible city, and I was thinking, What’s there to write about it? It would all be a complaint. You know what I mean?

In Zona Verde and Dark Star Safari, the tone does seem to take a bit of a downward turn. Some take issue with your assertion that you’re “not an Afro-pessimist”.
I don’t know what people think, but if anything, I feel positive about Africa. I feel down on people trying to save Africa, if that’s what you mean. My general feeling is a lot of people in the rescue business are really trying to rescue themselves—rescue a reputation or make themselves prominent. In the big green beating heart of Africa there’s a lot of hope, so I’m not down on it. 

It’s the interest of a lot of people to portray others as more desperate than they really are. I’m not sentimental. All I want to do is try to see things as they are, not as I wish they were. And if you do that, you know, sometimes what you say is unpopular. But that’s my role as a writer.

It doesn’t seem like you plan on retiring anytime soon. What’s next?
When I was having an interesting time in Africa, I was thinking how little I’ve seen of the United States. What I’ve seen is, there are parts of America that resemble the third world. They have the same problems of access to health care, high infant mortality rates, serious poverty. They’re often ignored. I’m not a sightseer. I’m interested in seeing the world as it is. So if you ask, something in the South, in the Deep South.

I’ve done a bit of traveling there. I find, in general, that the people I’ve met are very welcoming. People have great stories to tell. I’m gonna give it a try.

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The Fly Fishing Poet

Which Chris Dombrowski you know depends on whether you spend more time fishing or reading. Those that fish will know him as one of Montana’s finest guides—his clients include David James Duncan and Jim Harrison. But the one thing he does better than read a river is write poems. Jonah Ogles reached him in Michigan, where he spends the academic year teaching at Interlochen Center for the Arts, to catch up, talk about his new book, Earth Again, steelhead, and how A River Runs Through It made him want to be a writer.

A lot of writers are drawn to fly fishing. Why do you think that is?
I’m not sure exactly. I wasn’t ever a writer who started fishing. Pretty early on, I think after reading Zane Grey, I determined that I wanted to be a writer who fished and not a fisherman who wrote about fishing. But it is a noticeable thing. I don’t think you would say, So many writers play an instrument, even though there are presumably as many writers who play an instrument as there are writers that fish. I think it’s because of attention on the physical world. I think that the act of writing can be an entrance into a wilderness in the same way that a canyon can be. I think we’d all agree that when fishing we’re not the same person we are when we’re mowing the lawn or paying the bills. Yeats said as much when he sat down to write. He wasn’t the same person who made oats and bitched about the morning news.

I think there’s a patience that both things teach you.
I’ve thought about fishing a lot as a metaphor for the act of writing. Any angler who’s ever spent a good amount of time on the water has struck those kind of magical golden moments, when suddenly the river comes alive. You’re fishing the same pool you’ve fished 15 times and suddenly there are trout rising everywhere in it in a way you’ve never imagined before. I think a similar sensation can occur for the writer, too—when language is coming alive and bristling and sparking. And a lot of it has to do with putting oneself in the stream over and over again.

It’s funny to me how the natural world inspires that. You talk to a hunter or a climber about poetry and their eyes glaze over. You talk to them about their last elk or climb, and they become poets.
With the hunter instinct comes a need to tell stories of the hunt.

When was the moment that you realized you had that need to tell stories?
I recently wrote an essay about my high school English teacher. He was a fascinating man named Jim Colando. He basically rescued me from being a jock for the rest of my life. I was really involved in sports all through college. He knew that I had just started fly fishing, maybe a year or so before. And he came into class and he handed me A River Runs Through It and said, I think you may like this book. By the time class was over I was on page 20, by the time school got over it I was on page 50. It was the first book I read cover to cover that wasn’t required for class. In that experience came the realization that my experiences in the physical world could be completely re-enacted in language. That was a magical experience. And with it came also a kind of charge. Suddenly it’s not just enough to exist in the physical world, I have to find a way to reconstruct the experience in language. Or re-live experiences, which is what writing is. It’s a second life.

When you get that need to get outside of yourself, does either activity fill the need? Or do you get a specific urge to write or fish?
When I’m writing a lot, I feel like I need to fish or walk the dogs or hunt to get out of my head. If I’m not writing, I feel the opposite way, like I need to get back to the desk and spend some hours hunched over it. But I never feel like a day spent away from writing—be it with a fly-rod or a shotgun or with the kids hunting morels—I never feel like that is wasted. There’s a pile of steelhead at the mouth of the Platte right now. I know it. I know it wouldn’t hurt me to spend a morning doing that, but I’ve been working on some stuff at the desk and I don’t want to leave it alone.

Your summers out in Montana, that guide schedule must be crazy. You have to be up really early or really late depending on conditions or the client. How do you balance your writing time with that kind of schedule?
Well, a lot of it happens on the backs of receipts or in a little notebook I keep in the car. I just don’t get a ton of writing done from the end of May through the end of August. So then September rolls around and I feel this immense pressure of all the images or the things I’ve jotted down over the months, and I’m going to explode if I can’t sit down and start doing some writing. Norman MacLean called it a recipe for schizophrenia, going back and forth between teaching and his home in Montana. But it’s become more and more part of the rhythm of my life. You know, just about the time. This is going to make it sound too perfect, because usually I could use a little more outdoor and a little less teaching time. But just about the time I’m ready to be done with teaching, fishing season rolls around. And just about the time I’m ready to be done fishing, it’s time for school.

You’re a teacher and now you have kids, who pop up throughout the book. I kept wondering how you were teaching them to either love language or love the outdoors.
I don’t think I’ve taught them anything. I think they’ve taught me. Kids exist in a natural state of wonder. There are certain things I can teach, like why, before a pale morning dun emerges, a soft hackle swung through the water does really well. But really I try to learn from them.

Does the guiding ever get old?
I’m in my 17th year guiding, and 70 percent of my clients are return customers. So 60 days of my summer are spent with my friends. They’re interesting. I have a Jungian psychologist who's a regular client, a Hollywood acting coach, a world-renowned photographer. A British timber baron. I keep saying that if I didn't have to gas up the car, clean the boat, or get lunch together every day, I'd never stop. If I had a roadie, I'd guide forever.

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A Liberal With a Gun

Dan Baum was “a pudgy, overmothered cherub” of five when he first shot a gun, he writes in his new book Gun Guys: A Road Trip. At summer camp, an adult showed him how to use a Mossberg .22-caliber rifle. “I cannot remember the names of my neighbors’ grown children or the seventh dwarf,” Baum writes, “but to this day I can summon every detail of that rifle and its metallic, smoky, chemical aroma.”

Despite the fact that he came from a gun-averse Democratic household, Baum fell hard for guns, and he’s been trying to figure out why ever since. In every other respect, the 56-year-old journalist is as liberal as they come—a believer in “unions, gay rights, progressive taxation, the United Nations,” and President Obama. A few years ago, having already written books about drug laws, the Coors brewing dynasty, and the people of New Orleans, Baum decided that it was finally time to tackle what he calls “my gun thing.” He worried that gun guys wouldn’t accept him if he didn’t look the part, so he signed up for an NRA-approved concealed-carry class and got a permit to carry a handgun. Then he shoved a .38-caliber Colt Detective Special in his waistband and set off on a cross-country road trip, stopping at gun stores along the way in search of “the essential quality” about guns that, “like anchovies on pizza, impassioned some people and disgusted others.”

The book is sure to anger people on both sides of the chasm. Baum criticizes the NRA, pokes fun at his gung-ho firearm instructors, and argues that anyone who wants to carry a gun needs “much much much much better training” than what’s commonly offered. On the other hand, he treats people who want tighter gun laws with suspicion, he unapologetically defends the cultural resentments of straight, white men, and he ignores the phenomenon of mass shootings, at least in the body of the book, addressing them in a postscript written after James Holmes killed 12 and wounded 58 in Aurora, Colorado, and Adam Lanza murdered 20 schoolchildren and six adults at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut.

Baum is a quirky writer with an original point of view, and with Gun Guys he’s made an important addition to the literature. A clear, stylish writer, he has a knack for getting gun enthusiasts to open up—their stories are compelling and sometimes surprising. Here, Baum talks to Jason Fagone about the appeal of the AR-15 rifle, the link between gun love and social class, and how carrying a firearm changes the way you look at the world.

What I like about your book is that you write frankly about guns as seductive objects. They work on the psyche in ways that aren’t talked about a lot.
I’ve always wanted to get at why we love these things so much. I live in this liberal, Democratic, gun-hating world, and I like guns, so I’m often in the position of feeling like a closeted gay man. We wouldn’t say terrible things about black people or gay people, but it’s perfectly acceptable to talk about testosterone-poisoned gun freaks. Meanwhile, the NRA—which I hate, and which doesn’t represent me—is making all kinds of assumptions about gun people, and the left is, too. So I said, I’m going to go out and talk to gun guys.

You’re an unlikely narrator for a book about gun love.
I don’t look like a gun guy. I’m a Jewish boy from the suburbs of New York. Nobody had guns there. It was a million miles from gun culture. Because I don’t look like a gun guy, I got a concealed-carry permit. It was my entrée. If you carry a gun, you’re one of them. But I also wanted to see what it was like to carry a gun.

I like your description of how carrying a gun changes the way you look at the world.
Changes everything.

You say it puts you in a state of mind called Condition Yellow. What is that?
Condition Yellow is.... I don’t want to say a state of hyper-vigilance, because that makes it sound bad. But it is a heightened awareness of everything that is going on around you. It is an awesome responsibility to walk around with a gun. You’ve really got to have your shit together when you’re wearing a gun. It really tightens the laces on your life in kind of an appealing way. That’s Condition Yellow. When I wasn’t wearing the gun—when I was visiting a state that did not honor my concealed-carry permit, or when I knew I would be drinking—I would go back to Condition White, which is a state of obliviousness about your surroundings. And I would realize how much I liked Condition White. That’s where you daydream, and it’s where art happens, and I like that, too. Ultimately, I decided to stop wearing the gun, because I got burned out on Condition Yellow. I think it’s left me in a kind of Condition Pale Yellow.

In the end, it seemed like you doubted your ability to actually stop a violent crime. You weren’t enough of a warrior.

I don’t want to spoil it, but you go through a very intense kind of shooting test involving a sophisticated machine used to train police.
And after I go through that, I get a better gun. For a while, I go further into the gun carrying.

You get a Glock.
And I don’t like it. There’s no reason to like a Glock. I like old guns. The Glock is just an utterly charmless man killer. That’s all it’s good for. It has no aesthetic value. But it really shoots well, and it holds a lot of bullets. When the Aurora shooting happened, in the movie theater, I had stopped carrying my gun by then, but what went through my mind is what I’m sure went through a lot of gun guys’ minds, and that was: Damn, I wish I had been in that theater with my gun.

Do you think you could have stopped James Holmes?
I don’t know. I’d like to think I’d have kept my head, waited for a clear shot, and taken it. And I believe that whether I hit him or not, I’d have upset his rhythm. Again and again these mass shooters kill themselves when the police show up. (Though not Holmes. He simply seemed to run out of enthusiasm.) Adam Lanza, Seung Hui-Cho, the Columbine shooters.... They don’t want a gunfight. They want to kill a lot of people. So I like to think that, if Holmes had seen a muzzle flash, it would have at least made him pause. In any case, I don’t see that things could have been worse with someone shooting at him.

You talked to a lot of angry gun guys on your trip. What were they so upset about?
The bulge of the gun-guy demographic is middle-aged, straight, white men who have not finished college. That’s a demographic that has really suffered in the past 30 years. They haven’t had a wage increase since 1978.

You write that these guys have had “their livers pecked out while women, immigrants, blacks, and gays all seemed to have become groovier, sexier, and more dynamic players in American culture.” Do guns make these guys feel powerful and important again?
There are two things. One is: the NRA comes along and says to them, “You’re angry because the liberals want to take away your guns.” The other is: living alongside firearms is a big self-esteem builder. You feel good about being somebody who is capable and clear-headed and skilled enough to be around these incredibly dangerous things, and maybe even carry one, without anyone getting hurt.

There’s an interesting scene when you visit the NRA headquarters in Fairfax, Virginia. You’re getting a tour from a guy in the NRA’s education and training division, and you prod him to tell you why he loves guns—and he gives you a very direct answer.
When you talk to gun guys, they talk about how, oh, guns are like cameras—they’re these beautiful devices. But there’s no denying that there’s a death element to gun fascination, and I really hadn’t heard that from anyone. So I go to the NRA toward the end of the book. I find this one guy who I like. And I say, Come on, man, this is all about death. I thought he was going to deny it, but he goes, Yeah, this is about death. And it is. I mean, to be a gun guy—not just to carry a gun but to be around guns—it’s the same kind of thing that skydivers have, or free climbers. You’re getting this little contact high from the Grim Reaper.

Let’s talk about the AR-15 semiautomatic rifle, which, as you know, is the type of weapon Adam Lanza used at Sandy Hook and Holmes used in Aurora. You start the book with it. The first time you go to a gun range, you take a rifle made in 1900 for the Spanish-American War, and you find that you’re the only guy who has an old gun. Everyone else is shooting black AR-15’s. What did you discover about the appeal of this weapon?
It’s portrayed now, post–Sandy Hook, as some kind of bizarre outlier to the gun world. Who needs an AR-15? Why would any hunter or any decent person want an AR-15? It turns out—and this was a surprise to me—that the AR-15 is the whole gun business. It’s all anyone wants anymore. It’s all you see at rifle ranges. Half the guns in a gun store will be AR-15’s. Why? Because they are incredible rifles. There’s very little recoil, thanks to a big spring in the butt. It’s very accurate. But more than that, it’s modular. It all comes apart, so you can endlessly swap out pieces. New stock, new pistol grip. You can even change the caliber, in seconds, just by snapping pieces on and off. There is a bottomless universe of shit you can buy for your gun.

You write that attempts to ban the AR-15 are “stupid.”

But if I wanted to ban the AR-15, I’d use your reporting to make the case. You write: “My own rifle punched me like a prize-fighter, and to fire a second shot, I had to throw a heavy bolt lever up and back, forward and down. With this gun, I barely brushed the trigger, as gently as flicking crumbs off a tablecloth. ... It was effortless, like shooting a ray gun. ... Imagine a guitar that made you play like Eric Clapton.” It really does seem like a fundamentally distinct class of weapon. Why is it stupid to want to ban something that puts tremendous lethal firepower in the hands of inexperienced shooters?
For one thing, there are gazillions of them already out there, so unless we do a house-to-house search, we’re still going to be living with these things. As for why anyone needs an AR-15, that’s not a question we ask in any other context. We don’t ask why anybody needs an eight-cylinder SUV or a 6,000-square-foot house. And I would argue that the SUV and the house may be limiting our human future more than the AR-15. If you look at FBI statistics, these guns are used in about 3 percent of killings a year. If you really want to do something to make us safer, ban handguns. Which I think would be nuts.

What about a ban on high-capacity magazines?
I’ll send you a YouTube video of a guy changing a magazine in a second. One second.

Sure, but Jared Loughner—the Tucson shooter who killed six and injured 13, including Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords—fired 31 bullets in 15 seconds from his Glock. There were 33 rounds. Lanza fired about 150 rounds from his AR-15 in just a few minutes. Police got to the Aurora movie theater within 90 seconds of the start of Holmes’ rampage, and by that time he’d already killed 12 and wounded 58. It seems like introducing even a minor inconvenience could save lives.
My first book was about the politics of the drug war, so I have an instinctive prejudice against bans. I think banning things that lots of people want is bad policy. It produces the opposite effect of what you want. It’s caustic to people’s respect for the rule of law. And it’s undemocratic. People who talk about banning the AR-15 and banning large-capacity magazines are rooted in unreality. A lot of this impulse to ban is seizing an opportunity to stick it to the other tribe, and I really hate that.

One issue I have is that, when you talk about the flip side of gun love, your sensitivity and nuance go out the window. You seem to think that people who don’t love guns are just snobs. I kept waiting for a moment when you’d acknowledge that those who want tighter gun laws might be genuinely concerned about gun violence. But that moment never came. You put “epidemic of gun violence” in scare quotes, like it’s something that’s been invented to tar gun owners.
Violent crime is half of what it was 20 years ago. We have done an incredible job in this country. It is an unalloyed piece of good news. It is a public-policy victory. And I devote three of 18 chapters to the dark side of guns—a young man murdered, another disabled, and a chapter about a former gangbanger who killed a man.

We’ve still got the highest rate of gun homicide in the advanced world. We still have 30,000 firearm-related deaths every year. Five hundred murders last year in Chicago, and 331 in the city where I report, Philadelphia.
Chicago, which has some of the toughest gun laws in the country.

Yeah, but as David Frum has pointed out, there’s not a wall around Chicago. Guns can come into Chicago from other places. There are other problems. Suicide. Teens who try to kill themselves with guns tend to succeed, as you point out in the book.
That is bad. That is definitely bad. Look. Going back to your question about the motives of the gun-control people—

I can tell you that, personally, the reason I don’t want to be around guns isn’t that I have some pathological aversion to them as objects. It’s that I think they’re dangerous. I have a four-year-old daughter. If I had been out with her and had seen you open-carrying your handgun in Whole Foods, my impulse would have been to come up and tap you on the shoulder and ask what the fuck was wrong with you.
It’s well and good to say I have a four-year-old daughter and I live in Philadelphia and I don’t want anything to do with guns. But, forgive me, it’s a little bit like saying I don’t want anything to do with gravity. I mean, the country is full of guns. We can’t do away with air crashes by repealing gravity. The gun-control side—and this has been especially true since Sandy Hook—has been depending on an emotional argument. You just made, really, an emotional argument.

I could cite statistics. Studies show that more guns equal more homicides, across all sorts of metrics.
Private firearm ownership per capita in the United States has gone up tremendously in the past 20 years. Gun laws have generally gotten looser everywhere in the past 20 years. And gun murders have fallen by half. So I don’t know why you say more guns equals more homicide.

Those are the findings of David Hemenway, director of the Harvard Injury Control Research Center. Places with more guns have higher rates of homicide.
David Hemenway, frankly, is a partisan on this issue. As is Gary Kleck on the other side. These guys have an agenda. I don’t trust them. But it’s Hemenway who has found that guns are used to save lives 80,000 times a year, which means guns may be saving more lives than they’re taking.

In one chapter, you quote a lawyer at the Goldwater Institute who makes an argument I’ve seen a lot: that the Second Amendment exists in part to let citizens arm themselves as a “bulwark against tyranny.” He’s talking about doing battle against the U.S. government if necessary. Do you think that’s a valid point?
I don’t believe we’ll get to the place where we have to take our rifles out of the closet and overthrow a tyrannical government. But I do think that the widespread private ownership of guns bespeaks a relationship between the government and the people that is unique and that I like. I’ve lived and worked all over the world, in countries where the only people with guns are the military and the police. I don’t like it. And I’m not sure most Americans would like it.

Your other views are so progressive, though. To be a progressive, you have to believe that the world can be improved. But it seems like, at the heart of so much Second Amendment absolutism, there is this dark vision of inevitable, lawless decay. Like: The world is screwed. You may as well start burying AR-15’s in your yard.
No, no, no. It’s not that.

Am I misunderstanding?
Yeah, I think you are. There are definitely a lot of gun guys who feel that way. You know, when they make the argument—like Aaron Zelman’s genocide argument, that gun control precedes genocide—

Aaron Zelman. This is the late head of Jews for the Preservation of Firearms Ownership. He wrote a book called Death by “Gun Control,” arguing that gun laws led not just to the Holocaust but also to eight other genocides.
I was born in 1956. You were probably born in the '70s? We’ve lived in a pretty good era in the United States. But in our lifetimes, people wearing Gap and Benetton clothing were lined up in front of pits and shot for being who they were. This happened during our adulthood. And these were not savage Africans. These were Europeans! These were white folks, wearing the kinds of clothes we wear, and carrying the kinds of consumer products we carry. They were lined up and shot, for being who they were, in Bosnia.

Sorry: savage Africans?
Well, you know, when it happens in Africa, I think we all have a tendency to go, well, it’s Africa, right? But this happened in Europe. We’re not talking about the Nazis. We’re talking about the '90s. So I cannot completely dismiss Zelman’s argument. I also lost half my family in the Holocaust. And I do kind of share his sense of wonder that the vanguard of the gun-control movement in this country are the Jews.

You talk about being a progressive. I’ve been appalled at how my fellow quote-unquote progressives have this sudden, newfound adoration of police power. I mean, hello? We used to oppose excessive police power. We used to be all about civil liberties. And now you’ve got “progressives” talking about confiscating people’s property.

Who’s talking about confiscation?
Andrew Cuomo. Under New York’s SAFE Act—passed under “emergency” conditions, so that legislators got only 20 minutes to read the bill—assault rifles and magazines have to be taken out of the state in 90 days or surrendered. A similar law is being debated in Missouri and Colorado.

You say it’s an admirable thing that we give ordinary people this level of trust with firearms. And many of the people you meet in your reporting are model gun owners. But what about all the guys on a site like, who post psychopathic rants about the United Nations?
Oh yeah, they’re scary.

And what about the kid you encounter who’s shooting into a rock face and the bullet’s pinging back at him? Doesn’t the easy availability of guns in America ensure that many people who shouldn’t have them will have them? You don’t engage with these people.
I take exception to the idea that all the people in my book are responsible gun owners. I really did try to represent the knuckleheads and the malevolent, too. Brandon Franklin, a 22-year-old I knew from my reporting days in New Orleans, gets murdered. And I interviewed a guy who killed a guy. A gangbanger. So they’re not all good guys, for one thing. But as the guy at the Goldwater Institute put it: we are a big, messy, polyglot country with a tremendous amount of freedom. A certain amount of bad shit is going to happen.

You argue that if Democrats try to tighten gun laws, they’ll only alienate voters who could help them accomplish other things that you believe in—action on climate change, income inequality, and immigration reform. Newtown seems to have changed this calculus, though. Has it changed your views about gun control?
No. I think Joe Biden, whom I love, is making mistakes here. The gun-control side is underestimating the force of the reaction they’re in for.

Mass shootings only appear tangentially in the body of your book. The Fort Hood shooting, Virginia Tech, the Wisconsin Sikh temple—they come up in the postscript, but that was written after Aurora and Newtown. Why didn’t you feel the need to address them?
They’re very rare. They seem like they happen all the time, but a statistically insignificant number of Americans die in these events.

Nine hundred people in the past seven years, according to USA Today.
Yeah. Which is a lot of people. No question. I and probably a lot of other gun guys believe that if somebody wants to do it, they’re going to do it. We can tinker with the gun laws all we want, but Timothy McVeigh did not use a gun, and he killed more people in his single act than any of these shooters.

You seem to despair in the book about the two sides coming to any kind of agreement. They’re too far apart.
Yes, and if I’m harder on the progressives, it’s because I think they’re largely responsible for this. It’s because of their sanctimonious, self-congratulatory sense of superiority to the gun people, and their desire to win a tribal point by smashing the idol of their opposing worldview. They drive gun guys into a defensive crouch.

You’ve laid out what progressives can do: listen to gun guys, respect their views. What can gun guys do?
Gun guys have to lock up their fucking guns. Much of the bad shit that happens in this country with guns happens because some honest person who bought a gun legally in a gun store left it unlocked. Thieves get them, and then they go into criminal hands. Kids find them, depressed teenagers find them. Adam Lanza found his mother’s guns unlocked. I think gun guys need to pull up their big-boy pants. And if they won’t, then we need to have laws that impose criminal penalties if something bad happens with your gun.

You also support universal background checks.
And putting them online, where we can all get them.

Did the road trip change any of your other, non-gun-related political views? Are you still an Obama supporter?
Oh yeah. I’m no less a tax-and-spend liberal Democrat. I’m a big Obama guy. But I must say, I do understand now the sense that we are all overmanaged and underrespected as citizens. I think we have lost a tremendous amount of individual agency in this country. The abhorrence on the part of the left that an armed citizen might have been useful at Sandy Hook or Aurora seems rooted in this instinctive liberal horror that any individual could be vigorous and capable and independent-minded enough to do something that dramatic. To actually intervene in a situation like that. And as somebody who instinctively cares more about the collective than the individual, I think we’re misguided there. I think the collective is better served by vigorous and capable individuals in the same way a machine works better with higher-quality parts.

You’re trying to speak to both sides in a debate where there really aren’t a lot of centrists. There’s a gap in the middle.
People will hate this book on both sides. When I think about what The New York Times is going to do, if they review it at all, I pucker up. I mean, Terry Gross isn’t going to have me on. We’ll see. Both sides are the fucking Taliban. It’ll either be a huge hit or I’ll go get a job.

Jason Fagone is a contributing editor at Wired and Philadelphia. His book Ingenious: A True Story of Invention, Automotive Daring, and the Race to Revive America will be published by Crown in November.

Dan Baum has been a staff writer for
The New Yorker and has written for Harper’s, Wired, and many other magazines. He’s the author of several books, including Nine Lives: Death and Life in New Orleans.

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Galleries We Like: Mark Laita's Snakes

Consider for a moment the drive of professional photographer Mark Laita as a teenager. At 15, having just picked up his father’s camera and discovered the joy of shooting, he hatched a plan. He would photograph rock concerts in Chicago. “That was really the thing I kind of sunk my teeth into,” he says. “I’d wait outside overnight for tickets and get front row seats to pretty much every show that came through town.”

From 1976 to 1979, before Ticketmaster had turned scoring front row seats from a labor of love for the masses into a bidding war for the bourgeois, Laita grabbed a sleeping bag and camped out night after night in ticket lines. He bought four tickets and scalped two in order to make money. He was an omnivore, buying seats to see everything from quirky punk bands at small halls to Frank Sinatra at Chicago Stadium. Along the way he shot the Rolling Stones, the Sex Pistols, and The Who.

He never got backstage access, but he did learn one crucial lesson shooting from the front row. “Just capturing that moment that is a little more compelling than other moments,” he says. “I just think, shooting concerts or sports, which I did shortly after that, was a really great exercise in honing that moment that is more interesting than that moment fractions of a second before or after.”

By 18, he had sold photos that appeared on the cover of Guitar Player and Cream, but realized there was little money in shooting rock concerts. He found what he didn’t like by shooting other things on whims, not unlike a juvenile snake discharging its venom into all the wrong creatures. He tried sports for a year. “I felt like a parasite rather than an artist,” he says. “But shortly after that I met Curtis Kulp, a commercial still life photographer who did a lot of advertising work. He let me come in and help him out and work with him as an assistant for several years, and that’s really how I learned everything.”

Three years later he graduated from Columbia College with a degree in photography. He shot the Sears catalog for a year and earned enough money to move to Los Angeles, where he eventually set up a studio for advertising shoots. That may sound boring, but it’s how he earned a living and perfected his craft. Laita still shoots advertising campaigns during the week, but on nights and weekends and “vacations,” he works on book projects. His latest effort, Serpentine, went on sale on February 26. We called him up to find out how and why he decided to dedicate more than a year of free time to shooting the world’s most venomous and colorful snakes.

You’ve shot everything from snakes to underwater creatures to Mexican wrestlers to ornithology specimens. How do you pick your book projects?
I just select subjects that resonate with me. I certainly am not an animal photographer. Because my last two books are animal books, people assume that I’m an animal photographer. For that reason, I’ll make sure I never shoot an animal again, not for a long time. But I think animals are cool, and particularly snakes and fish. Underwater creatures are almost like space aliens to me. They are just so unusual and crazy and varied and beautiful. They make for a wonderful subject. There’s all of the symbolism behind snakes, which adds to all the magic, but they’re really beautiful—their colors, textures, and the way they move. They’re so graceful. There’s no other animal that really moves like that. That is why I chose snakes, but it could have been any subject. It just happens I found snakes to be interesting on several levels.

How did this project come about?
I photograph a lot of things on the side. I do it for myself and a lot of people never see it. I shot snakes maybe a dozen years ago, and I always remembered how that was a really compelling subject, but I never really pursued it. The first snakes I photographed were pythons or boas. I’d go to a pet shop, find a beautiful one, bring it to the studio, and shoot it. That’s cool, but I knew that there were a bunch more exotic snakes that were a lot more interesting than pythons, and I was right. So I just put in the legwork, did a lot of traveling, and got access to those creatures.

Can you give me a breakdown of the places you went and how you found the snakes?
Yeah, and all of this is listed in the back of the book, but it was collectors, breeders, zoos, venom labs, and serpentariums in Central America and in the U.S. In Florida, there’s a great collector. The zoo in San Antonio was great. There’s the Kentucky Reptile Zoo, in the middle of Nowhere, Kentucky, that’s one of the best in the world. So there’s all of these really unusual and great places and a ton of great collectors. In meeting one person, they’d say, “Oh, you gotta go see this person in North Carolina.” So I’d go there.  I’d go to Kentucky, or New York, or wherever, and by reaching out I’d meet all these people that have these great collections.

Two things really stand out about these photos. I’m wondering if you could talk about why you picked a black background? Also, the snakes seem to be pretty bright in terms of their color. Did you photograph them after they shed, or do something special with the lighting, or photograph them at a certain stage in their life or....
There were snakes that I wanted to photograph, but my timing was wrong. I’d go down to Florida and want to shoot a snake. Say I’d go down to shoot a king cobra, and get that photograph, and then he’d have a rattlesnake that would be really wonderful to photograph, but it would be just getting ready to shed. Shortly after a snake sheds its skin, its color is more intense, its patterns are more vibrant. So I would make multiple trips down to the same place to get snakes at the right time. Because, to me, this project is not about snakes. It’s about color and movement and patterns. That’s why I shot it on black. I’m not showing you what snakes are all about. I’m just showing you how cool color and form can be. The black background just highlights that. It just happens I’m using snakes. I could just have easily chosen fire hydrants or toothbrushes.

Did you have any experiences with snakes as a kid?
Yeah, growing up in Michigan and Chicago I was catching snakes all of the time, but never anything that was dangerous. There are some very dangerous creatures that you want to pick up and handle, but you know it’s not something you do with some of these creatures.

Do you remember your first encounter with a poisonous snake?
I never found a poisonous snake in the Midwest. When I came to California, I found a rattlesnake in the backyard and I was fascinated with it. I handled it very carefully, but not in a way that I was going to get bitten. I don’t know what type it was. There are frogs in our backyard so they come to eat the frogs.

What was the toughest shot in this book?
The king cobras were tough. The owners didn’t even really want to let me photograph them. They saw how I was working with some of the smaller snakes and they were like, “Well, you can’t do that with a king cobra.” And, you know, this book wouldn’t be a book without a king cobra in it, so I knew that was something I had to have in there. So, basically, what I ended up building was a four-foot by four-foot by four-foot plexiglass case that housed the snake and that was OK with the owner and it didn’t compromise the photograph.

There were some very venomous species, but they were smaller, so if you’re three feet away, they can only move so quickly. A king cobra can move across the room in about two seconds. But a smaller snake, a two- or three-foot snake, you could run away from.

How did the process work?
Well, one other thing I should probably mention was that I was shooting them on black velvet. And for some reason, the black velvet seemed to neutralize the snake’s ability to move, which I never mentioned before. I look like a total jackass here standing next to these very poisonous snakes, but once you put a snake on velvet, there’s something about the velvet that would prevent them from trying to move in the direction they wanted to. They would try to move, but they’d kind of squirm and stay put.

What about handling the snakes?
I had snake handlers for each of the venomous species. We would kind of just let the snake do its thing. They would put it on my background and I would let the snake do its thing. Then they would reposition it and put it in the middle of the set. That’s how we shot.

What picture are you the most proud of?
They are all wonderful, but some of the species I had a harder time finding, like the Philippine pit viper that’s on the cover of the dust jacket. That to me was such a prize because it was such a rare species, and the specimen that I photographed happened to be wildly colorful. I saw some others of the same species and they weren’t quite as electric. That one was probably the hardest to find and maybe the biggest payoff because it was so brightly colored and beautiful. And there are certain snakes, like the blue Malayan coral snake, that I had to buy from an importer.

How much did it cost?
I don’t know, maybe $1,000 or $500.

How did you find that Philippine pit viper and why did you want it?
Just the combination of that magenta and chartreuse—it’s such an unusual color combination to find in nature. That’s what attracted me to it. How did I find it? I just asked around with some of the collectors for a really beautiful Philippine viper. I talked to someone who owned one at one point, but sold it. And I talked to the person he sold it to, and that person led me to a third person, and that third person led me to his basement in upstate New York and I just flew up there and we photographed in his basement. And he had a lot of other exotic vipers that were beautiful as well.

So he was just an avid collector that ended up having the snake?
Yeah, it was just.... The next-door neighbor probably doesn’t even know he owns a bunch of crazy exotic wild species. He was missing half of his fingers. Always look out for neighbors with missing fingers.

You were bitten by a black mamba during shooting. Can you walk me through what happened?
I was photographing with a collector who owned a black mamba. He said: “It’s very calm. It’s very docile. You don’t have to worry about it.” He was handling it like it was a boa, like it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t feel we needed to house it, like we did a king cobra, so I photographed it for 20 minutes or so, and it was fine. It wasn’t angry or out of control at all. And the handler turned his back at one point to grab a drink or something and then the snake approached my leg.

Knowing not to run away or move, I just stayed put, knowing that if I didn’t move, it’s not going to strike me. I stayed still and asked him to get me my little point and shoot camera, and I took about 20 to 30 pictures of the snake around my foot, thinking this doesn’t happen every day and let me get some pictures of this. Then he was like, “OK, let me pull this thing away.” He got his hook to pull the snake away, but had inadvertently snagged the cord that connects my camera to the strobe. If you look at the photo it’s this red cord that’s dangling down and is caught in his hook. When he grabbed that cord, the cord kind of dangled, and that’s what led the snake to strike my leg. I was taking pictures the entire time, so my face was behind the camera. I felt something on my leg, but it didn’t feel like a bite. I just thought he hit me with his hook. I kept taking pictures, and after a minute or so, the handler goes, “Dude, you got hit.”

I look down at my leg and there was blood everywhere. The snake had bitten me. Both its fangs had punctured the artery in my calf. I bled heavily. It wasn’t just stuck in my muscle. Both of the fangs hit my artery. It was an older snake, and sometimes older snakes will save their venom for prey they’re going to eat. Certainly he wasn’t planning on eating me, so he may have saved his venom for that reason. Or, it may have flushed out, because I bled so heavily. I’m not sure why I wasn’t poisoned. Nothing happened. He asked me how I felt, and I said I was fine. And then we waited five minutes. And I was fine. And then 10 minutes and I was fine. My breathing. My heart. I wasn’t dizzy. Nothing happened. Here I am a year later.

Holy cow.
The funniest part of the whole thing was later that night I was looking at the pictures and I had no idea I had captured the bite. The bite happened so quickly that no one even noticed that it had happened. In those 20 or 30 images of the snake around my foot there is one with the snake and its jaws in my leg.

What was going through your head?
Well, there’s a little bit of panic. Then you go into denial. I think there was venom at the lab, at the hospital nearby, but I didn’t seem to be reacting. I mean, we were ready to go. He was ready to take me and I just said, “I don’t know that anything is going on.” I’ve heard from snake people since then that the effects from snakebite can happen hours later.

I think that, because it hit my artery, something would have happened right away if it was going to happen. So that’s why we didn’t go to the hospital. I thought I’d be passed out by now if something was going to happen.

That’s amazing.
Yeah. It was nuts.

This project was a huge amount of work for you. Can you talk about what you got out of it?
I like sharing things that are amazing with the world, and that’s basically what it is. It’s as simple as that. I’m not trying to make money on it. There’s not much money to be made. Basically, the same reason a writer writes books, the same reason a songwriter writes songs.

Has anybody said anything about the pictures so far that has resonated?
I guess people have found it interesting. I can’t say I’ve had a whole lot of feedback, so I don’t know.

What about the snake owners? Have you shown the pictures to them?
I sent some early copies of the book to them, and they all loved it. The snake guys would love this book no matter what. They could be terrible photos of snakes and they’d love it. I didn’t really do it for the snake people, but they’re going to love it as much as anybody.

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