The Second Amendment Was Never Meant for Everyone

Rifles for sale at Redstone Firearms in Burbank, Calif. on Friday, Sept. 16, 2022. Photo: Kyle Grillot/Bloomberg via Getty Images

When federal immigration agents shot and killed Alex Pretti in Minneapolis last weekend, the reaction from many white gun-owning Americans was immediate disbelief. Pretti, a 37-year-old ICU nurse and licensed gun owner, was killed during an interaction with Border Patrol officers amid a wave of federal enforcement operations in the city. Bystander videos show agents disarming Pretti moments before gunfire rang out. 

What made Pretti’s death distinct, at least in the public imagination, was who he was supposed to represent. Pretti fit the cultural archetype of the “responsible” gun owner: white, licensed, gainfully employed. His killing unsettled a long-held assumption within mainstream gun culture that the Second Amendment is a time-tested shield for people who follow the rules. Suddenly, the distance between constitutional promise and state practice felt uncomfortably small.

But that realization—that rights only exist at the discretion of those who enforce them—is hardly new. For Black, Brown, and Indigenous Americans, the Second Amendment has long been filtered through policing, surveillance, and the routine threat of state force. Long before Pretti, communities of color learned that constitutional protections do not operate in abstraction; they operate through institutions with guns, authority, and the power to decide in real time whose rights are recognized and whose are ignored.

The Things We Carry

From the founding of America, gun laws were written in racially tinged ink. In the colonial South, militias and slave patrols were created to control Black people and suppress rebellion. As early as 1704, organized slave patrols roamed Southern colonies, arming white men and tasking them with the perpetual surveillance and disarmament of enslaved populations. 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.” 

Gun ownership in America did not initially materialize as a personal right to self-defense so much as an underpinning of white security. As slave revolts spread across the Atlantic world — culminating in the first successful Black revolution in Haiti — lawmakers moved to further codify these fears. Colonial statutes explicitly barred Black people from keeping or carrying weapons, embedding racial hierarchy directly into early American gun policy. As historian Carol Anderson told Democracy Now, each slave revolt triggered “a series of statutes that the enslaved, that Black people, could not own weapons.”

After the Revolutionary War, the newly formed United States was deeply suspicious of a standing federal army. But for the planter South, another fear loomed larger: maintaining the internal security of a slave society. As Anderson contends, 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. The compromise was an assurance that slave patrols and local armed forces would remain intact and beyond the reaches of federal interference.

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, a 660-mile forced removal that killed more than 40 people, most of whom were children or elderly people. That same year, U.S. troops systematically disarmed Cherokee communities to preempt resistance and expelled roughly 16,000 people from their land under the promise of federal protection; instead, nearly 4,000 died from disease, starvation, and exposure along the Trail of Tears. By 1890, Lakota Sioux at Wounded Knee were ordered to surrender their weapons before U.S. soldiers opened fire, massacring up to 300 men, women, and children. These tragic events forever calcified a lesson Indigenous communities had already learned through generations of bloodshed; in America, guns are not a universal right, but an instrument of upholding the racial order.

Who Owns the Second Amendment

Reconstruction and emancipation unleashed a new wave of regime-backed gun control aimed at freed Black people. Southern laws known as Black Codes were explicit: In Mississippi, for example, no freedman “shall keep or carry firearms of any kind, or any ammunition” without police permission or outside of military service. As a 19th-century civil rights lawyer observed, when the Klan seized local power, “almost universally the first thing done was to disarm the negroes, and leave them defenseless.” In the 1857 Dred Scott decision, the Supreme Court warned that recognizing Black citizenship would allow African Americans “to keep and carry arms wherever they went.” 

It’s a legacy that lives on 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 rather than isolated incidents of brutality.  

By the 1960s, Black activists began openly, legally carrying firearms—most famously the Black Panther Party patrolling California neighborhoods for police brutality. White political leaders reacted by drafting new gun bans. In May 1967, Black Panthers arrived at the California state Capitol in Sacramento, open-carrying firearms to protest the Mulford Act, which aimed to disarm their patrols. The demonstration scared Gov. Ronald Reagan enough to make passing gun control an urgent concern, and Reagan signed the bill into law in July 1967, paving the way to make California one of the states with the nation’s strongest gun laws. The very next year, Congress passed the Gun Control Act of 1968, which banned the cheap import of “Saturday Night Special” pistols, required gun companies to begin serializing weapons, and created categories of prohibited buyers. Both laws passed with Republican support, along with backing from the National Rifle Association. As Stanford historian Clayborne Carson told Al Jazeera, the NRA and GOP leaders “were definitely in favor of gun control when there was great concern among white Americans.”

From the 1970s on, it was no longer politically viable to pursue broad gun bans rooted in overt white fear, and the modern gun movement was consolidated when new leadership took control of the NRA and transformed it from a conservative shooting club into a hardline “no compromise” political lobbying organization committed to opposing gun control in nearly all forms.

As a result, gun regulation increasingly operated less through formal prohibition than selective enforcement by law enforcement on the street. As sociologist Jennifer Carlson argues in “Policing the Second Amendment,” police both drive a significant share of gun deaths in Black and Brown communities and remain “central to how gun policy is executed on the ground,” historically through discriminatory permitting systems and higher rates of gun prosecutions. The shift produced what she calls “gun populism,” a framework in which police and policymakers distinguish between “good guys with guns,” typically imagined as white and middle-class, and “bad guys with guns,” who are disproportionately coded as Black, Brown, and poor.

The results are not abstract. They show up in bodies.

In 2014, police shot and killed John Crawford III inside an Ohio Walmart for carrying a BB rifle sold in the store. In 2016, Philando Castile informed an officer during a traffic stop that he had a legal firearm; he was fatally shot moments later. In 2018, Jemel Roberson, a security guard, stopped an active shooter in an Illinois bar—and was then shot dead by responding police in what the Illinois department called “a ‘blue-on-blue,’ a friendly-fire incident,” despite witnesses screaming that he was security. That same year, Emantic “EJ” Bradford Jr., a Black Army reservist legally carrying a gun, was killed by police after attempting to help during a shooting in an Alabama mall. In 2020, Casey Goodson Jr. was killed on his own doorstep in Columbus, Ohio; a gun Goodson was licensed to carry was later found inside the home. In 2022, Amir Locke was killed during a no-knock warrant by Minneapolis police while holding a gun, which he legally owned, inside his own apartment.

In stark 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 Trump’s blessing. The Bundy family walked free after an armed standoff with federal authorities and were praised as symbols of individual freedom for standing up to the government. 

This is the real modern enforcement mechanism of the Second Amendment: Not the Supreme Court. Not Congress. But the thin blue line that decides, in seconds, whose rights count and whose do not.

It’s why Pretti’s killing has landed differently. 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. 

But for Black and Brown gun owners, the Second Amendment has never been a guarantee. Since its conception, it was a right promised in theory but 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.