Someone somewhere is mourning a loss to the community they call home. A safe space in ruins, an illusion shattered. A collective heart aches as victims are made of both people and cities. And despite all of the warnings, all of the evidence that would seem to suggest otherwise, we never think it will happen to us. We justify that our own city (whichever it may be) would never let something like that happen. Tragedy doesn't happen here. Here, we are safe. But what happens when we find out just how untrue that is?

You get to choose the lens through which you see Jacksonville and looking back now, I can see how much the ability to make that choice shaped my childhood. It's the River City, or the beach city if you want it to be, or the football city (well...okay so we weren't exactly the football city when I was growing up, but the Jags are certainly more than a passing joke now). And if none of that appealed to you, and you find yourself in the situation that I and my family were in, then it can just be the city of Southern hospitality, of sunshine, of neighbors that wave to you as you pass them on foot. Jacksonville was a good city to grow up in, a good city to grow into.

The danger of a hometown lens like mine is that it clouds the picture with a filtered illusion of safety. I knew violence happened. On some level, I was always aware of the corruption that lurked just across one of our seven bridges. But it never quite seemed real, and in a lot of ways, it still doesn't. As I'm writing this and letting a new reality wash over my mind, I'm trying to process the shattering of that illusion.

On Sunday, August 26th, 2018, my hometown was struck by the terror and tragedy that we hear about so often these days, but blissfully never fear. At an E-Sports tournament that took place at the Jacksonville Landing, a hallmark destination of my city, gunfire rung out, killing four and injuring several others. Law enforcement warned locals that the area was not safe, that all should evacuate the area if possible and find themselves in a safer locale. It was jarring to suddenly hear that my city was unsafe. On a base level, I knew this. Gunshots are not an unfamiliar sound in the River City. But it felt so different, knowing that this time it was a targeted mass attack. But why did it feel so different? And isn't unfair that it did?

I'm still grappling with my immediate reaction. I've come to feel guilty for the fear I was overcome with, despite knowing that acts of gun violence occur every day in my city. However, most of the violence in Jacksonville (at least to the blissfully ignorant public, myself included) is thought to be gang-related, wrong place wrong time, "a bad side of town." And yet it's not news until it's targeted. Until it's public. Until it's no longer behind closed doors.

Last Sunday's mass shooting is only part of the tragedy in Jacksonville. Jacksonville is not safe. But really, neither is any other city these days. My purpose in spilling all these thoughts (jumbled as they may be) is to share my realization. I regret that it took me this long to realize. I resent that something had to happen in my city for me to strike up awareness.

We have a violence problem. We have a gun problem.

Jacksonville is ok, but America is not.