By Jeremy Flowers, Director of Coordinated Community Response, East Texas Crisis Center
On March 9th, a woman in Smith County was shot multiple times by her husband. On March 10th, another woman in Smith County was shot in the leg by a man. On March 16th, a man fired at another man during a dispute connected to a woman he had previously been intimate with. On that same day, in Wood County, a man shot his wife.
Four shootings in eight days.
It is easy to talk about these incidents as isolated events. To label them as “domestic disputes,” “heated arguments,” or moments where someone simply “snapped.” That language gives us distance. It allows us to believe these are rare, unpredictable tragedies.
They are not.
Each of these shootings involved a man with a gun responding to conflict—conflict rooted in relationships, and control. When we look at them together, we see a pattern.
Gun violence is a masculinity issue.
Women live in the same communities. They experience the same economic stress, the same relationship challenges, the same exposure to trauma, substance use, and conflict. Yet women rarely respond to those conditions with gun violence. That difference is not accidental. It is cultural.
From an early age, many boys are taught—explicitly and implicitly—that manhood is tied to control. Control over emotions. Control over relationships. Control over how others perceive and respond to them. They are taught that respect is something to be defended. That being challenged is something to be answered or you’re weak (aka not “man” enough).
Most men will never pick up a gun and shoot someone. But if we are serious about preventing violence, we have to be honest about where it disproportionately comes from and why.
Violence begins with beliefs.
It begins with the idea that a partner is a possession rather than someone with autonomy. It begins with the belief that the use of force is the most legitimate response to perceived slight, disrespect, or loss of control. It begins with the normalization of superiority and entitlement in relationships.
We cannot arrest our way out of this. We cannot legislate our way out of it. And we cannot pretend that access to firearms exists in a vacuum, separate from the cultural messages that shape how and why they are used.
We have to be willing to engage boys and men in honest conversations about what it means to be a man. About how to handle rejection and conflict without turning to control or violence. About how to sit with discomfort instead of trying to dominate it.
We have to model something different.
We have to challenge each other when we hear language that normalizes ownership in relationships or equates masculinity with power over others. We have to create spaces where men can talk openly about anger, insecurity, and loss without shame—but also without excusing harm.
We have to recognize that silence is not neutrality, and that we must be having these conversations.
The truth is, it is a cultural issue. A culture of masculinity.
Four shootings in eight days is a reflection.
The question is are we willing to see it—and are we are willing, as men and as communities, to take responsibility for changing the conditions that make this kind of violence possible.
