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I mean “light” literally, not spiritually. The most outspoken figures, who insist on public debate, democratic access, and eschew anonymity, are the ones who who make it safer for everyone to speak out, as well as saving their own ass. We’re harder to attack when we’re not isolated. This is why Gifford’s case, as a gung-ho public servant, is so paradoxical and tragic.
My life and flesh was saved by friends, every time. I was rarely alone when my would-be assassins struck. When I read about the people who ran to the gunfire in Tucson, like Daniel Hernandez, and held the victims in their arms, that’s when I cried. People like that embody the generosity and courage of America’s best ethic.
When a .357 was pressed into my gut in Louisville, 1977, by a Klansman pissed off about school integration— a car screeched up right behind us, and interrupted his tirade. When a freight company goon grabbed his wrench to cripple me as I passed out strike-support flyers, I didn’t know if I could walk. I didn’t understand why I was bleeding— but I was bodily picked up by a quick-thinking comrade. It was my supporters who grabbed me out of all three bomb-targets, and the local firemen made me feel like nothing could get to me.
I remember after one bomb threat in Western Massachusetts in the 90s, the local police, who were no great fans of the liberal university in their midst, asked me why anyone would want to bomb me, a innocuous- looking young mom, Irish Catholic with freckles. I probably looked a lot like their wives or daughters.
— How to Survive a Botched Assassination Attempt—The Consequences of Incitement
