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Rod
Harder says
the Oregon State Shooters Association has 57,000
members.
Gov.
John Kitzhaber was the first person to testify in support
of SB 700, the gun show bill.
Oregon
Gun Owners is funded by a twice-weekly bingo game that takes
in $1.5 million annually. Most of that goes back into the
game. John Nichols says the group spends $100,000 to $150,000
a year
on lobbying.
NRA lobbyist Rod Harder (above) is known as one of the hardest-working
men in Salem. "He's here every day, everywhere," says gubernatorial
aide Chris Dearth.
Oregon
Gun Owners is not affiliated with the national group Gun
Owners of America, which
is considered by many to be even more extreme than the NRA.
John
Nichols (above) helped start Oregon Gun Owners because the
NRA wasn't concerned with state politics 25 years ago.
State
Rep. Roger Beyer, the chairman of the committee holding
up SB 700, says his idea of gun control is "holding my hand
steady while I aim."
At the
start of the legislative session, Oregon Gun Owners gave
every lawmaker a copy of the book More Guns, Less Crime.
John Hellen says there are plenty of lawmakers whose views
on the Second Amendment are more extreme than those of Oregon
Gun Owners.
The
Web site for
the Oregon State Shooters Association is www.ossa.org.
The Web site for Oregon Gun Owers can be found at www.ogo.org.
There
are three
full-time gun-rights lobbyists working
in Salem. The gun-control advocacy group Oregonians Against
Gun Violence, on the other hand, has only one lobbyist,
who works part time.
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Packin'
Heat in Salem
Last Wednesday, as Colorado officials tallied the body count
at Columbine High School, Rod Harder cracked. The Oregon lobbyist
for the National Rifle Association was carrying a heavy burden.
Almost as soon as the shooting in Littleton stopped, the finger-pointing
started--and the gun lobby was an easy target. Harder found
himself deflecting charges that the blood of the murdered
students was on his hands. To make matters worse, the Democrats
responded to the shootings that same day with a symbolic grandstand
play: They tried to move a pet gun-control bill out of committee
where it had been sent to die.
Normally stoic and evasive, Harder finally grabbed a television
reporter and let fly against those who would judge him.
"I got a little emotional," he later admitted.
What Harder didn't talk about was his personal connection
with Columbine High. That's where his grandnephew and -niece
go to school. The boy was shot--not seriously--and the girl
huddled in the school for three hours.
Harder says he has talked to the children's mother and
knows they are OK, but he won't discuss his family connections
any further. "I don't want anyone calling them up and asking
them how they feel about me working for the NRA."
Harder wasn't the only angry gun lobbyist. John Nichols,
executive director of Oregon Gun Owners, and his associate,
John Hellen, were livid when lawmakers pulled out of nowhere
a new, sweeping gun-control bill that same day. Democratic
senator Avel Gordly, sponsor of Senate Bill 1300, says the
timing of the introduction was a coincidence.
Nichols doesn't believe her. "They were just waiting for
a tragedy like this to happen," he charges. "That is just
so cynical."
Before last week's shooting, gun lobbyists in Salem knew
the 1999 session would be different. The state was still
reeling from last May's murder of two students in Springfield
by classmate Kip Kinkel. Since the session started in January,
state lawmakers have introduced more than 35 gun-related
bills, most seeking tighter controls.
Still, it didn't look as if things would be all that bad.
The biggest scare for the gun lobby came from Ginny Burdick,
a Portland Democrat who won her Senate seat in 1996 with
a campaign promise for stiffer gun control. This session
she filed Senate Bill 700, which would require a background
check for all firearms purchased at gun shows. The bill
would close a loophole that has long exasperated law-enforcement
and gun-control advocates.
Although SB 700 squeaked through the Senate four weeks
ago, it had been sent to the House Business and Consumer
Affairs Committee, where chairman Roger Beyer promised it
would stay. Most of the other bills had been directed to
Rep. Kevin Mannix, chairman of the House Judiciary Committee.
Mannix, a strong defender of gun rights, pledged to come
up with an omnibus gun-law package that would offer something
for everyone.
Littleton changed everything.
Now lawmakers who have traditionally supported gun rights
are starting to waver, and Oregon Gun Owners posted an urgent
message on its Web site Monday declaring that it is losing
votes. The group is naming no names, but it could be referring
to votes like that of Rep. Terry Thompson, a coastal Democrat
who serves on Beyer's committee and says he is starting
to think about supporting SB 700. Mannix, feeling pressure
to prove he isn't stalling, released a draft of his bill
last Wednesday, which he says was a week early.
That same day, Burdick rallied fellow Democrats to call
for SB 700's release from committee. The symbolic gesture
went down to defeat by the Republican majority, but gun-control
proponents say it put the NRA and the rest of the gun lobby
on notice.
"After something like Colorado happens," says Rep. Randy
Leonard, "it forces the light on them, and they scuttle
back into their dark corners."
The gun lobby, however, is doing no such thing. Although
recent events have turned the tide of public opinion against
them, staunch defenders of the Second Amendment believe
no amount of carnage can justify a compromise on one of
the basic tenets of the Constitution--that people must have
a right to protect themselves from the government.
"This isn't about hunting," Hellen says. "It isn't about
self-defense. It isn't about target-shooting. This is political."
Today, the NRA and the rest of the gun lobby still have
a powerful hold on Salem and Washington, D.C. (see "Packin'
Heat in Salem").
But according to Harder, Nichols and Hellen--the top gun
lobbyists in Salem--it's time to get rid of the tired ideas
behind "guns don't kill people, people kill people" and
try a softer approach--one that recognizes there are lot
of troubled people, armed or not, who need help.
In the turmoil of last week, Rod Harder was sure of one
thing: There's no connection between his job and the events
in Littleton, Springfield or anywhere else. "It's not the
gun in your hand," he says. "It's what you have in your
heart."
Harder's heart belongs to the Second Amendment.
Since 1981, this compact man with a craggy, set face has
been a tenacious force in the state capitol on behalf of
the Oregon State Shooters Association, the local affiliate
of the NRA. Unlike a lot of hired guns in Salem, Harder
walks the talk of his client. He is a former trapper and
farmer who still likes to hunt, though with a bow, not a
gun. Harder also represents Oregon Furtakers, Oregon Sportsmen's
Defense Fund and a long list of other outdoors groups whose
philosophies are rooted in gun rights.
The walls of his office, which is attached to his Salem
home, are a testimony to his life and work. There are photographs
of him hunting, and one of his two personal computers sits
beneath a massive rack of antlers from an elk he bagged
himself.
A postcard written in calligraphy praising grandpas--he
has seven grandchildren--hangs in one section of the office,
posters of beautiful women draped in furs in another. "I
have those not for the women, but for the furs," he jokes.
Harder's office lies on the bank of Mill Creek in residential
Salem. He hates living in town, so his home is his refuge.
"That's the only way I can stand to live in Salem," he says,
"knowing I can come in the front door and go out the back
door." The back door leads to a deck next to the creek,
where red tulips stand in wooden planters. "Yes," he quips,
"and I like flowers, too."
Harder is on the front lines defending a lifestyle that
seems archaic in an Oregon that relies not on hunting and
trapping but on microchips and sneakers. In that role Harder
has been threatened and barraged. He is unfazed by those
who would blame him for providing murderers with the means
to commit their crimes, however. Guns are not to blame,
he says. "I don't have doubts."
In addition to being notoriously closelipped, Harder is
known for mirroring the stubbornness of the NRA. Kevin Campbell,
a lobbyist for the Oregon Police Chiefs, is often at odds
with Harder on gun-control bills. He says Harder will often
say, "This is where we've got to be, and it's not negotiable."
Harder is described, and often dismissed, as the quintessential
NRA lobbyist--infuriatingly unyielding in the face of reason.
But what others see as reasonable gun laws Harder sees as
a threat.
There haven't been any substantial changes to Oregon's
gun laws since 1989, when then-Speaker of the House Vera
Katz formed a work group that put together a package of
gun laws, including a 15-day waiting period for handgun
purchases that predated the Brady Bill. (It was a deal that
the NRA grudgingly approved, in exchange for relaxed state
regulation of concealed weapons.)
This session, anticipating legislative backlash from the
Springfield shootings, Harder went on the offensive and
made his top priority getting the NRA's Eddie Eagle gun-safety
program in all Oregon schools.
He's also working with Mannix, Oregon Gun Owners and law
enforcement groups to recreate the compromises of 1989.
After last week, he sees tougher times ahead. "This is
my most difficult session," he says. "We've never had these
outside forces before."
Whereas Rod Harder seems typecast as the company man for
the NRA, John Nichols offers more of a contrast. With a
massive girth and bald head, he's an imposing presence in
Salem, but his twinkling eyes and quick smile are more Yoda
than Jabba the Hutt. He's still a firm believer in the Second
Amendment, but Nichols is as likely to quote Shakespeare
as the Constitution.
Nichols helped start Oregon Gun Owners in 1975, preceding
the NRA's establishment in the state. Although he's usually
allied with Harder, he says there is a difference between
the NRA and his group: Oregon Gun Owners, he says, is based
on relationships and reason. He often paraphrases a quote
taken from a 19th-century English lord: "We have no permanent
friends, no permanent enemies, only permanent causes."
To that end Nichols prides himself on showing up for negotiations
and always listening to the other side, whereas Harder has
a reputation for having his mind made up when he walks in
the door. Nichols, for example, staunchly opposes SB 700
yet concedes there is a problem with gun shows' allowing
people to buy weapons without background checks. Harder
would never admit that. There is a way to work these things
out, Nichols says. The key is to find a common point of
reference, whether as a civil-liberties or a personal-safety
issue.
Dot Nichols, who serves as president of OGO's board, keeps
her hand on her husband's leg as the two of them talk over
sodas at a McDonald's in Northeast Portland. She echoes
her husband and wonders if the people who judge them have
any sense of American history. "The other night John was
reciting 'The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere,' and the person
we were with didn't know what it was," she says sadly.
John Nichols is a Portland boy--and a Democrat. In 1994
he tried to expand his scope beyond gun-control issues and
ran as a Democrat for House District 17 but lost in the
primary to Mike Fahey.
Although Nichols was raised in North Portland, his roots
are rural. His father, a cowboy from eastern Oregon, brought
his family to the city after he lost the family ranch during
the Depression. His old neighborhood on the east side of
the Willamette is now a city storage yard. As a child he
would plink the burn barrel with a rifle from his bedroom
window. He says he used to carry that rifle with him on
the bus to go to target practice at the Roosevelt High School
range.
But, he concedes, that was another time, when kids played
cowboys and Indians and respected the difference between
a toy six-shooter and a real gun. Back then he could watch
westerns all day for 25 cents at the old Roundup movie theater
downtown. He devoured these morality plays, where hat color
was the clear signifier of good and bad. He considers John
Wayne a hero and likes to quote a character Wayne played:
"A man's word has to be honored even if it results in his
own destruction."
Honor matters greatly to the Nicholses, though they see
little of it in today's world. Gun control is a niggling
sideshow issue compared with the breakdown of the family,
the failure of the educational system and the loss of respect
for property. A wall of their home was recently tagged with
graffiti. "We've got freedom," John says, "but no responsibility."
Still, it's getting harder to argue for his beliefs, Nichols
says. In a violent culture that breeds violent acts, honor
seems a lost virtue. Without that, the concept of responsible
gun ownership is impossible to convey.
"I feel frustrated that society has changed so much that
I can no longer communicate my position," he says. "I feel
as if I'm in an alternate universe from the one I grew up
in. I am a social and political dinosaur."
While Rod Harder and John Nichols see their lifestyles
and values slipping away, John Hellen is a man for the 1990s.
In one respect, the 28-year-old shares the older men's passionate
belief in the right to bear arms.
"One of the reasons the Second Amendment is so important
is so the government will fear the people," Hellen says.
To those who say the notion of a well-armed militia is quaint
in a nuclear age, he responds with an anecdote he got from
a European Web site. He read that the stealth fighter shot
down over Yugoslavia earlier this month was initially hit
by a farmer shooting from the ground.
Hellen knows that such ideas may lead others to lump him
in with right-wing conspiracy theorists. But while working
on Capitol Hill, he says, he saw a lot of things that made
him think. "People make fun of the black-helicopter crowd,
but the truth is the government does stuff they don't talk
about."
Hellen is also politically savvy enough to face some hard
truths about guns. "It's become painfully clear we're not
going to win the public-relations battle," he says.
With sentiment running against them, the rookie lobbyist
says it's time for gun owners to join in the search for
answers to why Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold went on a rampage
in their Colorado school--and solutions to ensure others
don't do the same. That means lobbying pro-gun lawmakers
to fund government programs to spot children like Harris
and Klebold and help them before they turn their weapons
on their classmates. To that end, Oregon Gun Owners is supporting,
at least in concept, Gov. John Kitzhaber's juvenile crime
package.
Hellen has also embraced the Internet as a means to spread
the word. He is vigilant about posting weekly updates of
legislative activities on the Oregon Gun Owners Web site
and has an e-mail address list of about 900 names.
Though Hellen shares with Harder and Nichols a firm grounding
in gun culture--he grew up near Glacier Park in Montana--he
came to the lobby not because he felt his rights were threatened
but because he's a political junkie.
He majored in political science at Salem's Willamette University,
where he served as president of the college Republicans.
After graduation in 1993, he went to work for Montana U.S.
Sen. Conrad Burns, then came back to Salem in 1997 to work
for then-Oregon House Speaker Lynn Lundquist. When Lundquist
was ousted before this session, Hellen was offered the job
with Oregon Gun Owners. Taking the offer was not an easy
decision, he says. Despite his passion for the Constitution,
the Second Amendment was not an issue he'd much heeded.
He was concerned he couldn't do the job justice. Also, he
says, "I had to think long and hard about it. I didn't know
if I was thick-skinned enough to be a gun lobbyist."
Sitting on the back steps of the capitol looking over at
his alma mater, Hellen says he's maintained friendships
with his college buddies, many of whom are liberals, some
of whom are teachers. When he took the job, they rolled
their eyes. After last week's shootings, he knows many of
them are not happy with him.
"There are a lot of people that question how I can support
the right to carry guns, knowing what guns are capable of,"
Hellen says. Still, he maintains he has no trouble sleeping
at night.
He defends the rights of everyone--even Harris and Klebold--to
be armed. He firmly believes guns did not cause the carnage
in Littleton. Those who would blame the semiautomatic rifles
and sawed-off shotguns are missing the target, he says.
"By nature, we seek an immediate answer--we need to solve
it right away. While that's admirable, it's not helpful,"
he says. "I'm not sure we've ever had an honest discussion
about violence in America, about the fact we kill each other
more often than they do in other countries. That ought to
say something about us."
Packin'
Heat in Salem
Oregon's pro-gun forces are taken seriously in Salem. Very
seriously. Not because they wield a big checkbook or hire
the most expensive lobbyists, but because they have a massive
network of gun owners who will eagerly pick up pen or keyboard
to take aim at any lawmaker who dares cross them.
Just ask state Sen. Veral Tarno.
Last month the Coquille Republican made the mistake
of signaling a willingness to consider Senate Bill 700.
The legislation, which would close a loophole allowing virtually
anyone to buy a firearm at gun shows, is backed by law enforcement
groups, and Tarno is the former sheriff of Coos County.
Nevertheless, he never went so far as to openly endorse
the bill.
That didn't matter to the NRA or many of its members. Tarno
was attacked so vehemently via e-mail that he angrily denounced
the lobbying effort during one of the bill's hearings.
In the end, though, he voted against the bill.
Chris Dearth, Gov. John Kitzhaber's legislative
aid, says active gun supporters wield an influence beyond
their numbers and conjectures that the power of the lobby
is more mythological than real. He points out that the Oregon
Medical Association recently did a study that shows 86 percent
of gun owners support SB 700.
Still, the angry letters strike fear in the hearts of lawmakers.
"These people are relentless, and legislators are convinced
they make a difference in their race," Dearth says.
Local gun boosters must rely on direct action to influence
lawmakers. Their political war chest won't scare anybody.
Last session the Oregon chapter of the NRA spent around
$7,000 on legislative candidates, and Oregon Gun Owners
shelled out even less--around $5,000.
Such figures contrast sharply with those on the national
level. Last year, for example, the NRA Political Victory
Fund reported $1.63 million in expenditures. More than 80
percent of the NRA money went to Republican candidates.
Greg Walden, the winner in Oregon's 2nd Congressional District,
received $9,900. Molly Bordonaro, who lost her bid in the
1st District, took in $7,950 from the national gun lobby. --PW
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Willamette Week | originally
published April 28,
1999
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