The following is an excerpt from the upcoming book “We Are The Majority: The Life and Passions of Patriot” by Lt. Gov. Mark Robinson. The book is set to be released on Sept. 13, 2022 and is available for preorder on Amazon.
“Greensboro City Council to cancel annual gun show,” I heard as I listened to the news one winter morning [in 2018]. I was getting ready for work, but the alarm on my personal antenna immediately began to vibrate. I had been planning to buy a gun at this very show. Then my political antenna went active as I heard the reason behind the push to cancel the show.
The Greensboro City Council decided to hold a meeting to discuss “gun violence.” I heard about this meeting the same way I first heard about the gun show controversy—while watching the news before work. The meeting was to be held that very evening, at 5:30 p.m.
“You need to go to that meeting,” I thought to myself.
But I had to work till 4:30 p.m., and the 5:30 meeting would be packed. I wrestled in my spirit. I felt I needed to attend. Yet at the same time something inside was holding me back.
Was it fear that I felt? Was I scared to stand up for my beliefs?
I pondered the question, but finally I came to the inevitable conclusion: I would be a hypocrite if I did not attend. I had to represent my beliefs and stand with those who believe in the Second Amendment.
I continued to be preoccupied with the meeting during every free moment of my workday. If I went, what would I do? I could just attend, as a presence. Should I say anything? What would I say? I had no time to prepare a speech. But shouldn’t I say something? Make a point, at least? What would make the most impact?
I took a long breath. It was settled. I was going to that meeting.
I left work, went home to quickly grab a bite to eat, told my wife where I was going and headed to the city council meeting.
I was nervous as I drove downtown. At this point, I was not a stranger to expressing myself on political matters. Yet this was different. I wasn’t talking to my conservative friends or posting opinions online to those who already agreed with me. This wouldn’t be sitting in the comfort of my home, typing political commentary from behind the safety of a screen. As I drove, I wondered just how fiery the meeting might get. I was sure there would be arguing, fighting with words like cats and dogs.
This meeting was supposed to discuss gun violence in relation to whether the city ought to host a gun show, but people kept saying things that had nothing to do with the subject. No one had given a good reason why the show shouldn’t take place, or why thousands of peoples’ rights should be infringed.
There was a lot of talk about this minority, and that minority, and this cause, and that cause. But nothing addressed the rights of the huge majority of law-abiding citizens in our city.
This was turning into a clown show.
I thought to myself, “I don’t care if I have to push the guards out of the way, I am going to say something.” I got up and stormed toward the man in charge of the order of speakers. I asked him if it was too late to sign up to speak. He said that it was not. So I signed up. The courier carried it up to the mayor and I went to get in line.
I had no idea what I was going to say. I stepped up closer in the line. I had my beliefs, but I had planned nothing. I stepped up to the podium. What had I gotten myself into?
Then something came over me.
Perhaps it was my conscience taking charge, or something beyond me, some other force greater than my fear. I heard myself saying, “Just be yourself, and I’ll do the rest.”
I calmed my spirit for a moment. The mayor gazed at me. Her look felt condescending and patronizing. I could almost sense her thinking, “This is a black man; he is going to be on our side.”
Her face, with that demeaning, belittling expression—a look I knew well from years of enduring it from so many—is the last thing I remember seeing before I began to speak.
I had not come prepared, true, but in a greater sense I knew exactly what I was doing. I was speaking up for everyone who just wanted to be a law-abiding citizen of the United States. Everyone who wished to enjoy their God-given rights and be left alone to do it.
I stepped to the microphone—and made the speech that changed my life.