Something lost at the checkpoint

Another tragic day. Another opportunity for the purveyors of metal detectors.

This time it was the Jackson County Courthouse in Maquoketa, where a guy angry about his property taxes ends up pulling a gun at a Board of Supervisors meeting. He takes a shot at the county assessor, but misses, thank God. A supervisor and others converge on the shooter, and he's killed when another shot rings out amid the mayhem.

As bad as it was, I imagined far worse as the details slowly trickled in. Thinking the absolute worst is now our default setting in a nation where we've seen the absolute worst over and over again.

My professional life has been filled with public meetings in all sorts of places, from courthouses to the Statehouse. So this brand of horror hits home. Occasionally, sitting in a meeting, the thought of it drifts into your mind. Maybe someone gets plenty fired up during public comments, or a speaker is interrupted with shouts of derision. You might glance over at the police officer sitting in the corner. You're glad he or she is there.

So I understand the desire to feel safe. And it didn't surprise me that more than a few folks responded to Tuesday's tragedy with calls for tighter security. The Jackson County Courthouse doesn't have a metal detector. Many Iowa courthouses don't have permanent security measures. The Iowa Bar Association and others say they should.

The Linn County Courthouse has a security checkpoint inside its front entrance, with a metal detector. Last time I visited, they even made me remove my belt.

Cedar Rapids City Hall doesn't have security at the door. You can walk in, wander up to the City Council chamber or other offices, without a scan or search. Ditto the Jean Oxley Public Service Center, where the Linn County Board of Supervisors meets.

I was working at the Statehouse when its metal detectors arrived, post 9/11. Once, when running late, I had the bad luck of entering a checkpoint behind a company of Civil War re-enactors, complete with rifles, bayonets and swords.

But I fear we lose more than our precious time when we put security barriers between our public buildings and the public. In the case of the Statehouse, we can no longer climb the big stone steps to the grand west doors facing downtown Des Moines, and walk into the impressive marble rotunda. Now, we shuffle in through small, tucked away doors on the ground floor, and walk through the cafeteria.

We're a people that's become, for many reasons, alienated from our governing institutions. High security makes them feel even more distant. Going through a metal detector, you don't feel much like a citizen taxpayer who is supposed to be the real power behind this democratic show. You feel like a suspect. Worse, you feel like an airline passenger.

But we can't say this stuff, because anyone who questions security is a naive enemy of safety, especially in the wake of tragedy. Especially when the threat is 'when, not if.”

I just think we need to temper our fears with our sturdy values, balance our best hopes for openness against our worst case scenarios. Prize our liberties and maintain our rights. Also, empty your pockets.

l Comments: (319) 398-8452; todd.dorman@thegazette.com