The Columbine High School shootings came over the wire with about thirty minutes left before our last deadline of the day. An afternoon newspaper has the unique circumstance of a deadline while most people in the U.S. are awake, which means that news can happen on deadline. So we scuttled a few stories around, and put a big head on a little story. We knew nothing except that something was happening and kids were suspected shot or dead. The scope of the story was not known until very late in afternoon, and we'd all gone home by then.

It looked like one good thing would come out of the catastrophe, though. A little speed bump on guns. Maybe even a big bump to limit access to guns--especially guns that aren't used for anything other than killing people. And the Republicans were caving, too. Many of them abandoning their NRA money for an actual spine as bills were proposed and drawn up.

And then came the nonsense.

It can't be the guns, it's got to be something else, the NRA said. And a lot of people listened. It was movies--even though 99.9 percent of movie goers never decide to go on shooting sprees. Can you say that 99.9 percent of gun owners never kill anyone? Or it was the basic moral fabric of society that needed strengthening. So a proposal to put up the Ten Commandments in federal buildings and schools got tacked on--never mind the separation of church and state.

Slowly but surely it all fell apart. As the shock and horror of dead children faded from the nation's collective mind, the lawmakers in D.C. saw that there was not a mandate for gun control--just for kid control. And it didn't matter what the control was, just as long as something got done.

Or maybe nothing had to be done. Maybe we all just wanted to talk about how much we wish our schools were better, but we didn't really want anything done about it. That our schools be safer--or at least seem safer. We just needed a big talk and hug, get a nice MSNBC psychiatric session going and get placated into thinking everything is fine. Everything is okay, we were just overreacting. Nothing needs to be fixed or changed or done.

Besides, we've got a lot of other things to think about. There's an election next year--we've got to see who the front-runners are now! Take a poll. We've got to propose huge sweeping tax cuts (10 percent on capital gains! That'll keep little Johnny safe!), we've got those Serbs and Bosnians and Kosovoians and all those other -ians to worry about. And besides, school is out. Kids are safe for the summer, they don't have to go to school for three whole months.

So nothing happens and nothing gets done.

It reminds me a bit of a little talked about part of the new Star Wars movie. Pleading to the Galactic Senate for relief from the economic blockade and invasion by the Trade Federation, Queen Amadala asks that this illegal action be stopped. The Senate yells and screams and grandstand, but ends up calling for a committee to talk about the situation more rather than actually doing anything. The Queen leaves, knowing that nothing will happen and nothing will get done.

Rarely does a catalyst for change happen at just the right time. I thought the Columbine shootings was one of those. But it couldn't overcome the inaction of government. As debates and yelling and screaming and accusations and money flowed, it became apparent that this was nothing more than an election year pick up line.

Republicans can go home and say, "We tried, we were gonna put up the Ten Commandments, we were willing to put a few hand slaps on gun sales, blah, blah, blah," and their constituents will listen and forgive.

Democrats can go home and say, "We had a great bill with all of these controls and blah, blah, blah," and their constituents will understand as well.

It was someone else's fault. Someone else stopped this, not us.

Well, it's everyone's fault. You crapped out on this one, guys. Stuck your head up your ass and asked the extremely relevant question of: "Man, it's dark in here, where's the light switch?"

Keep looking, it's probably in there somewhere.

Matt Worley knows where his light switch is.