In the late 1980s, the AR-15 showed up in California gang wars and shootouts with the police. A national push to ban it and similar weapons ensued, bringing the firearm to widespread public attention and turning it into a potent political symbol. In 1994, an assault weapons ban was signed into law by President Bill Clinton. The statute, which also prohibited magazines that could hold more than 10 rounds, did not apply to weapons and accessories already in circulation. Moreover, it contained a 10-year sunset clause, which, the authors reveal, the bill’s Democratic sponsors foolishly added before legislative bargaining even began. The law was not only doomed to failure, but, this book demonstrates, made matters worse.
Among the authors’ feats of reportage was getting gun company executives and entrepreneurs to speak candidly on the record, a virtually unprecedented achievement. As one put it, referring to the ban: “Every clause they had, I would come up with a workaround or a counter.” Gun makers made tiny modifications to the AR-15 that met the letter of the law without affecting the gun’s performance. Production and demand jumped, as did profits.
With the approach of Y2K, and widespread fear of societal breakdown and mayhem, sales soared. Such paranoia, gun executives realized, was readily exploitable: “During the panics there’s a lot of money to be made,” one told McWhirter and Elinson. Another reoriented his company’s business strategy around what the authors call “erratic demand.” Instead of manufacturing weapons year round, the company outsourced the production of parts, adjusting orders as needed. “All we did was assemble,” the executive said. “It was a nice model.”
The paranoia market expanded after 9/11. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan then further embedded the AR-15 in the American imagination. This was the rifle of heroes, an association made explicit by gun companies. During the three decades before the ban, the authors write, the industry produced 400,000 AR-15-style rifles. During the 10-year prohibition, the number climbed to nearly 900,000. While other firearm sales lagged, the rifle had the “wannabe factor,” as the head of commercial sales at the manufacturer Sig Sauer put it, adding: “People want to be a Special Forces guy.”
After the ban ended, in 2004, the door burst open. A gun enthusiast who was the chief executive of a private equity firm entered the market, and, with a company called Freedom Group, flooded the country with AR-15-style guns. McWhirter and Elinson obtained internal documents from Freedom Group, including a “confidential” memo by the marketing team arguing for allowing the company’s guns to be featured in violent video games as a way to help “create brand preference among the next generation who experiences these games.” In an email, a company executive marveled at how well this strategy seemed to work.
