“There is a genuine lack of serious discussion on these issues,” Representative Thomas Massie of Kentucky, who chairs the Second Amendment Caucus, told me. “Our leadership seems like the sheriff deputies at the Florida shooting: They don’t want to go in and take fire, and instead just hope the issue will burn itself out.”

I spent the day after the Parkland shooting trying to find a Republican to talk to me about the massacre and how he or she thought Congress should respond. Only one member, Representative Joe Barton of Texas—who was on the field during last summer’s congressional baseball shooting—agreed. Barton was remarkably candid in our conversation, and said he was “sad” and “confused” about why his colleagues seemed to have once again gone quiet.

Barton also happens to be retiring.

There is an obvious truth that lawmakers are more willing to speak up after they’ve announced plans to retire. But there’s also a truth most won’t acknowledge on the record—that their chances of another term could be jeopardized by wading into an emotionally fraught debate.

This seemed especially relevant after the Parkland shooting. As expected, lawmakers scrambled to their corners. House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi tweeted that Congress had a “moral responsibility” to take “common sense action” to prevent “the daily tragedy of gun violence in communities across America.” The next morning, Speaker Paul Ryan told reporters that Congress should “take a breath and collect the facts.”

In the weeks that followed, I continued to reach out to Republicans; perhaps sensing the issue’s staying power, more of them agreed to talk. Representative Tom Reed of New York told me that, until lawmakers stop worrying about getting reelected, mass shootings will continue. He put it plainly: “A lot of members are just afraid to lead on this issue because of how it can motivate a primary opponent.”

Reed has been busy since the shooting. He’s held three town halls to discuss his controversial proposal of “forced treatment” for the mentally ill and school-safety measures. “We always talk about the individual behind the gun,” he told me. “It’s time we back that up with action.”

“The problem our leadership faces is how polarized the conference can be on these things,” he added. “But if we just start to lead on this issue, I think the politics will take care of themselves.”

It’s a nice enough sentiment, and Reed seems to believe it. But he represents a blue-state district with a mix of suburban and rural voters. For Reed, a proactive legislative response to the American problem of mass shootings is not so politically perilous; in those town halls, he does not contend just with voters who hunt on weekends, who prize guns for recreation.

Those who represent deeply red districts face a more uniform swath of voters. In Alabama, for example, where I grew up, the Second Amendment is not so much a right as an inviolable element of culture—lawmakers are not wrong to believe that challenging this, however slightly, could spell political suicide.