​A Humanizing Example of Colorado’s Red Flag Gun Law

Guns, in many ways, have been a thread through my life. From my early days as a paramedic treating gunshot victims, to my years as a police officer, and later as a lawmaker shaping gun safety legislation, that thread has woven through every chapter of my life. What started as exposure to violence became a calling to prevent it. The thread didn’t define me. It refined me, shaping a lifelong belief that courage means acting before the next wound is made.

That same principle lives on in Colorado’s red flag laws, which allow families and law enforcement to intervene before a crisis turns deadly. They are, in a sense, the next strand in that same gun thread, pulling compassion and responsibility through the fabric of public safety.

Perhaps my proudest accomplishment while serving as Chief of the City of Fountain police department was implementing the Crisis Intervention Team (CIT) program. With the help of the officers and sergeants in the Fountain Police Department, we implemented the first department-wide CIT program in Colorado and one of the first in the country. The CIT program is about dealing with people with mental illness during a crisis.

Three cords of this thread are CIT, ERPO (Extreme Risk Protection Order, or red flag law), and NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness). These cords address both proactive and in-the-moment challenges. CIT equips officers to meet people in crisis with skill, restraint, and understanding, buying a long pause when seconds feel impossible.

Red Flag laws are not punishment. They are prevention. They allow a family member, teacher, or law enforcement officer who recognizes a dangerous spiral to ask the court to temporarily remove access to firearms until the danger passes.

NAMI helped several of our officers become CIT-trained. The officers came back incredibly enthusiastic about both police work and about how they could help people in crisis. CIT training, support groups, and quiet advocacy help people recognize the signs of mental distress before they erupt into tragedy.

In The John Morse Code, I recount the story of a man I call James, whose life was saved when trained officers chose patience over pulling the trigger. The CIT-trained officers showed restraint when they could have used deadly force, and because of that decision, James lived. Justice was still served; he was sentenced to three years in prison rather than a lifetime for attempted first-degree murder of a police officer. But more importantly, he was alive to face that justice. His life was forever changed, but at least he still had one.

Over time, these three cords (CIT, ERPO, and NAMI) have intertwined with others: law enforcement officers, legislators, families, and advocates, with each strand adding strength where one alone might fray. Together, they form a cord that is not easily broken, one that carries forward through Colorado’s red flag laws, binding compassion, responsibility, and shared resolve to prevent the next avoidable loss.
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When these cords are together, you begin to understand that public safety isn’t only about laws or tactics. It’s not about taking guns away. It’s about timing, empathy, and human dignity. Each one plays a distinct part, but all work toward the same end: keeping both the public and the person in crisis alive long enough to heal.

​Red flag laws spark heated debate, yet beneath the arguments lies a shared concern for safety and freedom. It takes courage to wrestle with both at once. These laws remind us that progress rarely comes in leaps but in careful steps. Communities that talk, listen, and lean into tension are the ones that ultimately protect both lives and liberties.