Pink Pistols: Gay Gun Rights Group Is Ready to Fire

On a crisp Sunday morning, Nicki Stallard closes one mascara-coated eye and focuses intently on her target. Her long fingers are wrapped around the handle of a Colt .45; black go-go boots hug her muscular legs, which are firmly set in shooting stance. As she rapidly fires off rounds of ammunition, shells fall to the ground, rolling under her stacked platform heels.

Nicki Stallard isn't your average lady.

She was born a man.

Stallard, who has been living as a woman for the past year and a half, is the coordinator of the San Jose chapter of the Pink Pistols -- a national organization that encourages gay, lesbian and transgender people to arm themselves to prevent hate crimes. Part social gun club, part political platform, the group's slogans are, "Armed gays don't get bashed" and "Pick on someone your own caliber."

Founded in 2000 in Boston by libertarian activist Douglas Krick, the Pink Pistols have since grown to more than 40 chapters across the country. Not surprisingly, the group has garnered its fair share of controversy, both locally and nationally.

The Pistols unite two traditionally opposite ends of the political spectrum over one incredibly hotbed issue -- particularly in the state of California, where the Bay Area has been in an uproar over proposed gun control. The San Francisco chapter recently earned national attention during its campaign against the city's controversial proposed gun ban.

Certain members of both the pro-gun rights community and the gay community consider the Pistols to be a thorn in their side. But Stallard says the Pink Pistols just want what every American should be entitled to: the right to walk down the street without fearing for your life.

For Stallard, her individual right to carry a weapon isn't just a fundamental principle -- it's life insurance.

Strange Bedfellows

During a breakfast meeting at a Denny's in San Jose, Stallard is dressed in a tasteful gray pleated short skirt and black turtleneck. She pushes around a veggie omelet with her fork as the rest of the restaurant stares. She either doesn't notice or doesn't care, as she rattles off rapid-fire stats on hate crime incidents and studies that indicate homophobic discrimination among authorities.

"And you choose to be unarmed?" she asks, her blue, neatly made-up eyes wide with astonishment and indignation. "To me, that just doesn't make sense."

Stallard is in the middle of reciting statistics about gun control and personal safety when she's approached by an older man in a security guard uniform, his gray hair shorn in a military cut.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt," he says, and looks directly at Stallard. "I agree with everything you say."

The man is an instructor with the National Rifle Association and spends several minutes discussing the finer points of gun control laws with the transgender woman sitting before him. He says to Stallard, "People need to be able to defend themselves against lawless acts," shakes her hand and leaves.

"That's pretty much the reaction we've gotten from conservatives," Stallard says, returning to her omelet.

It's a poetic illustration of the issues that cut to the heart of the Pink Pistols: uniting divergent political interests over one hugely controversial topic.

"We support a reasonable balance between individual rights and legitimate public safety concerns," Stallard says.

Jeff Soyer of Vermont, a self-described "gay gun nut" and blogger, is a longtime proponent of the Pistols.

"They're trying to get urban gays and lesbians to not be afraid of the one instrument that, when used properly and legally, can save their lives," Soyer says. "They take the mystique and scariness out of guns and show that a firearm is simply a tool."

Yet the Pistols have become something of a political hot potato, handled with caution -- or not at all -- by both gay rights organizations and pro-gun groups.