Clark County Sheriff Kevin McMahill’s recent interview with the Las Vegas Review-Journal serves as a perfect case study in modern anti-gun political theater. Ostensibly framed around "ghost guns"—a politicized misnomer intended to elicit fear rather than convey accurate information—McMahill’s rhetoric exposes not only a troubling ignorance of firearms law and reality but also a clear anti-gun posture. His remarks hint at broader ambitions, perhaps setting the stage for a future political campaign along increasingly leftward lines.

To begin with, the premise behind the current obsession with unserialized firearms is outdated. The era of popular 80% lower receivers—the unfinished gun parts that once allowed hobbyists to legally build firearms for personal use without a background check—has largely ended. Companies like Polymer80 have been litigated into near nonexistence, and the culture of building personal firearms from kits, once a niche enjoyed by enthusiasts, has been aggressively and effectively targeted. Criminal misuse predictably accelerated the crackdown, and the hobby died almost as quickly as it rose. Once again, law-abiding citizens lost out because criminals abused a system.

McMahill’s agenda, however, goes beyond simply regulating or banning 80% kits. He advocates for serialization requirements on uppers, slides, and essentially any major gun component—a position so extreme it mirrors some of California’s worst ideas. Mandating serialization and background checks for nearly every part of a firearm is not about public safety. It is about control. It’s a clumsy attempt to bottle up the problem of criminal gun acquisition by punishing everyone, regardless of guilt.

The practical effect on criminals will be negligible. Historically, criminals have not required 80% kits to obtain guns. Well before these kits were available, guns were acquired through theft, straw purchases (having someone with a clean record buy the weapon), or simply possessed legally prior to committing a crime. The idea that serialized parts will suddenly stop criminals, when they never needed unserialized ones to begin with, is detached from reality. At best, serialization creates paperwork after the fact; it does not prevent crime.

Indeed, the only meaningful use for tracing guns is in investigating straw purchases—connecting a recovered firearm back to its original legal purchaser, to determine if they illegally transferred it. Even then, prosecutions for illegal transfers are rare unless linked to a high-profile crime. Open social media flaunting of illegal full-auto Glock switches by gang members has barely elicited a federal response, illustrating plainly that the will to prosecute existing serious offenses is already lacking. Why, then, burden the average citizen even more with new, redundant laws?

The answer is simple: politicians like McMahill would rather regulate the law-abiding than confront the uncomfortable truth that enforcing the law against actual criminals is hard, politically messy, and sometimes thankless. Serialization mandates are political shortcuts, a cheap way to claim "action" without addressing the roots of violent crime. Instead of advocating for tougher prosecution of felons caught with firearms, or stricter sentences for violent repeat offenders, McMahill suggests tightening controls on parts and private ownership—a strategy that only burdens lawful gun owners while barely inconveniencing criminals.

It is important to understand why the fixation on serial numbers and traces is so misguided. A serial number does not prevent a crime. It does not render a gun inert. In most criminal cases, the serial number is irrelevant until after a shooting occurs. Furthermore, unserialized guns have always existed. Firearms manufactured prior to the 1968 Gun Control Act often had no serial numbers, yet they were not viewed as a special threat. Nevada’s anti-80% law, written with astonishing vagueness, now technically criminalizes ownership of such perfectly legal antiques, illustrating how poor legislative drafting has created legal landmines for innocent citizens.

What McMahill proposes, then, is not serious law enforcement reform but a broad, ham-fisted push toward a surveillance and control regime under the guise of public safety. Instead of admitting that effective policing is difficult—requiring manpower, community engagement, and serious prosecution—he advocates for an ever-tightening web of regulations that criminalize ordinary behavior. And his push for red-light cameras further underscores this philosophy: automate enforcement, monetize compliance, and abdicate real policing in favor of surveillance systems that punish everyone, not just the guilty.

In this, McMahill’s attitude stands in stark contrast even to his predecessor, Joe Lombardo. While far from perfect, Lombardo at least seemed willing to engage with gun owners and maintain some semblance of balance. McMahill, by contrast, seems either uninterested or actively hostile toward civil liberties, whether out of ideological alignment or political calculation.

Ultimately, McMahill’s crusade against “ghost guns” is a textbook example of how politicians erode constitutional rights under the pretense of public safety, targeting tools rather than criminals, and promoting a culture of surveillance over a culture of liberty. Citizens should be deeply skeptical of any official who favors sweeping regulations on the law-abiding over meaningful enforcement against the lawless. Because once such shortcuts become the norm, the burden of living freely grows heavier with each passing law.

Regulating uppers just means more headaches for what are overwhelmingly law-abiding purchasers. Reading in between the lines, this gun loves gun control and his agenda will not stop at "ghost guns." Language and how people use it is probably one of the biggest indicators of their hidden opinions and intent.

According to the LVRJ, a guy gets arrested for trespassing in the Las Vegas Realtors office after having a history of not supposed to be-ing there. He's arrested for having a handgun in his backpack along with two "extended magazines" (whatever that is). He told police "that he 'was under the impression' that the concealed carry law was 'only for those who carry on their person and not in a backpack'.”

Without a CCW, you cannot carry a gun in a backpack in Nevada. We are an "on the person" state meaning that if it is on your body, whether in your clothes, carried in a bag in your hand, or in this case in a worn backpack, it's being carried and it required a permit. Set the backpack down? It's not longer on your person. We're not an "about the person" state so it's okay in a purse or whatever on your counter or car seat, but the moment you pick it up it falls under the CCW law.

Now this creates some interesting conundrums like carrying an unloaded gun in a locked box or purpose-made gun case going to and from the range. This is an extremely rare charge that essentially never happens (though it has, hence essentially), so it's not a thing to worry about if you're going to/from shooting (targets, not people) or something.

In this case? Guy breaking the law (trespassing) also failed to do his homework and made a bad assumption and caught an extra charge for it. Don't be stupid. Don't trespass, don't carry illegally concealed firearms, don't vote for Democrats, and don't show up with a gun to a place you have a beef with.

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