Since the 1960s, the national conversation on firearms in both political and academic circles has revolved around one main question: Do guns increase crime or reduce it? Are guns tools of escalation or deterrence?

Lately, however, social science researchers have become interested in a different question -- not the relationship between guns and crime but the relationship between guns and people.

A new generation of sociologists takes as its point of departure the sheer preponderance of guns: an estimated 300 million firearms in the hands of civilians, and more than 11 million concealed carriers. We want to understand why Americans don't just own but also carry guns. To us, cultural politics matter at least as much as instrumental value. Gun-carry culture is a relatively recent phenomenon. Many cite Florida's 1987 "shall-issue" law as the turning point. Now states as diverse as Michigan, Minnesota, Oregon and Pennsylvania have laws that make it relatively easy for residents with clean criminal records to obtain a license to carry a concealed weapon.

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I set out to Michigan -- an unlikely pro-gun state given its liberal politics -- to interview gun carriers. I spent time on shooting ranges, at "open carry" picnics, at activist events and firearm instructional seminars.

Carrying a gun has become normalized in Michigan; it's a way of life for hundreds of thousands of residents, partly conditioned by the idea that crime could happen anytime.

One man with a concealed-carry permit likened his gun to a wallet: "You know, anytime you're without, you never know when you're going to need (a gun). So it's best practice to have it at all times. Just like carrying a wallet." Others told me they felt "naked" without a gun.

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Crime has dropped in much of the United States, but this decline has been uneven. Although Michigan does not rank among the 10 most violent states, Detroit and Flint still top lists of "most violent cities."

But the appeal of guns is hardly reducible to fear of crime, whether rational or irrational. I found that men -- the vast majority of gun owners are men -- may also carry weapons as a reaction to broader socioeconomic decline.

The men discussed Michigan's past nostalgically, not only as a place that promised safe neighborhoods but as one in which their fathers had clear, vital roles to play. Men were entrusted with supporting their families; they made happy suburban home life possible.

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They suggested that breadwinning now is harder than it used to be. Indeed, men's participation in the labor force has been on a steady decline since the 1970s. As men doubt their ability to provide, their desire to protect becomes all the more important. They see carrying a gun as a masculine duty and the gun itself as a vehicle for a hardened kind of care-work -- caring for others by shielding them from danger, with the threat of lethal force.

The gun carriers I met did not frequently attempt to stop crimes, but when they did, they tended to play the hero, defending a damsel in distress. Two gun carriers said they had intervened in domestic disputes.

We tend to get mired in public policy debates that isolate the impact of guns on violence, and nothing more. We wonder to what degree they contribute to suicide rates or homicide rates. But firearms have a larger purpose in our postindustrial society. In Michigan and other places hit hard by the economic downturn, men's guns can address social insecurities far beyond crime.

The gun rights platform is not just about guns. It's also about a crisis of confidence in the American dream. And this is a reason gun control efforts ignite such intense backlashes: Restrictions are received as a personal affront to men who find in guns a sense of duty, relevance and even dignity.

Jennifer Carlson is the author of "Citizen-Protectors: The Everyday Politics of Guns in an Ageof Decline." She wrote this for the Los Angeles Times.