March for Our Lives

Yesterday, I grabbed my sign and took the light rail downtown to participate in the student-organized March for Our Lives. I was never really invested in politics until this year and this was my first march. I was amazed at the turn out. I was surprised that it wasn’t just students. It was parents and teachers and even some old people that I would never expect to be there. The first hour was filled with speeches. Kids from Columbine, Arapahoe, Aurora, and Parkland spoke out about what they had been through and why they were there to march. It was powerful, but otherwise difficult to hear. My school has never been shot up. I will never understand what that’s like. Somehow that makes me the lucky one. The speeches honestly surprised me. In one, a survivor from the Araphoe shooting explained profusely that the issue we were marching for was not one that could be divided along party lines. Yesterday, we advocated for the safety and common sense gun laws. The most notable being raising the age from 18 to 21 in order to purchase a gun. Others supported instituting red flag laws that would allow family members of law enforcement to seek a court order that would temporarily restrict that person’s acsess to a firearm when they are found to be a danger to themselves or others. I was proud of the students I saw around me, students who are tired of practicing active shooter drills and feeling scared every time a fire alarm goes off.

I marched yesterday because as a 17 year old, I have lived through 32 mass shootings. I counted based on shootings where in more than 4 people died in a public place. Defining it any other way would increase that number. I have lived through more mass shootings than I have celebrated birthdays. Almost double. I marched yesterday because of one day where there was a lock down after school. I was taking one of my sister’s friends home while my sister, brother, and their other friend were rehearsing with Mrs. Schnell. There was an escpaed convict in the apartment building next to Skyview, but they didn’t know that. I received “I love you” texts, texts from Mrs. Schnell saying they were safe. I found out from my sister later that my brother was crying. With tears in his eyes, he kept repeating, ” I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.” My sister told me she had to keep calm for him, but she was terrified. The next day, she was scared to go to school.

When I told my parents I wanted to attend the march, they were scared. A large group of people in support of gun control in a tight and outdoor space; they had every reason to be worried. I am still not allowed to go to midnight screenings of movies without my dad. My mom can’t forget the Aurora Theatre shooting. We have created a culture of fear. I marched because I’m tired of the fear.