As I stand here in front of our nation's capital all I can think about is why? Why did they let it get to this point? Why didn't it stop in 1999 after Columbine? Why didn't it stop after the 2012 Colorado movie theater shooting? Why not after Vegas? Why not after Sandy Hook? Why not after Parkland? I sat in my high school math class wondering where I could hide, I couldn't, there's one door and two windows surrounding it. One closet not big enough to hide even the smallest kid in the classroom. I shouldn't have been terrified to walk into my high school classrooms, I shouldn't have cried in my environmental science class thinking of the "what if's" about losing my twin brother in a school shooting, I shouldn't have held my breath when the PA came on the intercom to make an announcement. I shouldn't have to look for the closest exit when I'm at church or a movie theater, I shouldn't have had to go home due to an anxiety attack from an intruder drill, but I did.
It was February 14th, 2018, 6:47AM and as I'm waiting for my car to fill up with gas before I head to school, I heard a loud pop thinking it was a gun shot. My heart sinks, my hands start trembling. I make eye contact with the man pumping gas next to me. He can see the tears building up in my eyes, my face turning pale, my body freezing not knowing what to do as I wonder what the heck that was, I've only been driving myself for 3 months so knowing the difference between a car backfire and a gunshot didn't exist, in my mind they sound the same. I look back up at that man and he mouths to me with a sympathetic look in his eyes "car backfire" a weight was lifted from my chest. I wouldn't be dying today. My experiences are not unique. Every day, kids in a city like Chicago fear they will be shot walking home from school due to a street crossfire. Every day, students wonder if their school is next. I came home early from school on Valentine's Day shaken up from my gas station experience. It's two o'clock school is about let out when the breaking news comes on. Another school shooting, this time Parkland Florida. I break down in tears thinking about my incident this morning, it could have been me, but, by the grace of God, today it wasn't. My terrors became these high school student's realities. A day of love became a day of sadness. Daughters, sons, mothers, teachers all gone due to another school shooting. Enough is enough. My experience was only a glimpse of what the teachers, and students felt during that 6 minutes in Florida; what the Sandy Hook first graders felt when all they wanted to do was go home to mommy and daddy, but sadly some didn't make it that far; what the Sunday church goers were feeling when they were worshiping God and they were murdered. This is why I'm here, in Washington D.C, to represent the thousands of people that weren't able to survive the epidemic of mass shootings that have been happening in America.
On Saturday, March 24 2018, more than a million people worldwide and more than 800,000 people including myself all showed up in Washington, D.C in support of one message: Enough is enough. Three hours before the first performer starts off the March For Our Lives rally, I take a break from my roaming mind and actually take a step back and soak up what is around me. To my left I see NBC News, ABC News, Washington Post, The Guardian, and Buzzfeed- all here to cover what seems to be the biggest rally in our nation's capital since the 2017 Women's March. In front of me is a barricade to separate the participants in the march from the victims and survivors of mass shootings as well as the Hollywood celebrities that decided to use their platform for justice. I can only see so far behind me, when the newscasters turn on the camera and do an overview with their drone to allow us in the front to get just a glimpse of the people behind us. Hundreds of us gasp in unison as we see the crowd of people and how it goes all the way to the White house, covering the streets in between, two miles of people standing shoulder to shoulder like sardines, kids on their dads shoulder, and Washington D.C citizens standing on the rooftop of their apartment. This is community. This is democracy. This is America.
The crowd is silent as we wait in anticipation of who the next guest speaker is. Jaclyn Corin, a survivor from the Marjory Stoneman Douglas mass shooting, steps on stage with a little girl who looks about ten standing next to her. We look left and right wondering who this girl is and why she is on stage next to Jaclyn when she steps up to speak in front of hundreds of thousands of people. She announces herself as Marin Luther King Jr's granddaughter, "Yolanda Renee King and I'm 9 years old" and the crowd screams, applauds this little girl, being the granddaughter of Martin Luther King Jr is a title of its own, but you can see in her that she is determined to create a label of her own. King speaks with confidence being so young "my grandfather had a dream his four little children will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." She continues with "enough is enough". The crowd applauds again but not because she's Martin Luther King Jr's granddaughter but because she is Yolanda Renne King, a 9-year-old activist; going against the norms of politicians saying she is too young to form a logical opinion because she is a 9-year-old little girl. She has made an impact bigger than she probably realizes. She has shown that no matter how old or how young you may be your opinion matters, your voice matters, my voice matters. I was overcome with the feeling of empowerment, that I can help change the world we live in where I see fit.
I left the march that day with a new perspective, a new attitude towards justice. This wasn't just some rally that you attend and forget about in the next coming months or even years. This is an event that has given me an outlook on other people's perspectives like; Emma Gonzalez, a survivor of parkland Florida. Edna Chavez, Her brother Ricardo was shot and killed while walking down a street in Los Angeles. Naomi Walder, A eleven year old girl bringing awareness to the fact that African American women who are victims of gun violence due to domestic violence aren't covered in the breaking news. They helped me realize my voice and beliefs and my opinions matter, with that I have a new insight of who I am and who I want to be.
My last night here I walk down the National Mall staring ahead in amazement, in awe of our nation's capital as the flag waves in the direction of the wind. Behind me is the Washington monument, and at night I think about its beauty glistening in the reflecting pool. People say they believe in love at first sight; I never truly knew what that felt like until now, I feel at peace in a city that's constantly rowdy, fast paced, and devoted to our country 24/7. Most would think I'm crazy to love such a city, a city that's full of corruption, rude locals, the freezing cold, and constant traffic, but all I see is the Lincoln Memorial and how you can see the capitol from the very top, the smell of the cherry blossoms when they start to bloom in April. The fast pace of people trying to get to their 9 to 5 job with fresh brewed coffee in one hand and a phone glued to their ear in the other. I am home.
