Photo Credit: Brema Brema
Dear Young Leaders of the Gun Control Revolution,
I have worked on gun violence prevention for more than two decades. I’ve organized and mobilized and marched. I’ve phone-banked and fasted, and I’ve led sit-ins, lie-ins and die-ins. I’ve stood up to the NRA, and I’ve spoken truth to power to the politicians, who follow the gun lobby’s every command. In return, I’ve been heckled and trolled and threatened, more times than I can count. All this experience means I—along with all of my peace-loving, bra-burning (Don’t ask; it’s a long story.), Bob-Dylan-humming, “good-trouble”-making peers—have a lot of advice to give to you, and, if only out of respect for your elders, you should listen.
Most importantly, don’t take our advice—at least not all of it. Sure, some of what we want to tell you will be important, but, with or without our guidance, you will find your own way. And you should. The truth is, if we are to stop the gun violence that has devastated families and decimated communities, we need you—you with urgency so fiery it can burn through tolerance and indifference.
Don’t get me wrong. There was a time when, guided by uncompromising, principled visions and adorned with flower crowns and fringed leather vests, we blazed our own trails through societal wrongs. We were nonconformists, breaking traditions and conventions and sometimes laws; we were rebels with a bullhorn and a cause. We demanded equal rights and civil rights and an end to a war.
Nothing, no one could stop us—until we stopped ourselves. Because, eventually, even rebels have bills that need paying, careers that need building, children, and then grandchildren, who need nurturing. And, eventually, even rebels grow hoarse from shouting down injustices, amidst the always-present cacophony of power and greed. Even rebels forget how to rebel.
Wrapped in our hand-crocheted shawls of pragmatism, we became the polite ones, the mild-mannered voices of reason, the consensus-builders. We finally earned a “seat at the table,” where we learned that, if we managed our expectations well enough and lowered the bar far enough, losses became wins. Voila! No matter that our visions and dreams were malnourished because we could savor the smallest of scraps and call it success; we could relish a parboiled morsel and call it a victory. But, even as we feasted on our wins—oh, so much winning—shame flushed our cheeks. Shots kept ringing out, and the death toll kept climbing. One; two; three; seventeen; twenty-six; thirty-two; forty-nine; fifty-eight; thirty-eight thousand, six hundred. Repeat.
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Panic and screams. Repeat. Blood and tears. Repeat. Politicians and thoughts and prayers. Repeat.
And, then you, my young friends, grabbed a microphone and said, enough. You called B.S.
To the alarm in your voices, we woke. You stirred our passions and roused memories of the times when we, too, had purity of purpose. We recognized and welcomed back these feelings, knowing with revived clarity that they are harbingers of a transformative movement, a revolution. As you begin this long march, we offer you these words of advice, given with rejuvenated confidence in our wisdom and with humility for our failures.
Trust your voice. Yes, you are young and inexperienced in many ways, but your generation knows this topic all too intimately. You have seen your peers, your parents, your siblings, friends and neighbors slaughtered in schools, homes, churches, concerts, movie theaters, city streets and country lanes. You know what you’re talking about. You have already proven yourselves capable. With your words, spoken so clearly and passionately, you brought an already-weeping country to its knees. Then, like true leaders, you extended your hands and lifted us up, offering the most cherished of all gifts, hope. Keep speaking out; we will listen.
Be angry. Our society has twisted its priorities, betraying the fundamental promise to protect its young. You are painfully aware that too many in our country have placed a higher value on protecting the Second Amendment than on protecting you. You were born after Columbine, and you have never known a time without active-shooter drills. You learned to throw pencils and crayons at the man with the gun and to use books like shields. There, huddled underneath your desks, you must have known this was a folly. You must have known, you wouldn’t stand a chance against bullets traveling toward you at 3,000 feet per second. How disgusted you must be, knowing that it is harder for many of our politicians to stand up to the NRA, than it is for them to watch you participate in these drills, to watch you prepare for your own death. Enough! Name these scoundrels, the ones who campaigned with a gun in their hand and promises of NRA loyalty curdling in their mouths. Name these culprits, the ones who stuffed NRA blood money in their pockets and promised to protect gun rights, no matter the cost. Name every last one of them. Make them wear their fealty to the NRA like a badge of shame. And, every minute of every day, make sure they hear your chant: Our blood, Your hands. You keep calling them out; we’ll keep voting them out.
Be fierce. Roar! The time for niggling and nudging is gone. Demand every lifesaving reform this country is dying for, and settle for nothing less. You know we need background checks on all gun sales, as well as laws that keep guns away from those who are most likely to hurt themselves or others. You know that weapons of war don’t belong in our communities, and armed teachers don’t belong in our schools. Most importantly, you know that policy reforms aren’t enough. The only way to right this grave wrong is with a seismic cultural shift. So, build the pressure. And ask every corporate leader and NRA member, every celebrity and doctor, every philanthropist, farmer, athlete, student and teacher to join you. Call every American citizen to action; we will answer your call.
Persevere. You are demanding change, and that scares some people, especially the beneficiaries of the status quo. You are exposing their greed and threatening their power. You will be maligned, vilified and belittled. Stay strong, but don’t worry if you can’t be. You have already inspired millions of people. Every one of them has your back. On the days you feel inadequate, or you feel your courage falter (and those days will come), find the people who can inspire you: Read a speech by Martin Luther King, Jr.; binge-listen to #MeToo stories; watch clips of the Black Lives Matter activists; ask Congressman John Lewis to tell you a story; and, if you haven’t already, learn about Malala Yousafzai, Claudette Colvin, Ruby Bridges and Ryan White. Like you, they didn’t know they would be needed to change the world, but they were. So, dearest Emma, David, Cameron, Vashon, Trinity, Jordan, Sophia, Marvell, Isabella, and so many others, there is a revolution that needs you. Lead on. March on; we will march with you.
Yours in solidarity,
Jeri—and a whole lot of American citizens
Jeri Bonavia
Executive Director
WAVE Educational Fund
