United We Stand: A primary Account of March for Our Lives 2018
On March 24, 2018, one hundred thousand men, women, and children shut down the city of Boston for an entire day. From Roxbury to Boston Common, the streets were impassable for the sea of people moving, thinking, chanting, breathing as one.
Along with hundreds of thousands of others worldwide, I was lucky enough to be part of that ocean. I stood in the second row from the front, directly behind a large blue and white banner reading “March for Our Lives: Boston 2018”. Standing behind the banner, I was able to witness the leadership and passion of the Boston students who organized the March. These students, all in high school or college, inspired everyone marching behind them to stand a little straighter and chant a lot louder.
On my way to the March, I wasn’t sure what to expect for the rest of the afternoon. That day was my first experience of exercising the right of peaceful assembly guaranteed to every citizen by the first amendment. Inspired by civil activists such as Rosa Parks and Susan B. Anthony, I was elated to turn my passion for change into action.
In a time when thoughts and prayers have ceased to suffice as the band-aids attempting to heal bullet holes, driving to Boston to march in honor of those who were killed felt like a moral obligation rather than a decision. And judging by the turnout in the hundred-thousands, I was not alone in that feeling.
My mom, my sister and I arrived forty five minutes prior to when the March was scheduled to begin. Even then, a great crowd began to form outside of Madison Park High School. After being led for about twenty minutes in chants such as “Enough is Enough!” and “We call BS!”, the crowd began to form in earnest. From both directions emerged thousands of people making their way towards the courtyard. Ranging in race, age, and gender, the crowd represented all demographics. Then, promptly at ten o’clock, the student organizers and volunteers began to call out instructions, organizing the great mass of peaceful protestors into a long column. One instruction was insisted upon: students only at the front of the procession. So, leaving my mother and my eleven year old sister, I made my way to the front of the crowd.
This insistence of student leadership gave us marchers a sense of freedom, of liberation. Now, more than ever, we realized that when we spoke that day, people across America would listen. Our numbers gave us confidence, and our outrage gave us a purpose. And though I was initially concerned about being isolated among thousands of people in an unfamiliar environment, as the sea began to move forward, my doubts subsided. I realized that even though I wasn’t with my family, I was among one hundred thousand new-found friends. Between the marchers, there was a keen sense of kinship and familiarity, despite having just met. The chants, led by student organizers at the front of the march, forced us all to breathe as one, speak as one, and think as one. Although the mysterious power wielded by large groups of people can easily lead to rashness and poor judgement, the ability of large congregations to bring about change is what our democracy is built upon. And, such numbers make the ‘call-and-response’ chants reverberate across the city all the louder:
“Show me what democracy looks like!”
This is what democracy looks like!
“Show me what democracy looks like!”
This is what democracy looks like!
“What do we want?”
Justice!
“When do we want it?”
NOW!
“Enough is..”
Enough!
“Enough is..”
Enough!
As we made our way through neighborhoods and apartment-lined streets, volunteers passed out water bottles and cough drops to replenish our tired voices. The volunteers, men and women of varying ages, were part of the enormous community that helped make the march a success. And though the march was student-led, we seemingly had the support of the entire city. Parents, grandparents, and adults flanked the marchers, giving out high fives and words of encouragement. Strangers grasped my hand, saying “I am so proud of you kids!”.
This kindness in the face of condescending adults who think young people have no place in politics was particularly striking. The media has been alight recently with adults criticizing youth for speaking out and taking a stand. Incomparable to them is the fact that every bullet fired in Parkland or Sandy Hook is felt by every student across America. If one school is threatened, all are threatened. To remain locked in dormant inactivity while other innocent children are dying would be like not declaring war if only one state was invaded.
Additionally, by marching directly through the city, we were able to come in contact with the children whom we were marching for. Passing a small school in the heart of the city, young children peaked out of windows and waved to those down below, whose innocent faces reflected the joy and contentment that we were marching to protect. We marched for schools all across the country, regardless of the appearance, sexual orientation, race, class, or heritage of their student body. As we passed under those happy, smiling faces, we chanted “Do it for the kids! Do it for the kids!”.
The march, only about two and a half miles long, cultivated in a rally on Boston Common. As well attended as the march was, the numbers at the rally were staggering. Every available square inch of the common was occupied. The steady river that had called construction workers from their scaffolding and merchants from their shops fed into a roaring ocean of passionate protesters whose cries and cheers echoed across the city.
In light of devastating tragedy, the hundreds of thousands of marchers worldwide generated positive action from their fear and uncertainty. Armed with slogans and signs far more efficacious than bullets, we demanded more than just idle talk and empty promises, but fundamental change in the discussion and policies about guns.
But this call to action is just the beginning of a larger irrepressible revolution led by the young people of America. No matter how long or arduous our journey may be, we refuse to be silenced.
“The drops of rain make a hole in the stone, not by violence, but by oft falling.”
-Lucretius
