An open letter to the youth who led the national Marches for our Lives
To the leaders of March for our Lives,
Thank you.
Across the nation, you headed our columns of marchers who were gathered to speak out against gun violence. You were the people who gathered us together. You were all over social media announcing and then repeatedly reminding us of the date. You organized sign-making parties, you communicated with local police departments. You planned our routes, you thought about hecklers. I suspect that for days before March 24 you barely slept. I would guess that the minute your heads hit pillows, your eyes popped open because you’d thought of one more thing that needed to be attended to.
Thank you.
There were things that got away from you. Of course there were. An ill-placed watering station, the absent megaphone, but you pushed forward. You were innovative and unwilling to be stopped. You were driven by your belief in the cause of safety. It burned in your hearts and filled your minds. You felt inspired. You were dedicated, committed. You were, after all, out to save lives, the lives of our students, your peers, my loved ones. You were out to change the course of our country, one bold step at a time.
Thank you.
When the moment came to begin our march, you stood on chairs, on rocks, on ladders, on each other. You asked for silence. With your hearts in your throats and your spirits ready for whatever was about to happen, you reminded us of this one last thing. This march was about students, for students, and by students. You, our students, would lead us.
Thank you.
Before the march struck out, I heard men and women alike, those who were gray haired, or somewhat bent, or likely to walk at a slower pace, murmuring. “Why is this marching business necessary again?” Another, “Feels like Viet Nam again.” “Or the ERA (Equal Rights Amendment) times.” “Or the Million Man March.” “Remember Iraq, Afghanistan, Kuwait?” We talked among each other about how we were getting tired of all this marching. We knew, though, that we would never not show up. At least as long as we are able. Marching is not only our right, we recognize it as our national responsibility. Those of us who parted to let you reach the head of the march cheered when you took over. Symbolically, we passed our heavy, but dear, torch to you.
Thank you.
We cheered, but we fretted because that is what a lifetime of watching and marching has shown us. We wanted to take you aside and share the knowledge we gained from our experiences with you. We wanted to safeguard your bristling enthusiasm. We wanted to warn you about the pitfalls of activism. We wanted you to know that, even in the face of your energy being sucked out of you by the never ending opposition, you must persevere. It’s that important.
Thank you.
We worried that the burden of our hope would weigh too heavy on your young shoulders. We feared that our collective history would be a drag, a rope made of our dreams wrapped around your youthful ankles. So when you bounded to the head of the line, with our first exhaled breath we roared our approval from the middle and rear. With our next inhaled breath, we embraced our concerns but kept them to ourselves.
Thank you.
We need you. Our country needs you. And we know you need us. March on. Keep looking forward. Don’t worry about what’s behind you. We are.
Thank you.
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