Author’s Note: While marching is incredibly important, so is direct action and reaching out to your local representatives! Organizations like Ohioans for Gun Safety are doing important work here in Ohio, and you can learn more on their website.
I am not from Columbus, Ohio. But on March 24th, I marched alongside thousands of people in Columbus’ streets to protest gun violence, the NRA, and the recent shootings in high schools across the country. I’m from about 2,500 miles away, in Northern California, where my town had a march of its own.
My friends and I arrived at the rally in West Bank Park at eleven, where an enormous crowd had already gathered around a small stage. We were unable to see from our position on the outskirts of the mass of people, but luckily saw the happenings onstage on the Jumbotron. An animated emcee brought on musicians, survivors of school shootings, and family members of those who have lost their lives to gun violence. The dynamic fluctuated between enlivened and empowered to somber and melancholy.
Perhaps one of the most profound speeches was that of Drew Gillins, a survivor of the 2012 shooting at Chardon High School in Chardon, Ohio in which three students died. He recounted briefly the feeling of terror on the day of the shooting: “I was 100 percent sure that was the day I was going to die.” The shooting, he said, rattled his small town of about 5,000. Tragically, school shootings can happen anywhere and everywhere, but this hit close to home for me, coming from a similarly small town; I could only imagine how devastating such a loss would be in my own community.
As the speeches and rally continued until noon, then nearly 12:30, I noticed that the crowd became restless. Amidst a powerful speech by a Muslim woman, speaking as both a mother and anti-gun violence activist, the crowd behind us began to march across Main Street Bridge. While I could appreciate the sentiment to move towards the statehouse—especially since it was about 30 degrees—to me, part of the purpose of the march was to also hear the voices of those most affected by gun violence and those who are working to make a change.
However, as the crowd mobilized, we were swept along with it. As we exited the park, I caught a glimpse of a young girl perched in a tree, grinning a toothless grin and waving a sign that read “The NRA’s Ideas are Poopy!” Then, as we walked onto Main Street Bridge, we saw more children: clutching at parents’ hands, sitting in wagons or strollers, or upon their parents’ shoulders. At first we laughed at their colorful signs, overly bundled up outfits, and their attempts at joining in the chants. Then the sadder truth of the situation dawned on us: these kids shouldn’t have to be out here in the cold on a Saturday morning. None of us should have to be. But those kids that need time on the weekends to just be kids are the very kids this march aimed to protect.
The bridge was less of a march than a standstill, but we eventually got moving again, up Main Street, left on High Street, and we arrived at the base of the Ohio Statehouse steps. The first thing I noticed upon approaching the mass on the steps was the statue to their right: a soldier pointing a gun towards the ground, but angled up just enough to be pointing at some of the shorter passersby. Children, for example. I attempted to take a photo looking up at the barrel of the gun while the protesters stood in the background, but an iPhone can only do so much.
The statue is part of a two-piece project called “Spirit of ‘98,” honoring Ohio veterans of the Spanish-American War, Philippine-American War, and China Relief Expedition. While it is crucial to honor our veterans, it chilled me to imagine children coming to the Statehouse on a day not unlike March 24th and playing beneath the looming statue. Unfortunately, assault rifles aren’t simply realities of war; modern guns of this type can be purchased by almost anyone in this country. This historic statue perhaps isn’t quite as historic as one might think.
Image Credits: Writer’s Own