On March 24, in Atlanta, Georgia, about 70,000 gathered in downtown to march for increased gun control and youth influence in government. I am so proud to say that I was one of them.
I've never been really outspoken about my political views. Don't get me wrong, I am really very extremely opinionated about just about everything, but I never considered myself an activist or anything like that. I thought the ideas of marches were cool, but truthfully, I was scared to go to one. I didn't want to be lumped in as a crazy social justice warrior who screamed socialism from Twitter. I was almost embarrassed to realize my liberal views, afraid to be called entitled and naive. Most of all, I knew my parents wouldn't approve. If it got out that their daughter was off chanting about the NRA or sexism, they'd be forever ashamed.
The Asian community is quiet. No one ever really talks about it. Blacks and Hispanics, even Native American groups have some sort of media attention, but the last time I saw Asian-Americans in the news, it was a headline about a Harvard affirmative action lawsuit. The Asian community keeps its head down, does good work, and goes home. The Asian community is neutral, it is an ambiguous entity devoted to academics and success. There are no campaigns for the Asian vote. I can count the number of Asian politicians in Congress on one hand. In a landscape of political tumult, where are the Asian-Americans? Do they not have an opinion? Or do they simply focus on other things they deem more important? The Asian-American community has faded into the background, working dutifully as the world changes.
I hate it. I have an opinion. I believe there is nothing more important that the education and security of our children. And yet, I am ashamed to say it, afraid to be painted in a way that makes me wholly undesirable to my community. Who am I to comment on the workings of our country that has brought my family such prosperity? This taboo ate away at me. I was angered at the ultimate indifference, and yet, I couldn't bring myself to break it.
Then the Parkland shooting happened, and it all just seemed so close to home. My peers, my fellow high school students, were victims in a shooting at their school, a place for beginnings rather than endings. And as politician after politician provided their thoughts and prayers, I felt so angry, angrier than ever before. Before, politics had felt like an intellectual conversation, calm and collected, interesting, but not particularly applicable. But this was me. This was students just like me, who went to class one day, having no idea what would happen. Thoughts and prayers did nothing: those 17 students, 17 versions of me, 17 of my peers, are dead. Their condolences changed nothing, but legislation could.
And yet, since that fatal day, there has been conversation after conversation, debate after debate, but nothing has been done to stop these semi-automatic weapons from falling into the hands of the mentally ill. No legislation has been passed. No universal background checks instigated. The fact that an organization like the NRA held back changes that could potentially save my life still hurts me beyond compare. My own country, the most powerful people in America simply do not care about those who need them most. I have doubted the competency of America, lamented the stubbornness of our Congress, questioned the sanity of our leader, but I have never, never questioned the fundamental goodness of America until that moment.
But I have realized that I am America. If America refuses to be good, if my country refuses to give me the right to a safe classroom, then I, along with the rest of my generation having these same revelations, will create it for myself. We will march. We will protest. We will vote. Because despite being told that being Asian and being young basically means having no say just won't cut it anymore. America is being thwarted by its own people, but we will emerge victorious. Enough is enough. A new generation is here.
