It all began with my aunt telling me that my high school's town mayor shared a Facebook post about David Hogg being a crisis actor.

Growing up in a small, Republican-dominated county has been a difficult experience for me, as my morals do not align with those around me. Though many of my friends engage in healthy political conversation, there will always a group of closed-minded people who are ready to attack me whenever possible. I was known in class for loudly voicing my opinion, whether it be about gun control, abortion, gay rights, or immigration. So when March for Our Lives was created by the students of Parkland, I was quick to stand up and support it. Not only did these students experience a school shooting, but they used their pain to create a movement to prevent it from happening again. I admired David Hogg and Emma Gonzalez. Of course, I expected them to receive backlash.

I never expected it from the mayor of my high school town.

Where I live, town officials do not run by party, but rather they have their own agenda for the town. Each year, the six members of the council rotate to be the mayor. Politics are intentionally left out of the council. So when the mayor shared a post on his personal Facebook account from the source "Donald Trump Commander in Chief 2020," people turned their heads. It became even more concerning when he commented, "No matter what side you are on regarding the gun control issue...the corporate media is playing us." Following that statement, he shared the second video from an album titled, "Rehearsal Crisis Actors of the Florida Shooting (2018)." Seeing the outrage, the rest of the council decided to hold a meeting in an attempt to censure him. The public was open to debate about his censure. So when my aunt mentioned this meeting, I decided to, for lack of a better term, unleash hell upon this mayor.

Having never spoken to a large audience about my political standings, I made sure to stay up all night to perfect my statement.

When it came time for the meeting, my dad squeezed my hand and led me through the doors. It looked as though my entire town had shown up. There were no empty seats, and the capacity was almost filled. Police commented that they might have to stop letting people in for safety measures. It was a freezing February night but I stood there sweating, the temperature rising from the number of bodies in the room. The large crowd watched the six council members. And then, the floor opened for the public.

Since it was my first time truly talking openly about where I stood politically, my dad and I decided to wait until the right moment for me to speak. Clutching my paper in my hand, I listened to every person voice their opinion. One person acknowledged that though the mayor made a stupid decision, the good he did for the town should make up for it. Another said his decision made her friend reconsider buying a business in the area. Another said it was stupid we were having the meeting, and to just see how everyone voted in the upcoming town council election. I stayed in my seat, listening.

And then, a woman decided to compare the mayor to Galileo.

She told the story of Galileo, the Italian astronomer, and how he had to be silenced for saying the Earth was flat. She compared this censure ship to him. I looked my dad in the eye, and the moment the woman went to sit down, I stood up. I read my speech, looking him in the eye whenever I could. The mayor was a big supporter of the fake news movement, yet shared the fake news about the crisis actors. I called him hypocritical for this. The mayor said he had the right to free speech. I retorted, saying I have the right to criticize him. The mayor said the censure was a "witch hunt."

I told him that there were other things he could have done other than share the post, such as honor the 17 lives that were lost, or to research what he was sharing because it was his duty as an elected official to share factual information. And finally, he said that it was too early to have a conversation about gun control. Ending my speech, I told him I was tired of men like him. I had heard people push off the debate about gun control ever since Columbine. I wanted a mayor who would make my fellow high school students feel safe.

The people in the crowd cheered, and the next day, teachers came up to me telling me how proud they were of me.

The excitement of having spoken at the town council meeting lasted for about a week. Having put the experience in my past, I went on to continue my support for March for Our Lives. I helped organize a walk-out in my school and spoke at the March for Our Lives event on the town green. As my senior year came to an end, I reflected on how far my political voice traveled.

One of the biggest surprises was at the school's scholarship ceremony.

One of the presenters got up to the microphone, saying that normally, she would approach the teachers of the school and ask for a list of students that would best deserve the scholarship. However, that process was cut short because a certain student caught her eye. She then went on to say how inspired she was by the "girl who faced the mayor," and decided there was no need to ask the teachers. Stunned, I walked up and received a check for the $1,000 scholarship.

However, the money was the second-best thing to come out of this whole experience. A few months following his censure, the re-election for town council happened. With seven candidates running for three spots, the mayor came in fourth place, losing his spot and chance to be mayor again. My history teacher came up to me the day after his loss, telling me he believed my words may have swayed a few votes.

It goes to show that standing up for what you believe in really does make a difference, whether you are a girl from a small town protesting a mayor or a student of Parkland fighting for stricter gun control.