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Making change: CHS teens talk with March for our Lives co-founder Jaclyn Corin

By Charlie Burns, Kyri Antholis, Susannah Birle, Connor Jackson, and Anabel Simpson

Recently, a racist online comment threatening many of our peers at Charlottesville High School with an “ethnic cleansing” closed all city schools for two days. While some students brushed the threat off as a joke and went back to school on Monday without a second thought, others struggled to focus on classwork, and dozens of students joined a walkout organized by the Black Student Union. For many, it was a moment to consider our own role in the community, as both activists and students.

A few of us on the staff of the Knight-Time Review, the CHS newspaper, were given the opportunity to interview Jaclyn Corin, 18, a survivor of the Parkland, Florida, school shooting and a major organizer of the March for Our Lives protest and Never Again movement against gun violence. She’s coming to town on Tuesday to headline the Tom Tom Festival’s Youth Innovation Summit, just a few weeks after another Albemarle teen threatened to shoot up Albemarle High School.

In talking to Corin, we were moved by her courage in coping with the tragedy in her hometown, and her ability to create action out of her experiences. Her tenacity is especially inspiring for us as students still reeling from the threat of racially charged violence. In her eloquence and insight when speaking on gun control, school safety, and mental health, Corin reminded us that we, as students, can influence society and create change.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

C-VILLE: In Charlottesville, obviously, we’ve had a lot of tension in and out of our school since August 12. What advice would you give to student activists on how to build on media attention and create real change as a teenager?

JACLYN CORIN: That’s a packed question! In regards to the media attention, I would say consistency is key. If you’re constantly doing actions and protests and event building with communities, the local news will pay attention. And it’s also about relationship building with local media and with other organizations that might have more clout in the community.

And in regards to just overall advice to teenagers who want to get involved, the first step is that of course one individual has so much power but there’s even more power within a group of people that share a similar desire and the same hunger for change. So I would urge all teenagers to start having conversations about what’s going on in their community, what they want to see changed, and go from there.

What inspired you to found Never Again and March for Our Lives, and what were the stages in building that?

The day after the shooting, I had this immediate urge to do something productive with my time. I realize now that my activism was my coping mechanism. It was the way that I would distract myself after experiencing the unimaginable. And it was really just about not wanting anyone else to have to experience the feelings that I was feeling and that so many families in that community were feeling.

That’s kind of why my immediate action was to organize a lobbying trip up to the capital in Tallahassee. And by the next day I was doing interviews. I was being very active, because I knew that a lot of people weren’t ready to do that and I wanted to make sure that the media wasn’t creating a story for us, that we were telling our own story.

We were really reflecting on how the country reacted after Sandy Hook, and…that nothing really happened after that. We wanted to make sure that something happened after this shooting. And that kind of led us to saying okay, we have to not only mobilize our community but mobilize the entire country against this issue, because it has gone on long enough.

And, you know, we continued after the march by connecting with a bunch of local organizers, registering tens of thousands of voters, having conversations with people that both agree and disagree with us. And we’re still working a year later, building a huge chapter network of youth organizers and pushing legislation.

How has Parkland changed as a community?

Parkland was the safest community in Florida, and I was so, so privileged to live in a community where I could walk down my street and feel safe and not have to worry about the possibility of getting shot. After [the shooting] there’s always this feeling of uncertainty, of, you know, not being safe. And this tragedy not only traumatized the 3,000-plus people that were in school that day, it also directly affected the family members and friends.

What’s so difficult, and what people often forget, is that a lot of places shootings occur can be avoided, but we can’t avoid school. We now have to walk past the building where it occurred every single day.

I think we always reflect on how lucky we are to be alive, and on moving forward to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.

What do you think would be the most effective way for schools now to ensure that students are safe at school, until [gun control] legislation and policies are changed?

The biggest thing I think schools can do to support their students is to do preventive health care measures, meaning actually having mental health care providers in schools and not just guidance counselors who do scheduling, and educating students on where they can go for that support. Mental health is just as important as physical health.

And also I just want to emphasize we need to make sure that we don’t put metal detectors in our schools, [police] in our schools, because that doesn’t do anything except make students feel unsafe, and increase the school to prison pipeline. There’s so many situations that show that a good guy with a gun does not always stop a bad guy with a gun.

You’re not just a high school student anymore, you’re an activist—how do you balance that?

It’s definitely a weird experience. March for Our Lives was the first thing I thought about, every day, and I started to burn out a little bit, and then I understood that I need to make time to be a normal teenager, because that’s what I need to do for self-care. Because I also have a lot of trauma that weighs me down every single day.

There’s also level of celebratizing, and I want to make sure we always share our platform. We experienced gun violence in Parkland one day in our lives, and there are people who experience it every day in their communities. There’s a lot we need to keep doing to make sure that they’re being amplified and everyone understands that gun violence is not just mass shootings.

What change have you seen, and do you feel optimistic about the future of gun control legislation in this country, or frustrated by the lack of action?

We’ve seen dozens of state laws be passed that align with the March for Our Lives mission and will help save lives, but unfortunately we haven’t seen a lot of action on the federal level. [But] I am very optimistic. Just yesterday, I went to a hearing in D.C. around extreme risk orders [preventing people at high risk of harming themselves or others from accessing firearms.] The most encouraging thing is these conversations are happening.

At the same time, we need to make sure we keep up the pressure because this is not something that can be swept under the rug, it’s urgent. Every day over a hundred people lose their lives, and 40,000 people annually lose their lives to gun violence.

It’s definitely a difficult thing to understand this is going to take a while, but we have organizers all around the country that are pushing for legislation in their states and we have to make sure we keep calling out legislators and making sure they’re actually listening to their constituents.

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Charlottesville students make their voices heard at national march

Photos and story by Natalie Jacobsen

Bandanna or beads?” asks Cynthia Neff, walking up and down the center aisle of the bus. Hands reach for the bright orange options that will be used to distinguish Charlottesvillians in a sea of hundreds of thousands at the March for Our Lives rally held March 24 in Washington, D.C. Students from area high schools chose the color to represent UVA, but it’s fitting that orange is also the official color of National Gun Violence Awareness Day.

Neff is one of the organizers who helped coordinate buses and logistics for the trip to D.C.; she says she learned many lessons from her participation in the Women’s March in January 2017. “What a bitch to plan that was,” says Neff. “Thank god the youth took control of this one.”

The youth Neff speaks of are local students, many of whom helped plan their school’s participation in the nationwide walkout on March 14, including Fré Halvorson-Taylor, from Charlottesville High.

“Turnout was better than expected [at the walkout], so we knew we had to capitalize on this momentum today—especially in registering people to vote,” Halvorson-Taylor says. “We need to unseat the NRA and NRA-funded politicians. We are going to the march for everyday victims of gun violence, not just those of mass or school shootings.”

Halvorson-Taylor says that, despite the recent spike in school shootings, schools are still safer than “our own backyards, parks, our city streets.”

Albemarle, Monticello, Charlottesville and Western high schools planned their walkouts together, including writing a joint statement. More than half the student body at each school left class for 17 minutes for speeches, moments of silence, postcard-writing and singing, in honor of the 17 victims of the February 14 school shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. After the success of the events, the push to send students to D.C. began, led by Parkland students. “We are here to show that even though we are young, we have the ability to organize, vote and make a difference—maybe even more of a difference—like an adult,” says Ashley Clark from CHS. “We are directly impacting the world today.”

“Thoughts and prayers aren’t enough,” says Helen Gehle of CHS. “We aren’t just showing solidarity by going, we are saying we need comprehensive policies on gun control.” Gehle hopes to continue a life in social justice and activism, saying she and her classmates “woke up” after the Parkland shooting.

Zyahna Bryant and other outspoken students sought Neff for help. She obliged, as did countless other volunteers in the community, including Kristin Clarens, a leader for Families in Action. Locally, several social justice and community groups (Moms Demand Action, Charlottesville Clergy Collection, UVA Student Council and Indivisible Charlottesville, among others) organized a satellite March for Our Lives rally on the Downtown Mall.

Clarens invited those who couldn’t attend the D.C. march to contribute in other ways—by donating signs, food and their time. On the eve of the event, she rallied families together at Champion Brewery for preparations, which included corralling elementary-aged kids into making sandwiches for the older marchers.

Elliott Gewirtz, 6, said she doesn’t like peanut butter sandwiches, but enjoyed making them for the marchers. She and others her age were cognizant of the reason they were there. “People have to stop selling guns—the community can make the changes,” Elliott said.

She isn’t alone in already thinking about these concepts. Neff says, “I have heard students say they want longer recess or better food at lunch, but I have also heard 7-year-olds ask for bulletproof windows.” A recurring sentiment among older students was the constant feeling of needing to look over their shoulders and be aware of potential shooters, something they say was never on their parents’ minds when they were in school.

Echoes of the words “gun” and “safety” were heard scattered throughout the evening as the kids worked in an assembly line to wrap the lunches.

“It’s amazing to have the support of the city and see our students use this moment for these issues,” says Clarens.

The time is now

At sunrise on the morning of the march, City Councilor Wes Bellamy boards bus No. 1 to give a few words of encouragement.

“Please have fun and please be loud,” he says. “Let them know Charlottesville is there. The whole city is behind you.”

Frosty, pale green fields beneath a soft blue sky rush by as students nap on one of the buses. Chaperones spread cream cheese on bagels, and Neff hands out stickers bearing the phrases #CvilleSaysEnough and #CvilleStrong. The latter was composed as a response to August 12. “The City of Charlottesville communications office had come up with #CvilleStandsForLove,” says Neff, “but Zyahna doesn’t feel that Charlottesville truly does stand for love right now. She wanted something else.”

One student tracks the Clark Brothers gun store and shooting range as the bus passes it in Warrenton. Sesame seeds from Bodo’s bagels scatter across the floor with every bump in the road. Two girls in the back giggle quietly as they take turns braiding each other’s hair and tying orange bananas around their heads. A father listens while his son reads the comic book Lumberjanes to him; others listen to music or read magazines to pass the time.

The bus is quiet, but not necessarily with apprehension.

“The only thing we are afraid of is not getting the message across or not being heard,” says Gehle.

Most of the students are experiencing their first protest; many say they look forward to participating in other causes and rallies in the future, whether for the environment, civil rights, equality or education.

“A lot of us were freaked out this past year from a blackout, a lockdown and all of the drills,” says Sarah Carter from CHS. She hopes to see stronger and more frequent employment of background checks as a result of the march, along with ammunition sales being restricted.

Carter and her peers commend CHS administration, faculty and their principal for having open and candid conversations about school safety. “It feels like they are really listening to us,” says Carter. The CHS students agree they all felt safe at the school, after being shown emergency plans and having drills, and having the support of some politically outspoken teachers on their side.

Other students feel their schools could do more. “Most people didn’t really talk about Parkland; my friends were outraged, and afraid it could happen to us,” says Anna Eldridge of Western. “We only do lockdowns once a year, and felt like we had no plan and don’t know what to do in an emergency.”

Murray High student Isabel Eldridge was born several years after the Columbine shooting, but she still cites it as her reason for marching. “Murray is a small school…some students didn’t care, but I wanted to go, and be a part of something today,” she says. “We should have changed laws after Columbine.”

As the bus crosses the Potomac River into D.C., the Washington Monument towers over the horizon. When it stops, students unfurl their signs, and organizers tie bright orange balloons to the front of the bus so it is easy to find later. Dozens of other buses fill the lot next to the Redskins stadium, where volunteers hand out free water, and vendors tout their merchandise for the marchers to wear.

Though chilly in temperature, the atmosphere is warm. Tragedy at schools and large venues and on the streets has brought hundreds of thousands of people together for what is believed to be one of the largest single-day protests in history.

Attendees step through mud puddles and remaining piles of snow, and walk beneath budding cherry and tulip trees. As they march through Capitol Heights, they pass windows bearing signs of support—some Washingtonians step outside to wave and cheer as they go by. Cars honk, prompting students to raise their fists and yell in return. Bicyclists shout “Yes, Charlottesville!” as they ride by. Some residents have set up tables with free water and snacks.

One parent chaperone following a few steps back from the students is Diane Beaudoin-Price. She is a mother to three daughters at CHS and Walker Elementary, who are all participating in the march.

“The Trump election woke us all up; before, we had been a little more easygoing with activism and issues,” says Beaudoin-Price. “It’s especially pertinent since I have three daughters—I see a lot of activism and care in them.” She says her husband has been sending them supportive messages all day. “There are so many common sense reforms that should happen, because nobody needs a gun beyond hunting or at a sporting place.”

Beaudoin-Price cites an oft-stated statistic—that even guns in the house intended for protection increase the chance of injury or death of household members by 11 times, especially for women and children. “Having kids makes you want to stand for something, and for their future,” says Beaudoin-Price.

The group strides by the Capitol with upbeat steps. As they pass down the slope toward the hub of the gathering on Third Street between Independence and Pennsylvania avenues, Senator Cory Booker stops to pose with them for a photo.

“We are just so excited to be here,” says Johanna Hall. Her friend and fellow AHS student, Ruby Schaeffer, echoes her statement: “It’s now or never,” she says.

The police presence on Constitution Avenue is strong, but non-confrontational. If there are any counterprotesters, they go unnoticed. The Charlottesville group squeezes through the crowd, making its way as far along as it can in the throng of people in puffy winter coats, ducking under signs and skirting around curbs and avoiding stepping on toes.

Once settled, everyone hushes and listens intently to the day’s speakers—including students from all over the country who have experienced gun violence—cheering and chanting when appropriate. Tears are wiped away, sunglasses unable to completely shield emotions.

“Today is proving that this conversation is popularizing how intersectional this topic is. We have a systematic problem,” says Halvorson-Taylor. Parkland survivor and activist David Hogg affirms that notion when he says “bullets don’t discriminate” in his speech.

It wasn’t the breeze that day that brought chills down spines, but rather, the dozens of youth who took the stage, holding hands, all bearing the message of “enough.” Gun violence survivors and those affected by gun violence, people who have lost siblings and friends to bullets, call the audience to action for three hours. Each story is full of pain, details such as “I watched my brother’s face turn gray as he died,” but also of hope: “We see you, we hear you, and we will change the future.”

One little girl walks on the stage holding a Parkland student’s hand. “My grandfather had a dream that his four little children would not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character,” she says. A collective gasp rings across the crowd as the connection is made: It’s Martin Luther King Jr.’s granddaughter, 9-year-old Yolanda Renee King.

“I have a dream that enough is enough,” Yolanda says. “That this should be a gun-free world. Period.” Three Monticello High School students put their hands to their mouths, their eyes watering.

One Parkland student asks the marchers to sing happy birthday to victim Nick Dworet (March 24 would have been his 18th birthday), and everyone sings in unison.

Toward the end of the event, three students take the stage, and state their names and ages. Audience members crane their necks and wait for more. “We are from Newtown, Connecticut.”

That’s when a UVA Curry School teacher-in-training hides her face behind her sign, which reads “Training to be a teacher, not a sharp shooter,” consumed with emotion. Four hundred Sandy Hook survivors, family members and faculty are among the day’s marchers.

Parkland shooting survivor Emma González lists the names of each of the school shooting victims, then stares across the vast sea of faces for more than four minutes, tears streaming down her face. Her gaze never wavers. The crowd falls silent, later learning that González’s six minutes and 20 seconds on stage was the exact length of time the Parkland shooting lasted. Chants of “Vote her in!” follow her off stage.

Alethia Laughon-Worrell of CHS and Halvorson-Taylor found González’s speech to be the most emotional and moving.

“Our safety is something we think about every day when we enter the school,” says Halvorson-Taylor. “Being in Charlottesville, it is compounded by the fact we faced white supremacists last year. We are all aware we need to do something.”

Laughon-Worrell agrees, saying, “Doing these kinds of marches is one of the most important things we can do after August 12.”

But what needs to be done varies for each attendee. Some believe in changes directly at schools, be it installing metal detectors or adding more security in the hallways. Others are keen on larger policies, or banning semi-automatic weapons and bump stocks. More still believe the answer is voting in November.

One CHS student, Hamada Al-Doori, has been affected by gun violence for a large portion of his life. He showed up to the “amazing and successful march” to make a stand and prevent his past from happening at his school. He grew up in Iraq, near Baghdad, and his immediate family came to the U.S. to escape ISIS and the everyday violence. “It sounds sad, but hearing automatic weapons and bombs every day is normal there,” Al-Doori says. “My dad was close to being kidnapped. We had to hide for months, trapped in cities. Here, I thought we were supposed to be safe.”

He admitted he was nervous before the march, but afterward, he had a huge smile on his face. “It was so emotional,” Al-Doori says. “I’m so excited to be here and be part of something. What is happening in Iraq cannot happen here; it cannot become normal.”

After the march concludes, the students and chaperones, tired from an emotional and physical day, make their way through the streets, calm and confident in the event’s ringing message. People cheer, high-five and hug.

Some Charlottesville students lounge on the slopes of Senate Park, laughing and playing games, in between snapping a few final pictures with their signs. They may have been sitting in the shadow of the Capitol all day, but now the sun shines high overhead, with rays of light streaming through tree branches. Their smiles reflect relief and gratitude as they look toward the sun passing over the Hill, basking in its glow.

“The next generation is coming,” says Zoe Weatherford from AHS. “We are willing to put in the work. We are making rallying possible for all to attend. We are ready to talk about the issues and get uncomfortable.”

Her friend, Carmen Day, also from AHS, says, “It’s just as important for individuals to show up and take responsibility to make it happen. It never will if you don’t share your opinion.”

Both Weatherford and Day are 18 and they are looking forward to voting this November.

“We and so many other people are paying attention,” Day says.