The first time, I was 15 years old.
I was a freshman at Saugus High School in California, preoccupied with my Spanish grade and whether I would be asked to the next school dance. Then, on November 14, 2019, an older student I had never met entered my school with a firearm.
I was conversing with my friends when I heard a loud noise. Then another. And another. The impact knocked me to the ground. When I managed to stand, disoriented and terrified, the quad that had been bustling with students and laughter moments before was almost deserted.
I fled across campus and ascended several flights of stairs to my Spanish classroom. It was only when I was surrounded by my trembling classmates that I understood what had happened to me: I had been shot. I was transported to a nearby park, then airlifted to the hospital with a .45-caliber bullet lodged in my abdomen. Following life-saving emergency surgery, I learned the devastating truth that would forever haunt me—my best friend Dominic had been killed next to me.
This time, I am 21 years old. A college student preparing for final exams at Brown University. My experience rapidly shifted from casually spending time with my friend and roommate in our dorm room to receiving alerts about an active shooter on campus. The sporadic alerts escalated to hundreds of text messages, and I knew I was reliving the nightmare from Saugus. I am compelled to confront a reality no student should ever endure: this is the second school shooting I have experienced.
The incident on December 13 resulted in the deaths of two students and injuries to nine others as they were quietly studying, engaged in activities that students should be able to pursue without fear. Their lives were irrevocably altered in an instant.
I understand the profound impact of gun violence on a community. I know what it is like to return from winter break to find empty desks and unanswered questions. I am familiar with the feeling of being discussed in press conferences rather than in classrooms.
I never anticipated having to relive that trauma. However, for an excessive number of students, this is the cost of obtaining an education in America. For years, I have channeled my experience into advocacy. I lead a chapter to champion stricter gun laws and hold the firearms industry accountable. I have recounted my story repeatedly, because no student should ever receive an alert instructing them to “run, hide, and fight” simply for attending class. No family should have to await confirmation that their child has survived the school day.
I chose to attend Brown partly because I believed Rhode Island was committed to gun safety. Therefore, I was taken aback to discover that, until recently, our state had no prohibition on assault weapons. This is why I joined fellow Rhode Islanders earlier this year in advocating for and securing the passage of an assault weapons ban.
However, the tragedy at Brown serves as a stark reminder that progress cannot cease there—neither in Rhode Island nor across the nation. The students whose lives were lost, the classmates who sustained injuries, and the families whose lives have been permanently changed deserve the same level of urgency and leadership that our lawmakers demonstrated when they acted this year to enact an assault weapons ban. This moment calls for more than just expressions of sympathy and prayers.
Our sorrow must be transformed into action. I will honor those we have lost by continuing to advocate for public safety. This commitment extends not only to students at Brown but to every student in every classroom throughout this country. It also includes my 12-year-old brother, whom I find it challenging to impress upon the importance of good grades when, simultaneously, his life and safety are at stake.
We should not be required to survive school in order to graduate from it, and I refuse to accept a future where survival is the best America can offer its students.