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gun violence
Still Marching: 25 Years After the Million Mom March
We didn’t march 25-years ago because we wanted to. We marched because we had to—children were dying. They still are.
May 11, 2025
I’d never seen anything like it: a mother standing quietly in the crowd, wearing a plain white T-shirt with a large photo of a young boy flashing a wide grin, a missing front tooth, and a superhero logo across his chest. Below the picture, in simple black letters, “Darius Carter 1993-1999 Forever Six.”
She was living my worst nightmare, her beautiful six-year-old son had been shot and killed. And there she was, surrounded by thousands of other moms wearing similar shirts, refusing to let her son be forgotten.
We were just feet from the massive, bright pink-and-white Million Mom March stage on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., listening to speakers demand Congress pass common sense gun laws. It was Mother’s Day 2000—25 years ago.
Darius’ mom and I stood among 750,000 parents, grandparents, and children holding signs, wearing Million Mom March shirts, and carrying photos of loved ones lost to gun violence. Across the country, hundreds of sister marches rose up in solidarity. For many, like me, it was our first protest.
Twenty-five years ago, we marched because we believed a safer world was possible.
But the Million Mom March was more than a protest. It was a collective outcry—stitched together by grief, fueled by hope, and driven by one belief: no child should die by gun violence. With Congress failing to act, mothers across the country rose up— angry, determined, demanding change.
I never imagined I would become an activist. But on April 20, 1999, I sat frozen in front of my TV, heart pounding, as the unthinkable unfolded at Columbine High School—my alma mater. My basketball coach, Dave Sanders, was killed along with twelve students.
Something inside me broke.
I went from a stay-at-home mom with a six- and two-year-old, juggling diapers, nap schedules, and tantrums, to a gun control activist with a new sense of purpose. The following year I organized and led a delegation from Oregon to the D.C. march.
The Million Mom March was a tipping point. It sparked national conversations about gun laws and helped launch a lasting movement—it later merged with the Brady Campaign, amplifying the call for reform. The march also introduced life-saving initiatives like the ASK (Asking Saves Kids) campaign, which urges parents to ask one critical question before their child visits a friend’s home: Is there an unlocked gun in the house? It’s a simple question that can prevent tragedy. Each year, unintentional shootings injure or kill an average of 363 children in the U.S.
In the 25-years since, the movement—propelled by that day on the National Mall—has helped reshaped the fight for gun safety in America. It ignited one of the first large-scale grassroots campaigns, led to the formation of Brady Campaign chapters, and paved the way for groups like Moms Demand Action. It also spurred a wave of state-level reforms: dozens of states passed child access prevention laws, expanded background checks, and enacted red flag laws—one of our most promising tools for temporarily removing firearms from individuals who pose a danger to themselves or others.
Despite the progress, the crisis has grown worse. In 2000, about 28,000 people died from gun-related injuries in the U.S.—a staggering number. Today, it’s soared to over 48,000 per year—132 lives taken every day. Gun violence is now the leading cause of death for children and teens in America, surpassing car crashes, drownings, and cancer.
So what happened? Political courage withered and the gun lobby adapted.
They pushed through PLCCA, granting themselves sweeping immunity from lawsuits. They blocked federal funding for gun violence research. And in 2008, they won a Supreme Court ruling that redefined the Second Amendment as an individual right and struck down local gun safety laws.
The COVID-19 pandemic certainly didn’t help. It created a perfect storm: fear, isolation, distrust of government, and economic insecurity, all of which led to record-breaking gun sales. Millions of first-time gun buyers flooded the market, many without proper safety training. The gun industry profited from the fear, and communities are still paying the price.
Meanwhile, untraceable ghost guns flooded our communities, and leaders in many states chose to weaken gun laws rather than strengthen them. The gun industry seized the moment, expanding its appeal.
Twenty-five years ago, the typical gun buyer was a middle-aged man, and gun ownership was in decline. Today, the industry aggressively markets to women, young adults, and even parents—selling pink pistols to moms and tactical diaper bags to dads—casting gun ownership as a form of family empowerment. As sales rose, so did deaths.
So what now? We march again—in new ways, in new places, with the same resolve.
First, we confront the gun industry’s false promises to women and families. Marketing isn’t the problem; it’s the deadly narrative that owning a gun makes your home safer. It simply doesn’t. Research shows that a gun in the home increases the risk of homicide by 100%, suicide by 50%, and unintentional death significantly. I’ve witnessed how quickly an unsecured gun can turn a moment of fear, anger, or despair into an irreversible tragedy.
Second, we shift the national conversation from gun rights to gun responsibilities. Rights come with duties. An unsecured gun doesn’t just put your family at risk—it endangers neighbors, classmates, and entire communities. Only about 6% of guns used in crimes are stolen, yet those guns are far more likely to be used in violent crimes. And nearly 74% of school shooters under 18 got their gun from home or a relative. These aren’t just tragedies, they’re preventable. Responsible gun owners lock up their firearms, store ammunition separately, and support common-sense policies like mandatory reporting of lost or stolen guns, child access prevention laws, and required training. Supporting background checks and red flag laws isn’t anti-gun, it’s pro-responsibility.
Third, gun violence groups must work together.
In 2000, there was one widely recognized national organization: the Brady Campaign. Today there are many, but they often compete for funding, attention, and influence. It’s time to align, collaborate, and focus our collective energy against a fractured gun lobby whose primary strategy remains fear and bravado. Only by working together can we create sustained lasting change.
Finally, we must elevate and invest in the next generation of activists. Today’s young people have grown up with lockdowns and active shooter drills. They understand the stakes—viscerally. Their leadership was undeniable after the 2018 Parkland shooting, when survivors organized March for Our Lives, one of the largest single-day protests in U.S. history. Those of us who marched in 2000 must now step up and mentor, resource, and amplify this rising generation. Our kids’ lives depend on it.
Twenty-five years ago, we marched because we believed a safer world was possible. I often think of Carole Price, who bravely stood on stage that day and told us about her 13-year-old son, John—shot and killed while playing at a friend’s house. “It never occurred to me to ask about guns,” she said. “I wish I had asked the question.” Then she said something I’ll never forget: “It might be uncomfortable to ask the question. But I can tell you from personal experience, it’s a lot more uncomfortable to pick out a casket for your child.”
Even now—despite the setbacks, the rising death toll, and the political paralysis—I still believe. I believe in this next generation, in the power of parents and survivors, and in ordinary people who refuse to look away. We didn’t march 25-years ago because we wanted to. We marched because we had to—children were dying. They still are.
So we keep going. Because really, what other choice do we have?
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America’s Safety Is Fragile; Trump Is Tearing Down the Systems That Protect It
The systems that protect our lives and our communities were built through years of tireless effort. They can’t be allowed to collapse overnight.
May 05, 2025
America in 2025 is safer than it’s been in years. After a devastating surge during the early pandemic—when the U.S. homicide rate rose more than 30%—homicide rates have since plummeted. In 2024 alone, they dropped 16% nationally, one of the sharpest declines since the FBI began keeping national data.
This progress isn’t happenstance. It’s the direct result of deliberate investments in policy, research, and community-led strategies that addressed the underlying reasons for crime and violence. This progress is now under direct assault as the Trump administration has moved swiftly to dismantle the vital systems that keep Americans safe. In the last two weeks, the Justice Department canceled hundreds of critical grants to local governments and community organizations that fund violence prevention and public safety programs. Hundreds of National Science Foundation grants were terminated, including my own, following infiltration from Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency. If these rollbacks continue, we risk reversing years of progress and returning to a more violent, less stable future.
In Camden, New Jersey—where I teach at Rutgers University and serve as director of research at the New Jersey Gun Violence Research Center—the turnaround has been particularly dramatic. Just over a decade ago, Camden was written off as the “murder capital of the country.” In 2013, the small city of 75,000 people saw 57 homicides. In 2024, that number dropped to 17—a historic low. Today, fewer families are grieving, and fewer children are growing up in the shadow of violence. For a city long abandoned by political will and public imagination, this transformation offers a lesson in what’s possible when communities and institutions work together.
We must demand that our leaders defend our right to safety—not just from crime, but from neglect, disinvestment, and political sabotage.
The progress in Camden was not inevitable. It was built—piece by piece—through hard-won investments in community violence prevention and a complete overhaul of the city’s police force. And in recent years, we’ve seen similar progress unfold across the country in reducing violence—driven by a surge in federal investment and coordination.
In the wake of the pandemic, the Biden administration invested hundreds of millions of dollars into the kind of labor-intensive work that makes communities safer through the Community-Based Violence Intervention Initiative and provisions within the Bipartisan Safer Communities Act. Laws were passed to extend background checks, implement life-saving red flag laws, and crack down on gun traffickers. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives regulated ghost guns and the kits used to assemble them, curbing the surge of untraceable firearms on our streets. The White House even established an Office of Gun Violence Prevention to lead these efforts. Federal funding allowed grassroots organizations to hire street outreach workers and get help to those affected by violence before more harm was done.
States and cities followed suit, creating their own offices of violence prevention and refocusing law enforcement efforts on the those at highest risk while improving community relations. For the first time in decades, a coherent, multi-sector approach to safety led by the federal government was beginning to take hold. It was working.
All of that is now under threat.
Since returning to office, President Donald Trump has moved swiftly to dismantle the vital systems that keep Americans safe. The administration’s attacks are wide-ranging but the bigger picture is what matters. These aren’t isolated cuts or rollbacks. Taken together, they amount to a deliberate dismantling of the very infrastructure that underpins public safety in this country.
On his first day in office, Trump shuttered the White House Office of Gun Violence Prevention. In recent weeks, the Department of Health and Human Services initiated massive layoffs, including nearly the entire Division of Violence Prevention at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Programs that tracked injuries and deaths—like the Web-Based Injury Statistics Query and Reporting System (WISQARS)—have gone dark. Researchers at universities across the country have had their federal funding frozen, stalled, or revoked, often with no official explanation. A group of House Republicans, led by Rep. Diana Harshbarger of Tennessee, has even called for a complete ban on federal research aimed at preventing gun violence—an attack not just on science, but on the very idea that violence is a problem we can solve.
The Department of Justice has also reversed course. A zero-tolerance policy for lawbreaking gun dealers, established under the Biden administration, has been eliminated. The result: Dealers who sell firearms without background checks or falsify records are now far less likely to lose their licenses. Attorney General Pam Bondi is reviewing lifesaving gun regulations, including a rule closing the gun show loophole and a ban on certain AR-style firearm attachments used in mass shootings. These policies were hard-fought and evidence-based. Now, they’re on the chopping block.
None of this is abstract. Research, policy, and funding are what make real-world safety possible. Without them, outreach workers and police officers can’t do their jobs. Emergency room partnerships break down. Communities lose tools to anticipate and prevent violence. Safety doesn’t just happen. It is produced through effort, coordination, and care. And when those systems collapse, people die.
Violence is not just a crime issue. It is a preventable threat to public health, even if the administration denies it. It spreads, it scars, and it sickens. It takes our children, hurts those who are most marginalized, and it divides us. The recent gains in safety are fragile—hard-earned, but easily reversed. If the systems that made that progress possible are dismantled, the violence will return. We can’t take this moment for granted, and we cannot afford to stand by while it’s undone.
We must demand that our leaders defend our right to safety—not just from crime, but from neglect, disinvestment, and political sabotage. The systems that protect our lives and our communities were built through years of tireless effort. They can’t be allowed to collapse overnight. The cost is too great. The consequences, unthinkable. It’s time to reclaim public safety as a public good, and to fight—loudly—for the systems that make peace possible.
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'We Don't Have to Live This Way,' Says Teachers Union Leader After Florida Shooting
"Lawmakers must urgently move to thwart these horrific events that result in terrifying and tragic real-world consequences," said the head of the American Federation of Teachers.
Apr 17, 2025
Following a deadly shooting at Florida State University on Thursday, the president of the American Federation of Teachers, Randi Weingarten, vowed to redouble the union's efforts to push for gun safety reform.
"Campuses and classrooms must be safe and welcoming places, but they can become unsafe in an instant because of the ever-present threat of gun violence," said Weingarten, who noted that the shooting at FSU comes on the heels of a shooting at a Dallas, Texas high school on Wednesday and a shooting near a school campus in San Antonio, Texas also on Wednesday.
"We are the only country in the world that regularly deals with this—but we don't have to live this way," Weingarten said. "We should remove weapons of war from our streets and communities, fund community violence intervention programs, enforce background checks and safe-storage laws, ban high-capacity magazines, and pass more risk-protection laws."
"Lawmakers must urgently move to thwart these horrific events that result in terrifying and tragic real-world consequences," Weingarten concluded.
In a press conference Thursday afternoon, FSU Chief of Police Jason Trumbower said that two people are dead following the shooting—though they were not students. Six others were wounded. The gunman was also shot and is at the hospital.
CNNreported that the shooting suspect has been identified as 20-year-old Phoenix Ikner, who is the son of a Leon County sheriff deputy.
Fred Guttenberg, whose daughter was killed during the mass shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida in 2018, said he is not surprised by the shooting at FSU and that some of his daughter's friends are currently attending FSU.
"My daughter Jaime was murdered in the Parkland school shooting. Many of her friends who were lucky enough to survive that shooting went on to attend FSU. Incredibly, some of them were just a part of their 2nd school shooting and some were in the student union today," he wrote on X.
The Tallahassee Democrat also reported that a survivor of the Parkland school shooting was at the FSU campus Thursday.
The gun violence prevention group Giffords reacted to the news of the shooting, writing on X: "What Florida doesn't have: Universal background checks, assault weapon restrictions, large-capacity magazine bans. What Florida does have: The latest school shooting in America."
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