On August 27, 2025, an armed individual wielding several assault-style weapons opened fire through the windows of Annunciation Catholic School’s church in Minneapolis, Minnesota. 21 were injured, two fatally. The victims, Fletcher Merkel and Harper Moyski, were aged eight and 10 respectively. 

The pain that the families and communities affected by this senseless act of violence are facing is unimaginable. However, it isn’t individual. Since the beginning of the calendar year, there have been at least 57 shootings at K-12 schools,  according to Everytown for Gun Safety.  Since the beginning of the school year, in some places just weeks ago, there have already been four, there have already been five. 

Although the most high-profile shootings have occurred in other states, Kentucky schools haven’t avoided the issue of gun violence. In my district, Jefferson County Public Schools (JCPS), the fear of facing deadly weapons is a regular concern. At the beginning of my freshman year of high school in 2023, a fake call to the Louisville Metro Police Department claimed that there was an active shooter on my school’s second floor. For the first time in my life, I followed lockdown procedure outside of our normal “ALICE” drill. Later that same year, metal detectors were installed at the entrances of every JCPS middle and high school. 

My sophomore year, my peers and I practiced the now-familiar routine of removing our binders, laptops, water bottles, notebooks, and lunchboxes from our backpacks to be passed around the TSA-like weapons detection system every morning. We watched reports of guns found in students’ bags soar. In October, chatter spread after it was reported that an Atherton High School student had accidentally shot themself in the school’s parking lot. Several schools in counties across the state were closed as threats of shootings multiplied. 

On the first day of this school year, a shootout occurred between several 15-year-olds at a bus stop. A month into my junior year, I know my safety at school is far from guaranteed. 

We’re tired of it. We’re tired of sitting patiently as our principal instructs us once again what to do in the event that an armed aggressor breaks into our building. We’re tired of having our bags searched every morning. We’re tired of having police officers wand us down at school dances and football games. We’re tired of bracing ourselves every time the intercom unexpectedly beeps, wondering if this is finally it. If this time it’s not a school in Texas, or Minnesota, or Tennessee— it’s us. 

On September 5, at 12:45 p.m., hundreds of duPont Manual High School students streamed out of the front doors of the building, over an hour before their usual dismissal time. Another Students Demand Action (SDA) officer and I handed out signs as they exited, watching with relief as the stack was pulled into a sea of clamoring hands. The intense week of planning hadn’t been for nothing. People really did care. 

We walked out of school on September 5th as part of a country-wide event arranged by the national SDA organization in response to the Minneapolis shooting in August. We weren’t alone. In Boyle County, Danville High School senior Georgie Farmer hosted a walkout almost entirely on their own, drawing over 200 students. 

“I have a whole family of teachers, and I want to teach,” they said. “It's kind of terrifying to know that this place, where people send their kids every day, that's supposed to be safe, can be one of the most dangerous places.” 

Although Farmer doesn’t think they’d be able to start an SDA chapter at their school due to a lack of possible staff sponsors for the club, that’s not stopping them from taking action. At their walkout, they handed out petitions for students to sign asking for stricter gun control laws, which they plan on mailing to their representatives. 

“Kids shouldn't be afraid to go to school, and they shouldn't feel like the guns have more protections than them,” they said. 

This sentiment was certainly shared by walkout attendees at Manual, as well. As my SDA officer team and I looked out at the crowd of peers who had chosen to participate with us, it was easy to see their anger and frustration. Every one of them had been touched by gun violence in some way. Leading chants and watching my friends and classmates hoist their signs into the air, we were able to release it all: the grief, confusion, fear, outrage, and everything else. 

I’ve never held a real gun. I don’t eat meat. My parents don’t fear invaders breaking into our home. I admit that I don’t and probably never will understand the need that many people have for guns in their lives. 

What I do understand, however, is that gun control is more than an issue of mental health or parenting. It’s a matter of policy and public health.In our state, there is no law requiring firearms dealers to initiate background checks prior to transferring a firearm. Most adults can practice permitless concealed carry. There is no secure storage law. Assault weapons and high capacity magazines are purchasable. Gun dealers are not required to have a state license.. A laundry list of other common-sense policies are noticeably absent from our law books. Yet lawmakers refuse to budge. Forced into party conformity, they ignore news story after news story, death after death, petition after petition. 

In early September,  we made our voices heard loud and clear. Students are done watching their safety become a bargaining chip in the hands of legislators. We’re done having the value of our lives weighed against the value of being able to freely obtain a deadly weapon. Enough is enough — we won’t stop chanting it until we see change.

A version of this opinion piece appeared in The Courier Journal here. This piece represents the views and opinions of the writer.