Twenty years ago today I came home from my first year Film Studies evening class. We'd had a mid-term that night and were let out early, so I was home by 10:00. I went into the basement, turned on the TV and saw the images of ambulances in the reddish light of night time live video. It took a while for me to figure out what was going on, in part at least because the reporter on the scene did not quite know yet.
The story, as it unfolded that night, struck close to home. These were women my age doing the same thing that night I was doing: sitting in class. I wondered what I would have done, had someone come into my class and tried to divide us by gender. I wanted to think I would resist, but I also knew deep in my gut that I probably would not.
At the time I probably did not have much of an opinion or much knowledge about many of the issues raised by the Massacre. I thought feminists were wrong or overstating things or something like that. I do not know what, if anything, I thought about guns.
But as this day comes by every year I can track changes in my opinions.
Twenty years on, I am a feminist, and proud of it. I am opposed to all private gun ownership, and proud of that too. But on 6 December every year, I am simply sad. Sad because those 14 women died this day 20 years ago; sad because so many more have died since; and sad because even more will die after today.








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