With the help of a volunteer who was also a trademark lawyer, we changed our name to Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America. “Moms demand action” was a phrase we’d chanted during rallies and marches. The upside of that initial stumble was that it gave us an excuse to put out yet another press release advertising our organization.
Mistakes are what you make of them. They can be embarrassing failures that send you into hiding, or they can be minor challenges that help you navigate future obstacles. I’ve learned that acknowledging mistakes, correcting them quickly, and then meeting with your leadership team to break down what happened and how to avoid it in the future is as effective an approach for volunteer organizations as it is for Fortune 500 companies.
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Channel Your Inner Badass
Until the day I found myself sitting at a table in the Indiana statehouse facing a panel of hostile, overwhelmingly white, male lawmakers, I really didn’t know what I was capable of as an advocate.
By that point I’d done some things that had scared me: I’d spoken at some events (which, as I mentioned, sent me into a cold sweat—I got through them but I certainly didn’t kick ass at them . . . yet). I’d been interviewed on TV (staring into a camera lens and rattling off talking points without looking stiff or scared was a skill it would take me a while to master). But I hadn’t actually been in the fight in real time. Sitting in the Indiana committee hearing in March 2014, I felt like I’d mistakenly landed in a boxing ring with no gloves and several opponents with bloodthirsty looks in their eyes. It was a lot different from being behind my laptop at my kitchen table.
I was there at the request of our Indiana chapter leader, who wanted a high-profile person to testify against a law that would allow guns in cars in school parking lots. I’d had only twenty-four hours to prepare, so I’d pulled together some thoughts on a note card. I imagined I’d go in and read my testimony and that would be it.
What immediately became clear was that Moms Demand Action had started to be noticed by the opposition, and in order to take us down a peg, this panel of mostly male lawmakers was dead set on humiliating me. While I waited my turn, I sat in the hearing room next to an NRA lobbyist, listening to the other side spout false data from John R. Lott Jr.—an academic researcher and go-to expert of the NRA whose findings had long since been debunked. I could sense this wasn’t going to be the simple exercise I’d anticipated, but I was still shocked when, after I read my testimony at my appointed turn, I faced a firing squad of personal and professional questions.
One lawmaker held up a copy of my résumé, which he’d found on my LinkedIn page. “I see you worked in public relations for a number of years,” he said. I said that I had. “And as a public relations executive, you are skilled at crafting a message to achieve a certain purpose, are you not?” I felt like he was implying that I could somehow turn my ability to write press releases into a Jedi mind trick that would convert not only the committee, but the entire state of Indiana, into gun safety advocates. I could see he perceived me as a threat—and not in a flattering way; I felt like I had a target on my reputation and he was taking aim.
That’s when I realized that the committee members were planning to make an example of me and tear me down because of who I was. That realization triggered a full-on, fight-or-flight adrenaline rush response in me. Clearly, I wasn’t going to be able to just read my remarks and go on my merry way, so I switched into a different gear.
I thought to myself, “These middle-aged white dudes are not going to mansplain gun safety to a mom after a shooting inside a school.” If they were going to go after me, I was going to give it right back.
When one of the lawmakers bizarrely yelled at me that his wife had the right to carry a gun, I calmly pointed out that he was assuming a gun would make her safer when, in fact, a gun in the home is more likely to be used against a family member or by someone in the family to kill themselves. And that’s when the committee chair said to me, “Please don’t speak unless we’ve asked you a question,” even though the NRA lobbyist talked out of turn all the time. The lawmaker went on to accuse me of not loving my country because I supported background checks on every gun sale.
As I fought back the urge to roll my eyes, I reminded myself that I wasn’t just some lady who was there by accident; I knew the data, and I knew that as a mother I had an ingrained moral obligation to defend those who would potentially be harmed by this bill. From my experience as a parent, I also recognized this behavior as bullying, and I needed to do exactly what I had always counseled my kids to do if someone tried to push them around—stand up for myself. So I explained to the lawmakers just how many guns were bought and sold in unlicensed sales every year, and how many of those sales end up putting guns into the hands of criminals. I could tell that my staying calm in the face of their bizarre outbursts only made them look worse.
I wasn’t the only one who thought so. During my testimony, one of the only woman lawmakers in the room tweeted, “Bullying . . . it doesn’t just happen in schools.” She later told reporters, “I thought the behavior of some of our committee members and advisers was a little over the top.”
I’d known that taking on the gun lobby was going to be tough, but it hadn’t crystallized until that moment just how much toughness the fight was going to bring out in me, and in volunteers across the country. Even though my instincts served me well in that moment, it was clear I needed to practice my debating skills. Especially because that bill, which was opposed by the state associations of teachers, superintendents, and school boards and supported by the NRA, passed the legislature and was soon signed into law by then-governor Mike Pence.
Speak Up, Even If Your Voice Shakes
On that day after Sandy Hook when I was standing at my kitchen counter, if you had told me that what I was about to do would involve public speaking, I wouldn’t have done it. But now, six years later, I’ve done so many media appearances and given so many speeches that it’s no big deal. At all. I can speak off the cuff and feel confident doing it. Having that huge fear fall away has taught me so clearly that whatever scares you loses its power once you just start doing it.
I’ve also come to learn that well-timed vulnerability is just as persuasive as—if not more so than—having a snappy comeback. Sometimes you have to speak up to push back against bullies, as I did at the Indiana statehouse that day. And sometimes, speaking up is more about being vulnerable than it is about being tough. You may not feel like a badass if your voice and hands are shaking or your knees are knocking, but you absolutely are.
A perfect example of this happened in early 2018 when Moms Demand Action volunteers in Annapolis, Maryland, showed up at a rally to support a bill to take guns away from people who had been convicted of domestic violence. At first, a group of gun-rights activists who said they were there on behalf of the NRA heckled them. But then something astonishing happened. Former police officer Angela Wright shared her story about how her abusive husband used to torture her by forcing her to play Russian roulette with a loaded gun.
Standing at the mic, Angela said, “I would often wake up in the middle of the night or in the morning with the sound of ‘spin, click, spin, click’ as he played Russian roulette with a gun to the back of my neck.” She went on to tell how one day her husband came at her with a gun with the intention not just to scare her, but to kill her. She called 911, and her former colleagues arrived in time to save her life. The NRA crowd was quiet.
Angela didn’t shout, didn’t throw witty jabs at anyone. She simply shared her story. Her bravery inspired the Moms Demand Action volunteers in attendance to walk up to the NRA supporters after the talk was over and open a dialogue.
Captain Tyrone Collington, commander of the nearby Takoma Park Police Department, was one of the Moms Demand Action volunteers who instigated that conversation. A military veteran, Captain Collington was shot twice before he joined the force when he tried to stop a murder in his neighborhood. He nearly bled to deat
h. “We walked over to introduce ourselves to the group so that we could give them a clear understanding of what we were trying to achieve so that they didn’t think we were trying to take away their guns,” he says. “I told them I’d been in the military for twenty-two years and have been around guns all my life; in fact I’d just purchased an off-duty weapon. This effort wasn’t about restricting the Second Amendment, it was about keeping guns out of the hands of dangerous people.” As a police officer, Captain Collington also shared how domestic abuse calls are the most common situations officers respond to, and also, when the domestic abuser is armed, the most likely source of officers being killed in the line of duty.
It worked. The NRA supporters changed their tune. One of the men was quoted in the local media as saying, “We support the moms in this. We are all against domestic abusers. We believe they’re criminals. They shouldn’t have handguns, or guns of any kind.”
By the end of April 2018, the Republican governor of Maryland, Larry Hogan, had signed several bills that revamped the state’s gun laws: one that banned bump stocks, which essentially turn semiautomatic rifles into automatic weapons; one that instituted a red flag law, which makes it easier to temporarily remove guns from someone who is armed and appears to be a danger to themselves or others; and one that allowed law enforcement officers to remove the guns owned by people who are under a restraining order, even before their convictions. And after he did, he publicly thanked Moms Demand Action for their support.
I know how impossible it can feel to find common ground with people who appear to be on the opposite side of an issue from you. But at Moms Demand Action, we see these kinds of mutual understandings happen all the time. So much good can come out of conversations. The consensus that was reached in Maryland that day would never have happened if Angela had let her fear keep her quiet. Your voice may shake, but sharing your story and your point of view can move mountains.
How to Deal with Bullies
I’ve really had to build my tolerance for fear while doing this work—big time. And not just fear of looking like a fool, but of being physically harmed. Within twenty-four hours of starting the Facebook page, I started getting death threats and threats of sexual violence. My email was hacked; my Facebook photos were downloaded and distributed publicly; my phone number and home address were shared online; my children’s social media accounts were broken into and the names of their schools shared online. Soon I started receiving creepy Son of Sam–esque messages made with letters cut out from newspapers. The underlying message: Stop talking about guns, or we’ll harm you or someone you love.
I called my local police, but they weren’t much help. “That’s what happens when you mess with the Second Amendment,” one officer told me. Thanks, guys. I did get a restraining order against the person sending the letters, at least.
As Moms Demand Action began to grow and win in statehouses and boardrooms, the threats and outrage from gun extremists grew more intense. After we joined forces in 2014 with New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg’s organization Mayors Against Illegal Guns (under the new umbrella group Everytown for Gun Safety), his security team insisted I travel with a bodyguard. My security person’s main job is to scout out local hospitals wherever we go so that, in the event that I do get shot, he knows exactly where to take me. Frankly, I know this work carries a risk to my safety. And I don’t want to sound glib—I’ve met so many survivors since starting Moms Demand Action, and there’s no greater horror than having a loved one killed by gun violence. But I truly believe that we’re on the right side of history. At some point, you have to choose your regrets, and I would regret not doing this work much more than getting injured or killed in the line of duty.
I’ve encountered plenty of menacing trolls online, via the Moms Demand Action social media channels, too. Some of these are targeted toward me personally, but most are more generally misogynistic; every day they have posted horrific comments about women and gun violence survivors. In the beginning, I blocked each and every one of them myself. It felt futile, though. One day, I’d had enough and was lying on the floor of my closet, crying. At that moment, I got a phone call from a woman who lived nearby in Indianapolis. She could see on the Moms Demand Action Facebook page how much hate was coming our way. She said, “I’m disabled. I’m home all day. Let me block these people for you.”
She performed that role for years, and I am eternally grateful for her faithful efforts to keep our Facebook page a safe space and build a team of people to help in that effort (in a perfect example of how no one has to take on everything herself). I love her for reaching out in that moment of need—it’s just more proof that when you step up and stand up for what you believe in, you’ll find your soul sisters.
You Don’t Know Until You Try
Our volunteers have been heckled at marches, rallies, and even at the grocery store while wearing their red Moms Demand Action T-shirts. Some have reacted by using only their first or maiden names when talking in public about their gun safety activism. Some have been embarrassed or angered by the confrontations but have turned those feelings into fuel to be even more fearless. And others have been able to turn their would-be bullies into supporters—or at least neutralize them with charm.
A perfect example of this happened at a January 2016 meeting of the then-new Northern Kentucky Moms Demand Action local group. Because this was a new group, the organizers wanted to meet in a safe and inviting space to attract as many people as possible, so they chose the public library in Covington, Kentucky (just across the Ohio River from Cincinnati).
As soon as the leaders pulled into the parking lot, though, they sensed trouble. Michele Mueller, who at that time was the head of the Ohio chapter and who was there that night to help get the new group off the ground, saw a pickup truck in the parking lot with a sticker that read, “If you say guns kill people one more time, I will shoot you, and you will coincidentally die.”
“I thought, ‘Uh-oh,’” Michele recalls.
Sure enough, as soon as they walked in, they saw ten to twelve men, many carrying guns, standing at the main desk, looking for our meeting. The library couldn’t do anything about it, nor could the police, thanks to a 2013 Kentucky law that allowed open carry in any city-owned property. What these men were doing was perfectly legal.
And while they might have thought they could prevent the Moms Demand Action meeting from happening, they soon found out how wrong they were. Our volunteer leaders took a private moment to talk about whether they should hold the meeting or not. “We said to each other, ‘The people of northern Kentucky have been waiting for a new group to start,’” Michele remembers. “So we set up our table, put out our buttons, stickers, and sign-in sheets, and opened the door.” The gun extremists tried to walk right past the table, but the meeting leaders insisted—nicely—that they sign in and take a sticker.
When everyone was seated, the volunteers explained that they’d give a presentation and then there’d be time for questions. Everyone sat respectfully through the meeting—except for one mother and a grandmother who came into the room with young children, saw the guns tucked in waistbands and strapped to legs, and left.
When the presentation portion was over, several of the gun supporters came right up to the volunteer leaders and began accusing them of telling lies and asking them why Moms Demand Action thought they didn’t have a right to carry guns. Michele recalls: “The gentleman who came up to me said, ‘Everything you just put up on that screen are lies.’ I told him, ‘No sir, that was all truth. Everything we do is data driven, that’s how we determine strategy.” One of the men was so angry he was visibly shaking, so Michele and the Kentucky leaders pivoted. “We take photos at every meeting, so I told the man I was talking to, ‘You hold this end of our sign and I’ll hold the other side.’ He tried to give the sign back to me, but I said, ‘Hold still, it will be over in a minute.’” Another Moms Demand Action volunteer snapped a photo. Then Michele and the Kentucky leaders thanked eve
ryone for coming and they all cleared out of the room.
Showing that kind of unflappable hospitality is such a mom thing to do. While it’s nice to be friendly, it’s also—you guessed it—badass to not only be cool in the face of extremism, but to figuratively disarm your opponents by being nice.
“No matter the intimidation or attempts to ridicule us and tromp our message, we stayed focused on our goal for that day—to initiate a brand-new group of Moms Demand Action volunteers willing to raise their voices—and it brought us through,” Michele says. “They felt the power of their guns, but we felt the power of our sisterhood (and our placards).”
Don’t Back Down; Double Down
I’ve learned that you basically have two choices when someone bullies, confronts, or attempts to intimidate you: either be quiet and fade away, or double down. To me, doubling down means pushing back and continuing to speak out. It certainly helps to have facts at your fingertips to debunk detractors. But mostly what you need is a large pair of metaphorical ovaries—in other words, courage.
Ironically, I learned the power of doubling down from the NRA. After all, that’s exactly what that organization did after the Sandy Hook school shooting when Wayne LaPierre blamed just about everything under the sun for the slaughter of those innocent children and the educators who died trying to protect them—everything except for guns—and presented the NRA’s dystopian vision of a United States where every good guy has a gun.
Even though I had been a public relations executive and knew the power of redirecting the narrative, I’d never seen it done to this level before. At first I was shocked and angered by the NRA’s gall. But once I decoded its strategy, I started to use it.
For example, whenever there’s a shooting tragedy and a resulting public outcry about changing gun laws, the NRA and lawmakers beholden to them always say it’s too soon to talk about it—that it is inappropriate to “politicize” the shooting. Early on, Moms Demand Action decided we’d speak out loudly after each and every national shooting tragedy and those that make the local news because that is exactly the right time to talk about something that is senseless, preventable, and—because it’s America—political. At first, our tweets calling for action right after a shooting got huge blowback from NRA pundits and lawmakers—mostly Republican—who would invariably say, “This isn’t the right time.”
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