Everyone wants to change the world in some way. But here’s what it takes to actually make a difference.
While social change is driven by a variety of cultural forces, what really makes change happen is people.
It’s normal, everyday humans, says Sara Collas, a sociology professor at Ball State University.
These movements are pushed forward by what sociologists call collective identity, or the feeling of belonging to a group. A study by Columbia University outlines how collective identity makes people “mobilize.”
Collas says oppressed groups often come together to form organizations, politicizing themselves in an effort to change society.
Saturday, January 21, 2017
Anita Teekah marched in a sea of people wearing her Amnesty International T-shirt. She blended into the crowd of marchers that flooded the parade route, which started on 3rd Street and Independence Avenue, in Washington D.C.
The parade route was full immediately, Anita says, so the people spilled into the side streets. It was cold, but the crowd and the marching kept her warm. She wore only a light jacket over her shirt, standing out from the masses of people bundled up in thick coats, pink scarves, and beanies. They chanted songs of empowerment into the sky. Banners and signs echoed the voices: “BUILD A WALL… AROUND TRUMP” and “WOMEN ARE PEOPLE” and “SISTERS STRONGER TOGETHER.”
It was a lot of noise, but Anita felt at home.
For many people in that crowd, the 2017 Women’s March was a direct reply to the moment Donald Trump was announced the 45th president. And this was the first full day of his presidency.
Anita has been advocating for human rights since her high school days in the early 2000s. She helped write letters to New Jersey government agencies as part of Amnesty’s efforts to get a moratorium for the state’s death penalty, which was later abolished in 2007. The University of Oregon defines Amnesty as the world’s largest human rights organization.
In law school, Anita focused on human and constitutional rights. She knew then that she wanted to be a human rights attorney.
Upon graduating law school, she got in contact with a local Amnesty women’s rights group in 2011. She eventually became a co-organizer for the New York chapter of Young Professionals Amnesty International. This led to her current role as New York legislative coordinator, which means she is the liaison between Amnesty activists and their elected officials.
The night after the 2016 election, Anita received a message from a high school friend who knew about Anita’s background in advocacy.
I can’t afford to just follow politics anymore, her friend said. The stakes are too high. I have to do something.
Well, Anita told her, you can join an Amnesty International chapter.
When the friends heard about the planned Women’s March in D.C., they decided that was exactly what they needed.
The night before the march, Anita and her friend drove to Baltimore from New Jersey. Staying in Baltimore was easier than trying to find a place in D.C., where every Airbnb had been taken, and the traffic was bumper to bumper.
Around 7 a.m., the two took an Uber to the Baltimore train station. It was an hour before the first train would leave for D.C., but the line of people already wrapped around the block. Anita says chants filled the cold morning air as individuals of multiple genders, races, and ethnic backgrounds waited to board the train and head out to march for women’s and humans’ rights.
Anita knew one thing for sure: If they stayed and waited their turn on the train, they would miss half the march.
They decided to take an Uber once again—a $70 ride to the Amnesty office, which was one of the many human rights groups there that day.
The Amnesty representatives handed Anita and her friend their banners, T-shirts, and hats, and they marched out with one of the four Amnesty groups.
The original parade route had already reached capacity and was now closed off to people still arriving. Anita wasn’t able to march the actual route, but the police let them walk through side streets and all through D.C. Almost every part of D.C. was filled with marchers that Saturday.
The organizers had underestimated how many people would show up. But from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., they marched and chanted and held their banners high in a fight for their voices to be heard.
The event attracted 470,000 participants, and it made Anita believe change can happen.
Saturday, March 24, 2018
Outside the Indiana Statehouse, the snow fell hard, and the air nipped at the faces of the March For Our Lives advocates. They filed into the Statehouse, where Brandon Warren, founder of the peace advocacy group We LIVE (Linked to Intercept Violence Everywhere), was speaking about gun violence.
He wore a white T-shirt with orange lettering: “MARCH FOR OUR LIVES.” This movement started after the high school shooting in Parkland, Florida, but Brandon’s fight for peace began on May 23, 2017, when his friend Dijon Anderson died from a gun wound.
On a night earlier that month, Brandon’s bedroom was dark and quiet until his phone lit up next to his pillow. Shooting on westside leaves one dead and two injured. But he ignored the notification, thinking it couldn’t be anyone he knew.
The next morning, his sister came to him.
Dijon was gunned down on the westside last night.
Brandon fell to his bed.
Brandon had played football with Dijon at Warren Central High School on the eastside of Indianapolis since their freshman year. He immediately checked Twitter and contacted some of their mutual friends.
Every source said the same thing to Brandon: Dijon is stable. He should be okay.
Brandon left town to Detroit for his aunt’s birthday. He came back a few days later, and Dijon was still in a coma.
The day Dijon died was the day Brandon, now an 18-year-old pre-business major at Indiana State University, started planning for We LIVE.
According to Encyclopedia Britannica, social change is often sparked by conflict, which is inevitable and often pushes a society to integrate. Social change can also occur because of ideological, economic, and political movements.
At Dijon’s funeral, Brandon noticed how his friend’s death had begun to shake the community. This, along with the knowledge of increasing shootings in the Indianapolis area, made him realize the need for a rally for peace in the community.
Still in high school at the time, Brandon gathered about 30 of his classmates and football teammates.
We need to form a peace walk, guys.
The walk took place in August, and with the help of some of Brandon’s teachers, it was made into a township event. The group marched in the side streets around their high school. But it wasn’t enough for Brandon. He wanted the message to be spread citywide.
Brandon started lobbying to as many people as he could. He Googled politicians and leaders in Indianapolis, sending them emails and making phone calls to their offices. He eventually got in contact with the mayor’s office and started creating social media pages for We LIVE.
Collas says social media has played a major role in modern social movements.
“Usually social movements have a catchy slogan, or images often serve as important symbols,” Collas says. “One of the goals in social movements is to create awareness and visibility for the cause. Technology helps spread the words and spread the message.”
The Parkland school shooting led to the March For Our Lives Movement across the United States. The actions Brandon had taken against gun and youth violence had gotten him noticed, and he was asked to host the Indianapolis rally where students and families affected by gun violence spoke up about their stories.
“PROTECT KIDS, NOT GUNS” and “THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS ARE NOT ENOUGH” echoed through the Statehouse.
A choir sang a freedom song before Brandon stepped on stage.
“Yesterday marked 10 months since I lost a dear and close peer and teammate of mine by the name of Dijon Anderson,” Brandon said, leaning on the podium. “And I can let you know right now, ever since last May, I have not stopped fighting for what we believe in.”
The crowd erupted into cheers.
“Our message today speaks volumes. It speaks to the government. It speaks to the people. And it speaks to the whole United States of America.”
Brandon’s opening speech led into a prayer from his pastor. Then, one by one, students and youth violence advocates from around Indiana stepped up to the microphone to speak directly to government officials. Only one politician was allowed to speak—today, it was their job to listen to the community.[epq-quote align=”align-right”]“Our message today speaks volumes. It speaks to the government. It speaks to the people. And it speaks to the whole United States of America.” – Brandon Warren[/epq-quote]
Just 2,000 people could fit inside the actual building, but Brandon says about 8,000 more stood outside the Statehouse, chanting and holding their banners high. But there was pushback: Brandon says two or three anti-protestors stood outside with AR-15 rifles.
“It was a very heated time of the year,” Brandon says.
Friday, June 26, 2015
Cher Guevara, who identifies as nonbinary with gender-neutral pronouns, sat at a station in the factory they were working in. Their phone rested in their pocket, close enough to keep checking.
It was the last day of the Supreme Court ruling on Obergefell v. Hodges, the case that would decide whether to legalize same-sex marriage across the U.S. To say that Cher was a bit on edge would be an understatement.
At 10:02 a.m., Cher’s phone started buzzing nonstop.
Holy shit. We won!
Cher rushed to the bathroom with a grin on their face. They checked every message and notification, the smile never leaving.
According to Pew Research, 62 percent of Americans now support same-sex marriage, up from 37 percent a decade ago.
Cher went home and popped a bottle of champagne with their brother, but the moment didn’t last long.
Hold up a sec, Cher thought, we’ve still got a lot of work to do here.
In October 2018, the Trump administration announced a desire to base gender solely on genitalia at birth. Rallies immediately erupted across the country.
“We’re ready for a fight,” Cher said. “They’re not going to take us.”
Cher’s been advocating for the LGBTQ community since 2003, during the Lawrence v. Texas case that legalized same-sex sexual activity in every state. They’ve been on the front lines, holding picket signs among other members and allies of the community at so many marches and rallies, they’ve lost count.
In the spring of 2013, during the United States v. Windsor case, a friend called and asked if Cher would be attending the rally in Indianapolis. Cher had been taking a break from activism for a bit, but they decided to go.
They showed up with their then-boyfriend, who was worried about getting arrested.
Calm down, Cher told him. Just enjoy yourself.
Walking through the crowd, they greeted every familiar face they saw, including activists from Terre Haute and their days in the Rocky Horror Show. A pride flag was unfurled at the Statehouse.
The rally began as crowds erupted in cheers and chants to the words of the speakers. When things died down, the organizer asked if anyone else would like to say anything. Cher’s friends turned to look at them. Well, why not? Cher said.
Confidently, but entirely unprepared, they walked to the front of the crowd.
We are Americans, Cher said. The American dream belongs to queer people just as much as it does to the rest of the damn country. The audience cheered.
Cher says not every protest is filled with fun memories, but that’s not why they march.
In June 2018, a Brownsburg High School teacher said the school’s transgender name policy went against his religious beliefs. He refused to call transgender students by their preferred names and pronouns.
Cher’s friends couldn’t stand for it. Let’s call in the calvary, they told Cher. The group gathered outside the school board meeting, holding their pride flags and staying silent until it was time to go in.
The room was packed shoulder to shoulder, but with a clear divide: those who agreed with the teacher and those who supported the transgender students.
A student went to the front to speak about what the teacher had done to him, describing how the teacher had degraded and humiliated him. He was almost in tears. When he sat down, the room was silent.
But then the teacher’s supporters walked to the front, and the mood shifted.
“I have never seen people this terrifying,” Cher said. “There were people up there screaming that we were all going to hell and that we were sick. That the state had no business recognizing us.”
Even after 15 years in the movement, Cher was shocked to see “the face of hatred that close.”
But they believe the day they’ve been fighting for isn’t far off.
To be an activist, Cher says, you need the fight, the spirit, and the will. Ultimately, though, you need hope.
