Legislative Session
Mr. President, I am honored to follow my colleagues Senators Murphy and Bennet, two fellow champions of this cause. Again, again, we have stood here so many times to advocate for measures that very simply would make Americans safe. And I…
Mr. President, I am honored to follow my colleagues Senators Murphy and Bennet, two fellow champions of this cause.
Again, again, we have stood here so many times to advocate for measures that very simply would make Americans safe.
And I don't accept that it will be our last gasp. I don't accept that we will ever go away, that we will ever abandon this cause, no matter how long and how hard it is.
Senator Murphy and I were in Sandy Hook the afternoon of that massacre. We went through an excruciatingly heartbreaking, gut- wrenching, stunning experience, but nothing compared to the children who were taken out of the school. Nothing compared to the teachers who shepherded them. Nothing compared to anyone who lived through it or the emergency responders who had to see the scene of carnage that day and, of course, nothing approaching the trauma of parents and loved ones.
So our club, as he called it, is one that pales in significance to the club of survivors and victims. It is more than the names we read tonight. It is the children who take cover when that code is rung. It is the teachers who suffer the apprehension of wondering whether that day will be the one when there is a shooter. It is the parents of all children who send their kids to school and wonder whether, at the end of the day, they will see them again. At some level, maybe not all, maybe not
always, not every day, but that fear in the gut, that powerfully important apprehension is there for many.
When I was in elementary school, the fear was of nuclear annihilation. And the drills we did were to dive beneath our desks, as though somehow those desks could be protected in the midst of a nuclear attack. Absurd as it seems looking back, every one of us, during those years, wondered would that be the day. And on the days before the Cuban missile crisis, it became more real than ever.
And for that generation, it was the fear For this generation, gun violence is the fear that lurks constantly in the heart, in the back of the mind, and always a presence.
The names that we are going to read tonight are a very partial list of the injuries because we are reading the ones who died, but many others were injured severely and horrifically: bones shattered, flesh torn, futures changed forever, and, of course, the emotional trauma of living through it. But we have to read these names because it is part of our responsibility to make them real and to remind ourselves, as much as anyone, that this issue is a matter of life and death in the way that few others that we debate in this Chamber evoke.
At the beginning of the Judiciary Committee hearing the other day, just this week, we had a moment of silence. But we cannot be silent. Yes, we will offer thoughts and prayers, but we cannot be silent, and we must do more than speak. We must act--honor with action.
We cannot let these brave, wonderful souls go gently into this good night. We must rage, rage against the dying of the life. And that is what we are doing by reading these names, reminding ourselves that we cannot accept these deaths as a normal. Even with the pandemic receding, we hope, the epidemic of gun violence continues.
A gun, a firearm, especially an assault weapon, makes fatal and irreversible some of the most serious problems. Whether it is domestic violence, suicide, or simply a profoundly disturbed young man walking into a grocery store, or a racist and misogynist man going into a spa, the involvement of guns and firearms makes those incidents deadly.
The names that I will read will be of all ethnicities and religions and backgrounds and races because firearms can be an equal opportunity killer. But Senator Murphy is right that communities of color suffer disproportionately. And in Atlanta, who can doubt that a hate crime turned deadly, potentially, because of that gun.
Dominick Boston, Brad Keel, Ildiko Papp, James Ray Huddleston, Glenda Swain Toms, Kayla Marie Keatts, Ethan Delicat, Paula Marie Booth, Raymond Robinson, Delaina Ashley Yaun, Hyun Jung Grant, Daoyou Feng, Soon Chung Park, Suncha Kim, Xiaojie Tan, Young Ae Yue, Paul Andre Michels.
Last week, eight lives were taken by gun violence, and they should be remembered and their lives counted.
Delaina Ashley Yaun was a 33-year-old newlywed and mother of two, including a daughter she gave birth to this summer. She put her family above all else and cared for family members and friends who needed help or a place to stay during tough times.
Her manager said:
Her heart was so big. She loved people.
He describes how she would feed diners at the restaurant where she worked who were homeless and bring them home to offer them showers and clean clothes.
One friend described Delaina as ``a light. She just made everybody happy. She loves to smile and joke and hang out with her kids and make sure they always had fun. She was a happy person.''
Hyun Jung Grant was 51 years old. She worked as a schoolteacher in South Korea before immigrating to the United States. She was a hard- working and loving single mother of two, who loved karaoke, dancing, and electronic music, and made the world's best kimchi stew.
One of her sons, Randy, wrote:
She was a single mother who dedicated her whole life to
providing for my brother and I. It is only my brother and I
in the United States. . . . She was one of my best friends
and the strongest influence on who we are today.
Daoyou Feng was 44 years old. What we know about her from her friends is that she was sweet and kind. That is how she was described by her coworkers as well.
Soon Chung Park was an active 74-year-old mother and mother-in-law. She lived in Atlanta. She moved there several years ago to be closer to friends. And she was well on her way to living past 100. Because of the pandemic, she missed chances to visit her family in the Northeast but was planning to move back this summer to be closer to relatives and friends.
Her son-in-law described that Soon ``just liked to work. It wasn't for the money. She just wanted a little bit of work for her life.''
Suncha Kim, 69 years old. She was married for more than 50 years, and she was a fighter and a rock for her two children and three grandchildren. She was a hard worker and enjoyed line dancing.
Suncha came to the United States around 1980. She spoke little English and worked two to three jobs, putting her children first and always seeking to help others. She volunteered by cooking and fundraising. One of her grandchildren wrote:
My grandmother was an angel. . . . As an immigrant, all my
grandmother ever wanted in life was to grow old with my
grandfather and watch her children and grandchildren live the
life she never got to live.
Xiaojie Tan, killed that day, before her 50th birthday. She was a dedicated wife, mother, friend. She was devoted to her job and dedicated to her fellow employees. Her husband said:
She donated and gave money to her employees and treated
them so well. She was always celebrating their birthdays,
doing good things for them.
She was curious, hard-working, and caring, always filled with joy. She worked long hours, every day, to give her family a better life. Her daughter said that Xiao was her best friend and that ``[s]he did everything for me and the family. She provided everything.''
Yong Ae Yue, 63 years old. She was an amazing mother of two sons and loved to cook Korean food. She came to the United States in the 1970s, and after being laid off during the pandemic, she was excited to be back at work. She enjoyed visiting friends, watching movies and soap operas, and reading. She always loved to read and have her dog at her side.
Paul Andre Michels. He was a 54-year-old Army veteran, one of nine children, and he had been married for more than 20 years. He loved to fish and collect rare coins. He treated everyone like he was their uncle and did what he could to help others.
One friend said of Paul that ``[h]e would give you the shirt off his back.''
His younger brother, John, said:
He'd loan you money if you needed it sometimes. You never
went away from his place hungry.
My home State of Connecticut is not immune to gun violence. Sandy Hook is the best known of the tragedies, but there are others--many, many, many others--all around the State, in big cities, in small towns, in rural areas, suburban.
Nobody is immune. Nobody is protected against gun violence so long as the pipeline, the iron pipeline, even with Connecticut's strong laws, draws guns across State borders.
Here are some of the names and stories of people whose lives have been taken in Connecticut:
Jaqhawn Walters was killed on September 19, 2020, in Hartford. He was 24 years old. His mother Trician writes:
There was an altercation with someone inside a store. The
fight was broken up, but the other young man still shot him
and then stood over him a second time and shot him again.
Jaqhawn was a college graduate. He was known as a big
basketball player for Albertus Magnus. He played overseas for
two seasons before COVID hit.
My son saw a lot of gun violence growing up in the city,
and he became victim to it even though he tried his best to
beat all odds with a bachelor's degree in communications.
He even played in Argentina as a professional basketball
player, mentored kids through basketball. He got a
proclamation for his work at the Parker Memorial Center and
the Village, where he worked with troubled kids.
Jaqhawn's coach at Albertus Magnus described him as ``the type of kid that got along with everyone. His likability crossed every age generation. When I ran camp, 8-year-old kids, instantly, he was the guy. They'd all gravitate toward him. Same thing with our team.
They loved him. Opponents loved him. I've gotten a lot of texts, and I got one from a Northeast coach who said, `He had that thing where he'd drop 30 [points] on you, and every opponent not only respected him but genuinely liked him.' ''
Another coach said:
Jaqhawn was very, very rooted in the Hartford community,
and he loved his town. So he was always going to be one of
those people that came back and gave as much as he was able.
Another coach said:
He had such an impact. The guy had so much more to give.
That is the story of every one of these victims: so much more to give; so much more to give back, whether to Hartford or sons and daughters or parents.
Ethan Song was killed in Guilford on January 31, 2018, 12 days after his 15th birthday, with an unsecured firearm in his neighbor's house. He lived a life filled with laughter, adventure, and passion. He lived with adoring family members Kristin and Michael Song.
Ethan loved to ski and hike and play spikeball too. He helped his mom Kristin in finding homes for abandoned puppies. Ethan loved food. He and his dad Mike ventured to find the best lobster roll in New England. They sampled 15 locations.
He loved lacrosse, and he was good at it, making the all-star team one season. He was always interested in his family's history. He tried to learn all that he could about his grandmother's experience as a Holocaust survivor and went so far as to divert a family trip to the UK to see the Anne Frank house in the Netherlands.
Ethan was also fascinated by his grandfather's experience as a decorated intelligence officer in the Korean war.
I am always so inspired by Kristin and Michael Song and Ethan's sister, their strength and courage, their joy in life, and their unquenchable loyalty and love for Ethan. I have stood on the green in Guilford announcing my introduction of Ethan's Law, a safe storage law that they have championed with grace and dignity and power beyond words.
And let's say it out loud: This gun violence is every parent's worst nightmare, every parent's worst fear--going to school, going to a neighbor's house, going to a grocery store--wrong place at the wrong time: a neighbor's house where a firearm was unsafely stored, watching the emergency response team pull to that neighbor's house and knowing something is terribly, terribly wrong. Every parent's worst nightmare.
And Lori Jackson's parents know very graphically about that nightmare because their daughter, Lori Jackson, of Oxford, CT, came to their house seeking refuge from an estranged husband. And that night, while her infant children slept, Lori Jackson was gunned down by that husband, who was under a protective order which should have barred his having a firearm, but at that point Connecticut law applied only to permanent protective orders.
She was killed by that man even though he was under a protective order. She was 32 years old. She was a loving daughter and a mother of twins. And her mother also was severely injured.
And her parents, with that same grace and dignity and strength and courage, have championed protection for domestic violence victims and survivors.
She had so much to give--like Ethan, like so many others.
And we remember Noah, Charlotte, Jack, Olivia, Dylan, Catherine, Avielle, Jessica, James, Josephine, Caroline, Benjamin, Chase, Ana, Grace, Emilie, Madeleine, Allison, Daniel, and Jesse--20 beautiful, innocent children taken at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown more than 8 years ago.
We remember them for bringing bursts of light and laughter into the lives of their family and friends, for bringing love into the lives of all who knew them, and for their joy and boundless energy. Only 6 years old, but they had so much to give, and their lives cut short at Sandy Hook that day.
And we remember the heroism of those brave, courageous educators that December morning: Victoria, Lauren, Anne Marie, Rachel, Mary, and Dawn. We remember their courage, some of them physically shielding students with their own bodies, running unhesitatingly toward danger, barricading classrooms, drawing on all their reserves of calm and professionalism to protect and shield the children in their care.
We read these names, I feel, almost as a form of prayer. We cannot save any of these victims, but we know we can save others. And that is our work.
As John F. Kennedy said in his inaugural speech, ``here on earth God's work must truly be our own.'' Thank you.
I yield the floor.
Mr. President, I want to thank Senator Casey for his very powerful remarks and all of my colleagues for coming to the floor tonight in this event that Senator Murphy and I are helping to lead.
Now I recognize Senator Van Hollen of Maryland, a great friend and colleague who knows a lot about this topic.
Mr. President, there is no last word tonight. There is no final saying here. There are no final names. Nora Beller, Tito Roman, Aaliyah Eubanks, Dominick Boston, Brad Keel, James Ray Huddelston--we could be here a long time. But the tragedy is there will be more names, 100 more, at this time tomorrow night.
And every one of these names is a future cut short. Every one of them is a life that could have given so much, bringing more light and joy, pride, grace, dignity.
My colleagues have come to the floor with great eloquence. I want to thank them. But the most eloquent part tonight is the names. And we should take inspiration from the courage of their families, the strength of the survivors, advocates, and activists who are forming a political movement that is creating ripples turning into waves that will overcome. They will overcome the intransigence and cowardice of colleagues who fail to heed the American public, and they will be held accountable.
Thank you.
I yield the floor.
I suggest the absence of a quorum.