We’ve been treated in recent days to the spectacle of schoolchildren marching in the streets to demand legislative restrictions on gun acquisition and ownership. This sort of thing is nothing new; I remember my own adolescence, in the late 60’s and early 70’s, and the student protests of that era.
When you’re that age, it’s fun and exciting to do what we saw the kids doing this week: to play a little hooky, block some traffic, make some noise, taste the thrill of shared, unbridled emotion — and, most of all, to get a lot of attention while lecturing your elders about how the world could be easily and profitably improved, if only they could see past their fossilized habits of mind (or, failing that, be pushed out of the way).
Looking back on my own ardent youth — which by happenstance took place in a curious epoch, as whenever we are young, in which old folks were fools and children were wise — my nostalgic impulse is to say “more power to them”. In doing so, I’d be echoing the sentiments of a great many in the media and chattering classes who insist that these children should not only be listened to — which I’m happy to indulge for a minute or two if I must — but given the vote.
The nostalgic impulse, however, quickly passes. Reason and wisdom regain the helm. “More power to them”?? God help us all. These are teenagers, folks. Have you ever been, or had any intimate association with, a teenager? If so, you will agree that the amount of power they should have over public policy is, quite precisely, zero.
Every adult knows this, of course, which means that those calling for this ludicrous expansion of an already far-too-inclusive franchise do so for cynical and tactical reasons. Can you imagine that if these cherubs were marching for Israeli-style school security, or for sensible immigration restrictions, or for an end to the poisonous cult-Marx grievance-mongering that has ruined all of our institutions, that they’d be the media darlings they are today? Of course not. If high-school seniors were marching for the right to carry pistols in class to defend themselves, would the Governor of New York beclown himself, and soil an expensive suit, to egg them on? No. (Duh.)
Ah, but then I have to ask myself: how would I feel if they were demanding such things? Wouldn’t I see them as the great hope for the future? Wouldn’t I be thrilled that a new generation of American youth had finally wised up to the catastrophe that my own generation of lotus-eating Utopian Universalist cryptoreligious hippies had wrought upon their magnificent heritage and birthright?
Well, yes. You bet I would! I’d be climbing a lamp-post to cheer them on.
But give them the vote? Are you kidding? They’re children. Have we lost our minds?