We want to inform you that our school is currently on lockdown as a precautionary measure. All students and staff are safe inside the building and no one will be allowed to leave until the situation is resolved.
These were the words of the email I received from my son’s middle school in Winder on the morning of Sept. 4. My husband saw it first. He called me and I rushed to open the message, my heart in my throat.
“What does this mean? What’s happening? Should I go to the school?” I asked, but I already knew what happened. I knew exactly what news I was searching for before I opened my community Facebook pages. It took me less than three gut-wrenching minutes from the time I opened that email to find out about the shooting at Apalachee High School.
I didn’t know what to do with myself as I waited for updates, but I knew what I had scheduled for that day. So I dropped my daughter off at day care. Will it happen there next?
As I drove myself to class, I wondered will it happen here, too?
I tried to make sense of the world. As I sat there, I asked myself, What am I doing here? What are we doing here? Why are we talking about portfolios? Do they know what just happened? Why aren’t we talking about it?
Of course, they knew what I knew. They knew at that very moment, children were trembling in fear on the football field of Apalachee High School as their frantic parents dropped everything to find them, hoping they were alive. Those children who will never be able to erase the memory of their teacher’s body sprawled out on the ground in the hall as they walked past with their hands in the air. They’ll never forget hearing the gunshots.
I sit in my classes next to my fellow English majors, many of whom will go on to become teachers, and I wonder, Will it be you? Will it be your class? Will you have to hide your students in closets and barricade the door? Will you be forced to take a bullet?
I look at my professors, and I wonder: Are you looking at us? Are you searching our faces, watching our demeanor, seeking any sign that might reveal danger lurking in the shadows?
I’m looking at all of you. Seeking out the faces of strangers, searching for gun-shaped lumps under clothing. Will an extra smile sent your way keep us safe another day?
Credit: Con
Credit: Con
But don’t talk about gun reform, America. It’s uncouth. What we need are more guns. Arm the teachers. Bring in more School Resource Officers. Never mind the research suggesting many school shooters are suicidal and an armed officer’s presence in schools may actually act as an incentive rather than a deterrent. That’s fake news. Send your thoughts and prayers, then move on with your life.
Georgia State Superintendent Richard Woods has since called for the state to spend more money to guarantee SROs and wearable panic alert buttons. He’s also calling for state-sponsored mental health care for students, a sentiment shared by Georgia’s House Speaker Jon Burns.
What hasn’t been proposed are changes to the gun laws that were loosened in Georgia in 2022.
Is it the guns? Or is it our souls? I propose it’s both. We have since learned the short life of the Apalachee High School shooter — the child, the accused killer — played out in much the same way as all school shooters. We have so many to choose from here in the United States.
A broken home, a lack of love, bullying. An abusive father, a drug-addicted mother. An AR-15 style rifle to call his own — reportedly a Christmas present. The same gun that later took the lives of Richard Aspinwall, Cristina Irimie, Mason Schermerhorn and Christian Angulo. Their families and friends will never share a Christmas with them again.
The gun was certainly the problem — why do our children still have open access to guns — but is that all? A well-loved child doesn’t bring a gun to school and murder two students and two teachers, wounding several others.
And what of the other children? What about the teachers and school staff? What do we tell the survivors? Do we continue to say only that “Love Will Prevail?” It’s a beautiful thought, but how do we ensure it holds true?
Don’t worry, we’re getting panic buttons. Press it as soon as the gunshots go off. Hide under your desk. Don’t make a sound. Text your parents you love them and keep your phones on silent. Don’t let the kid firing the bullets hear you.
And what do we do to solve this crisis? Do we form a protest? What, exactly, should we protest? Certainly the gun laws, but will that produce any sort of change? Or will it kick cognitive dissonance into overdrive, causing the naysayers to dig in their heels?
And how does one form a protest to save our souls? We are not privy to the private conversations inside of others’ homes. We cannot know which argument, which instance of bullying, which act of neglect was one too many. We do not know at what point the killer is created.
What we can do is consume information. We can read voraciously. We can speak and we can write. We can speak, and speak louder, until our voices are heard. We can write, and write more, until our words can’t be ignored.
We can address within ourselves those faults we see in others. We can teach children the power of kindness and understanding, but we must first understand it ourselves.
What we can’t do is be quiet. We must never let our voices fade. Ask questions of adults. Ask questions of children. Learn what kind of homes they are in, and be a voice for them. We can’t save everyone, but we can save some.
Too often people look to unseen others to solve life’s problems, but change starts from within. The people who grow to become school shooters are those who fall through the cracks in our society and are left forgotten. We need to keep filling the cracks. We can and must do that on all fronts.
Yes, urge for tighter gun control laws.
Yes, urge for widespread mental health care.
Yes, form a protest and fight peacefully for your beliefs.
But also, talk to your neighbors. Talk to your friends. Talk to your family. Search for red flags, and don’t remain silent when you find them.
Hold others accountable for their actions. Hold yourself accountable for your own.
And for the love of God, show kindness and compassion to children. We do not know what they go home to each day. Let them go to school armed with pencils and books, not hatred and AR-15s.
It’s too late for the rest of us to leave this Earth without scars, but we shouldn’t take the children down with us.
Brooke Busbee is a Barrow County parent and an English major at the University of North Georgia.
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