At 10:12 AM on August 27, a friend reached out, asking me how close I lived to the school that had just been announced as the site of a shooting. Honestly, I was taken aback; I didn’t even know about it. I was stunned when he told me it was happening near my neighborhood. I’ve never faced anything like this before.
But then, I started questioning—should we really be surprised?
I began to look into it. I found out that there have been over 390 school shootings since 1999. That statistic absolutely floored me. It filled me with a sense of sadness and sickness.
This incident was close to home. I saw a photo of a friend’s son’s friend who had been grazed by a bullet at the back of his neck. Just a few inches in another direction, and it could have been fatal.
As messages began flooding through my social network, my best friend shared that his best friend had lost his 8-year-old son in this tragedy. It really hits home how fragile life is, and how devastating the news can be for families forever changed.
I can’t even imagine the phone call my dad might have received in a situation like this—it’s a call that no one wants. I wonder how I would respond if faced with the reality of that place, to know exactly where it all happened.
I can’t fathom the agony those parents must feel as they rush to the scene, hoping against hope that their child is safe, or at least not seriously harmed. The chapel, once a safe haven, now turned into a crime scene filled with shattered glass and tragedy.
The aftermath of these shootings seems painfully predictable. First, we observe a period of mourning, with hashtags and statements filling our feeds. Then, we see the political arguments surface: Democrats calling for gun control as if it could actually happen, while Republicans advocate for more guns and security—asking teachers to arm themselves, which seems beyond unreasonable.
By the end of the day, the media fractures into two camps—conservative outlets blame social culture and liberal ones focus on firearms. Before long, the dead are forgotten amid discussions about each other. And eventually, silence follows.
The cycle begins anew. Nothing really changes until the next shooting. That figure—390 shootings—lodges itself in my mind. Only a handful of those tragedies ever find their way into the collective memory. This imbalance shows just how little value is placed on children’s lives when it comes to political interests. I remember Columbine, Sandy Hook, Parkland, and Uvalde—but the rest, sadly, fade into obscurity.
Hundreds of families are left grappling with trauma without any acknowledgment. It feels as if, as a society, we’re saying, “Sorry, kids,” in a way that’s profoundly heartbreaking.
“Sorry, kids—your suffering wasn’t eye-catching enough to remain in public discourse.” The reality is that unknowingly, we’re neglecting their pain. And when that happens, we feel sorrow but let it dissipate before demanding real change.
Even those who care and are disgusted by the news can’t keep all of these tragedies straight anymore. They feel too frequent, too overwhelming. Names and faces blur together until fear becomes a confusing haze. This fog isn’t accidental; it allows us to move on, pretending to be shocked each time while sidestepping the need for substantial change.
Forgetting serves as a coping strategy, and neglect masquerades as policy. We turn tragedy into a commodity. Instead of seeking solutions, we enhance symbols, scapegoats, and engage in cultural battles. Everyone seems to weaponize national sorrow, but few genuinely want to tackle the issues.
If this appears cynical, well, it’s merely a reflection of what’s transpired. After 9/11, whether for better or worse, there was an attempt at reform in America. Some of those choices were poor, costly, or ethically questionable, but there was movement. The laws changed and security tightened. Yet, we haven’t applied the same urgency to our schools.
It terrifies me to think of the kids growing up with this as their norm. I find it daunting for parents to carry the hidden dread that accompanies every school drop-off. But it’s also easy to see how children have to think about these fears at all.
But I have my part to play in this, too. It’s not solely on the NRA or opposite viewpoints. Our inaction, our neglect, and the tribalism in politics all contribute to the situation. Some politicians might argue that financial constraints hinder reform. Yet, financial concerns haven’t stopped the government from finding money before.
Truth be told, America has never shied away from increasing its deficit. The notion of financial responsibility often serves as a distraction from deeper moral accountability.
Many are questioning why fertility rates are declining and why younger generations are distancing themselves from their parents. It baffles me to see such queries. Have they been keeping up with current events?
Of course, birth rates are falling. In a world where children must learn to barricade classroom doors and navigate escape routes, how can anyone feel confident bringing new life into it? The fears around climate change, political instability, economic struggles, and even hints of civil unrest certainly don’t help.
We know we can do better. We have to do better. It’s disappointing that we continue to conspire against effective action. Is it really acceptable to gamble with children’s lives to avoid constructive gun control? Shouldn’t we take steps to enhance school safety while acknowledging the risks of further tragedy?
Is it so difficult to strive for both safety and a sense of normalcy? Why not make sacrifices for our children and families?
