This story was published by a Voices of Change fellow. Learn more about the fellowship here.
America’s classrooms are bleeding out, and we can’t seem to stop the violence. Every gunshot fired in a school doesn’t just pierce bodies — it pierces communities, rewrites futures and changes the hearts of the students and teachers who are left behind.
Apalachee High School. Sandy Hook. Columbine. Stoneman Douglas. Different towns and school years, yet each one experienced the same ache and shell shock. The names change, but the pain never can.
We’ve turned our schools into battlefields disguised as safe zones. Teachers have become first responders, grief counselors and trauma specialists, all while being expected to “get back to teaching” and keep kids safe.
I’ve always taught and conducted my community activism work in high-needs, high-stakes environments, so I am no stranger to the impact of gun violence in schools. With every school shooting that happens year after year, on any given day, I am paralyzed by the trauma. Still, I persist and remain a force. School shootings, and gun violence against youth more broadly, are plaguing U.S. classrooms, and teachers like me are caught in the crosshairs.
When the News Cameras Leave, We’re Still There
She had a name, and her name was Ruby. More than a data point, Ruby was a sharp, funny, sassy, wide-eyed sophomore who had a way with words. One night, she went to a house party in Chicago and became a victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her life was taken by a drive-by shooting, and she was killed instantly.
Her name is etched into my memory — not as a statistic, but as a story. Still, I attend court hearings tied to my Ruby’s murder, and Ruby’s mom recently asked me to help her with the victim statement for the trial.
Teaching after tragedy isn’t just about the return to lesson plans; it’s about learning to breathe through grief that never leaves the room. There are days I still see Ruby’s desk and think about the laughter she left behind and the mischief she’d get into. The space she left feels too loud in its emptiness.
Some mornings, I walk the hallways and feel the weight of every student we’ve lost — students who never made it to senior year and dreams interrupted by the relentless nature of gun violence. Still, the bell rings and we stand in front of our smart boards and say, “Good morning.” We’re trained to teach, not to process violence and become human shields in the event of a school shooting.
Going deeper, studies confirm that teachers exposed to school violence show higher rates of PTSD, depression and secondary trauma than people in most other professions. The declining mental health isn’t from grading or pressure to meet standards alone; it’s from being expected to stand guard while being underpaid, undersupported and emotionally bankrupt. We can’t pour from an empty cup, and yet, every morning, we wake up, go to school and try to do a damn good job, all things considered.
Turning Pain Into Purpose
After 17 years of teaching, I’ve made it my mission to advocate for students and teachers in the aftermath of gun violence. From Chicago’s South Side to Cicero, Illinois, I’ve comforted grieving mothers, sat beside students shaking from gunfire and spoken out when silence was expected.
In response to the violence I encountered, I co-founded a former nonprofit called Project 214 that is now a passion project. I’ve marched with March for Our Lives, written for different media outlets and continued to join national conversations to ensure these stories aren’t erased.
Teachers are also deeply impacted by the trauma of gun violence. In response, I’ve set up national tours and speak at as many education conferences as possible to make sure educators know what’s happening in our schools. In my speeches, I zero in on teacher trauma and offer healing and liberation practices to sustain the work, and teachers have expressed such heartfelt gratitude.
Despite teaching in the crossfire, this work has become a part of my mission as an educator. Teachers like me are turning our pain into purpose, our disappointment into destiny and vanished stories into loud voices that demand change.
Healing Must Be Policy
According to the National Center for Education Statistics, between 2000 and 2022, there were 1,375 school shootings in public and private elementary and secondary schools, resulting in 515 deaths and 1,161 injuries. That’s not an abstract number; that’s thousands of lives ripped apart and millions of others who witnessed the trauma firsthand.
This epidemic remains on repeat until we all stop and pause in collective humanity while forging a new path ahead. Many teacher activists like myself are willing to take charge. We want to be heard, we want to share our stories and we deserve an opportunity to take the mic.
We don’t need more “thoughts and prayers.” We need trauma-informed policies, sustainable mental health services for students and staff and federal investment in community violence prevention. We need legislators who listen to teachers, fund mental health support and treat this epidemic with the urgency of a national emergency. Safety isn’t just about metal detectors; it’s about emotional care, proactive intervention and humanizing all the people who learn and work inside our schools.
The impact of gun violence should demand the attention of stakeholders who hold seats of power to address this epidemic and help heal the communities these tragedies leave behind. Until then, I’ll keep teaching, healing, speaking and pushing back, because I promised Ruby’s mother I would. Silence doesn’t save lives; inspired action does.
