Gunfire has rung out on school grounds 109 times already this year. Thirty-three people killed. More than a hundred injured. Behind every number is a life, a family, and a community left shaken. From Illinois to Colorado, students are asking: When will this end?
At Metea Valley High School in Aurora, Illinois, students describe a daily reality of drills and emergency plans. Junior Anusha Arun calls school shootings “a rising issue” that has only grown worse since the pandemic. Her classmate Rithu Ratheesh worries that the public has become “desensitized,” treating mass shootings like background noise rather than national emergencies. Their district has implemented the ALICE drill, training students to lock down, counterattack, or evacuate depending on where a shooter is located. Ratheesh finds these measures useful, but she’s blunt: local drills only go so far. “On a federal level, the government should do more to legislate gun laws,” she says.
Half a continent away at Grandview High School in Aurora, Colorado, the focus sounds different. There, students push back against the idea that more guns or more police can make schools safe. Conservative voices often argue that “good guys with guns” will stop “bad guys with guns,” but research shows a troubling pattern: more armed presence often leads to more tension and even more violence. As one Colorado student writer argues, “Rather than addressing the root of the problem—poverty, alienation, and a lack of access to resources—these increased forms of police presence lead to a feeling of criminalization.”
Instead of drills and enforcement, they point to deeper social conditions. Online extremism, toxic masculinity, and communities wracked by inequality all fuel the desperation behind school shootings. The recent Nashville shooter left a trail of posts steeped in violent “incel” ideology, echoing a pattern of men radicalized by isolation and resentment. Guns, in this telling, are not the spark but the fuse: a cultural pressure valve for frustrations bred by economic and social alienation.
At first glance, the two Auroras seem to be arguing different points. Illinois teens emphasize the urgent need for political action on gun laws. Colorado teens insist the conversation must reach beyond firearms to address structural roots. But both perspectives are really part of the same conversation. Together they sketch a fuller picture: we need both immediate reforms and long-term changes.
Without stronger laws, every drill risks being a rehearsal for a real tragedy. Without tackling inequity and alienation, every law risks being a band-aid on a deeper wound.
The students’ voices — sometimes anxious, sometimes angry — make clear that no single path will solve this crisis. Gun violence in schools is both a symptom and a disease. To treat it, we have to start walking down both paths at once: legislate smarter gun laws, yes, but also invest in communities, mental health, and equity.
As Anusha in Illinois puts it, “Teens around the country are starting to really understand how bad gun violence is.” That understanding is the first step. The next is action — and not just by students hiding under desks, but by adults with the power to shape policy, culture, and opportunity.
Because whether in Aurora, Illinois, or Aurora, Colorado, the message is the same: this is not normal, and it doesn’t have to be permanent.
