If Our Children’s Fear Doesn’t Move Us to Act, What Will?

Twenty-five months ago, I wrote for Medika Life after yet another school shooting shook the nation. My plea then was simple but searing: let lawmakers witness what first responders see when they enter a classroom turned crime scene—the chaos, the quiet after the sirens, the grief of parents confronting the unimaginable. I believed then, as I do now, that confronting reality might pierce the numbing haze of statistics and partisanship.

Yet here we are again. This time in Minneapolis, two children were killed and seventeen others were wounded during a morning Mass at Annunciation Catholic School. The shooter, a 23-year-old former student, had legally obtained multiple firearms. Investigators called it domestic terrorism and a hate crime. Parents ran toward the church as police rushed in. Teachers hid children in classrooms as gunfire shattered stained-glass windows. Another community left with grief, trauma, and questions.

I once focused my outrage primarily on assault-style rifles. Their power, speed, and lethality have turned too many classrooms into scenes of carnage. But the more we learn, the more it becomes clear: the issue is not just one category of weapon. It is access itself—who can purchase, how quickly, how securely firearms are stored, whether systems exist to intervene when someone signals danger to self or others. It is the absence of a national framework to prevent tragedies before the first shot is fired.

That is why former U.S. Surgeon General, Dr. Vivek Murthy, last year declared firearm violence a public health crisis. Like infectious disease or unsafe drinking water, gun violence demands prevention, data, and national standards—not empty moments of silence.

A Fourth-Grade Teacher’s Story

In Minneapolis, a fourth-grade teacher described crouching with her students behind a reading-corner bookshelf as shots rang out across the school courtyard. “We practiced lockdown drills,” she told reporters, “but no one is ready for the real thing. I held kids who were shaking so hard I could feel their teeth chatter.”

She said she kept wondering if her own daughter, in another wing of the building, was safe. When the police finally escorted them out, she saw backpacks, notebooks, and shoes scattered in the hallway like abandoned shells of the morning’s routine. The images will stay with her, as they stay with all who live through these moments—the EMS workers, the clergy, the journalists, the parents.

Stories like hers multiply with each headline. Behind every shooting are children who now sleep with lights on, parents who drive past schools with a pit in their stomach, and teachers who startle at loud noises during lessons. The physical injuries make the evening news; the invisible wounds last far, far longer.

The Public Health Toll on Children

Firearms are now the leading cause of death for American children and adolescents. More than 4,300 young lives are lost each year; more than 17,000 more are injured. Nearly three million children witness gun violence annually or know someone who has. The trauma is cumulative, echoing across classrooms, playgrounds, sports fields, and bedrooms.

Research shows that students exposed to shootings experience higher rates of anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress. They miss school more. They struggle academically. Some never fully regain a sense of safety. This is not speculation. There have been so many school shootings over the years that the research is now documented in peer-reviewed studies, public health data, and the lived experiences of families and teachers.

Some argue that mental illness drives the crisis. As someone who has worked in health for decades, I believe access to mental health services is essential—not as an excuse to avoid firearm legislation, but as part of the same continuum of prevention. Other nations face mental health challenges, yet do not endure this level of gun violence. The difference is access. Here in the United States, it remains far too easy for a person in crisis or with violent intent to legally obtain a firearm.

Toward Responsibility and Prevention

Minnesota illustrates both progress and limits. The state expanded background checks to cover private firearm transfers, created a “red flag” law to temporarily remove guns from those deemed dangerous, and increased penalties for illegal sales. Yet even with these measures, the Minneapolis shooter obtained his weapons legally. A patchwork of state laws will never suffice when lives hang in the balance.

We need a national standard for responsible firearm ownership—one that honors Constitutional rights while protecting children. Licensing, universal background checks, and safe-storage requirements should be as unquestioned as seat belts or smoke detectors. Risk-based removal laws must function across state lines with due process but without delay. Community programs proven to prevent shootings, such as anonymous tip lines and school threat assessment teams, need funding and visibility so students and parents know where to turn before tragedy strikes.

Most of all, lawmakers must open their hearts and eyes to the horror.  They must confront what first responders see. I have long argued that Members of Congress should be required to witness, under privacy safeguards, the first responders’ body-camera footage and the aftermath of school shootings. Not to sensationalize grief, but to dissolve the distance between policy debate and reality. Denial rarely survives the sight of a child’s backpack in a hallway where blood still pools.

A Shared Obligation

Public health history offers lessons. We reduced car-crash deaths with seat belts and airbags. We curbed smoking with education, restrictions, and cultural change. We cut drunk-driving fatalities through laws, enforcement, and awareness. None of it was instant. All of it began with the recognition that prevention works when society chooses to act.

Gun violence demands the same choice. Children deserve classrooms where the loudest sound is laughter, not gunfire. Parents deserve to see their kids run from the school doors at day’s end, not into the arms of waiting police officers. Responsible gun owners deserve the clarity and safety that national standards provide, shielding them from theft, misuse, and the consequences of someone else’s negligence.

Two years ago, I asked: If the deaths of small children do not move us to act, what will? After Minneapolis, after Uvalde, after Sandy Hook and Parkland, the question remains. The answer cannot be more vigils, more drills, political speeches, or more hollow condolences. The answer must be prevention, responsibility, and the courage to act before the next siren sounds.