I survived the Marjory Stoneman Douglas school shooting on February 14, 2018. A few days later, I was interviewed on CNN. The anchor, John Berman, shared news with me: an investigation revealed that a law enforcement officer on campus, whose job was to protect students and teachers, failed to enter the school to stop the school shooter. (In many ways, this was just one more story of the police failing to protect vulnerable communities.)

Mr. Berman asked for my reaction to the then-President’s opinion on how to improve school safety. Mr. Trump believed school teachers should be armed on campus. With the seriousness of a priest administering last rites, Mr. Berman asked me: “Do you think that is a good idea?”

“I tell you. It horrifies me. If what you are telling me is that we have trained professionals [campus security] who weren’t able to follow protocol, than I can’t imagine my teachers — overworked, underpaid, exhausted– carrying a side arm.”
I continued, “We know students of Color (sic) get suspended and get expelled at higher rates than white kids. So now what are we going to say, Mr. Trump? We are going to be saying that students of Color (sic) are going to be shot at by teachers at a higher rate? Ludicrous! It horrifies me.” 

When I made the statement, I had been attending what seemed like endless funerals and community gatherings memorializing murdered students and teachers. I was scrambling to prepare my classroom for traumatized students’ return to school. My heart was broken. There was little sleep to be had. But I was determined to move forward and get through the moment with my community.
Under such dire circumstances, I was asked to respond to a preposterous proposal. An oxymoron: Guns for peace. Somehow, in our society’s warped collective imagination, adding more guns on campus was a plausible regulatory response.
The debate was vigorous. 

The folks embracing this idea were parents, colleagues, and neighbors. I’ve talked to them. I hear their reasoning. It’s fast. It’s cheap. It’s easy. And, it can happen now. 

The opposition includes my friends. They want something done quickly to deliver security, too. They do not know the solution. But they know more guns cannot be the answer.

As a public school teacher for three decades, watching students struggle to find answers, I believe I can contribute some idea of why this debate, and so many other social policy debates, seem to continue ad nauseam without resolution.

In the classroom, as in life, I have observed incredible inertia. Many of my students will try every shortcut before finally sitting down and doing their homework. When called on, they will respond: “I don’t know,” or “I don’t understand.” They will beg their friends for the answers. They will cheat. They will ‘Google’. They will try to pay someone for the test answers. They will plagiarize.
Simply put, many students will first try to find an easy and fast solution. And, they will spend an inordinate amount of time doing so, rather than sitting down to do the hard work that is necessary. Studiousness includes, for example, habits of body: sleeping, studying, and organizing; and, habits of mind: critically thinking, focusing, and listening. 

Certain students rise when challenged by the gravity of a moment. Once pushed, their momentum is unstoppable in movement. I am a front row witness to this.

But gravity gets even the best of us at times.

Similarly, I believe our government, our society, and our institutions are failing to achieve the pace required to outrun dire threats, like gun violence, racism and poverty, because they are geared toward efficiency rather than effectiveness. 

And so, when 17 students and teachers are murdered, a preposterous proposal for security has legs: Buy a gun. Give it to a teacher. That’s fast. That’s easy. That’s possible. Who cares, then really, if it will make matters worse? Let’s give it a try. 

To be frank, I have no tolerance for wasted time and wasted effort. I am a National Board-Certified teacher who has taught at the elementary, middle, and high school level for over 30 years in the Broward County school system. I am a National Math and Science Initiative Coach. I have developed culturally responsive materials and integrated social-emotional lessons into learning plans. I work student by student, one-by-one in marginalized communities, taking months and years to help people reach their highest potential. This is the effort it takes to do the job right.

Since the mass shooting, I have introduced mind-body medicine skills into my work. I facilitate groups for teachers, parents, administrators, and students impacted by the mass shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. I lead mindfulness workshops for individuals overcoming sexual violence, natural disasters, racism, and poverty around the nation. Through this work, I hope others can benefit from powerful strategies that helped transform my own grief and trauma into wholeness and healing.

Mindfulness and healing, like teaching and learning, are daily practices. They require uncommonly hard work.

Similarly, warding off deep seeded racism, insecurity, violence, and trauma embedded in our national culture will require daily dedication and effort. Our institutions must not wait for the revelation that will save us all, but instead support those individuals who are (right now!) engaged in anti-racism, anti-poverty, and anti-violence work every day.

Today, too many systems, programs and organizations are geared toward efficiency rather than effectiveness. They provide venues to talk and chat and write about the issues. There are workshops. There are fundraisers. Members worship epiphanies and innovation. But on execution, when it is time for boots on the ground, too few are willing to undertake the difficult tasks required to change society for the better. Momentum stalls.

I’m not sharing anything profound here. Really, my thesis is a cliché: People want easy and quick solutions to hard and complex problems. 

I’m flattered to have been invited to write this essay in order to inspire you to imagine an anti-racist society in our future. But here’s the thing: I’m a white, school teacher from south Florida. I don’t really have any one bright idea, epiphany, or “final solution” to deliver unto all lasting racial equity. The truth is, in fact, I’m wary of any final solutions. All I know is my experience and a little bit of human history. I know trauma. I know fear. I know pain. From that, I can only offer you a meditation:

There is no simple solution. It’s time to do some homework. I will ignore the distraction and the miracle cures. I will find the momentum to get up and move. I will seek role models who are doing the good work right now. I will offer my energy. I will imagine a future full of my hard work. Every day.