The profane mass shooting hamster wheel
(Screengrab, taken from ABC news, showing the Web1.0 site maintained by the Columbine murderers.)
My first experience with active shooter drills came the autumn after Columbine. I was in a study hall course in our high school’s cafeteria. My seat was approximately ten feet from the exit, then it’d be just a thirty or forty yard dash through the parking lot to safety.
We were walked through the steps. This is what a shooter alarm sounds like, and here’s how it’s different from a tornado alarm and fire alarm. When you hear the shooter alarm, you need to get beneath one of the spacious, fairly high-topped cafeteria tables and place your hands above your head. Whatever you do, you should not attempt to flee.
This was insane enough that even the kids who usually nodded along to everything teachers told them expressed some incredulity. I asked if they were being serious. Like, for real are you being serious? The door is right fucking there. We can leave, instead of putting ourselves in a physical position that would make us much easier targets.
I was told that, yes, this is for real. And any more questions would be met with detention. Now, wait for the alarm and assume your positions. We all complied.
A decade later, I and hundred or so incoming instructors at a large university went through more advanced training–by this point it’d become a cottage industry, and they had instructional videos. We were told not to panic, shut the classroom door, instruct students to get beneath their desks, and don’t let anyone flee.
The good news was that in so large a campus, the odds of the shooter targeting your particular classroom were quite slim. Goodie. And in this case, you’ll never know who’s a cop and who’s a shooter–cops like showing up to active shooting scenarios in plain clothes while wielding large weapons, and what if a good guy mistook you for a bad guy? Also, if the shooter does enter your room, you and your students should throw whatever you have at your disposal toward him, try and disrupt his flow.
In a room full of putative intellectuals, no one bothered to ask how it was that if a man with a gun attempted to enter our classrooms during a mass murder event, we were supposed to be able to tell if he was a bad guy shooter who needed to be stopped, or a good guy police man who would not be legally liable if you spooked him and he killed you.
Of course, I thought back to my high school training. And it finally made sense: the point of active shooter drills is not to mitigate loss of life during a mass shooting. It’s to deflect liability to the institutions that offer the drills. If codifying these procedures actually results in more casualties during a worst case scenario, well… that’s a small price for legal protection.
Columbine is now the touchstone for retro-90′s era school shootings, but to me, at the time, it wasn’t the most horrible or gripping. It all seemed too random, too much like an amateurish media fabrication; a pair of shitheads doing what they thought they needed to do to get nationwide attention.
The one that really scared me, at a young age, was the Westside Middle School shooting a year before. The Columbine shooters were disaffected high school shitheads, like myself, and I felt I could diagnose such a situation on my home turf beforehand and either defuse it or, at the very least, make certain I myself would be in no real danger. The Westside kids were kids, aged thirteen and eleven. They didn’t wander about the halls of their school picking off any random enemy. They had a plan. They gathered a cache of weapons beforehand and pulled a fire alarm knowing where their classmates would congregate after the building had been evacuated. They perched atop a hill and used the high ground to pick off their classmates and teachers amidst the confusion.
What got me about that shooting was the tactics. Literal children, even at the time younger than me, could somehow figure out the value of having the high ground and preying upon mild, manufactured chaos. You didn’t need to be a genius to be very good at murder. You just needed intuition, guns, and some very basic training. This shit could therefore happen anywhere, at any time, and for any reason.
Back to Columbine: it might be hard for younger people to grasp this, but way back in the ancient year of 1999 a school shooting that killed a mere dozen-plus was could capture the nation’s attention enough to remain in the headlines for months.
The internet was still very young at the time; the ubiquitous online-ness afforded by smartphones wouldn’t been seen for another decade, and social media as we know it was still 6-7 years away. Nonetheless, Columbine was the first hyper-modern domestic tragedy. The coverage of previous school shootings focused primarily on the event itself, with minimal attention paid to the shooters’ backgrounds and motivations. Like nearly every other tragedy that proceeded it, Columbine was used a backdrop against which preexisting and mostly unrelated culture war battles could be litigated.
My, how the narratives flowed. The shooters were godless, perhaps even satanic. They were so incensed at their low placement on the social totem pole they exacted horrific revenge against the popular, god fearing masses. Before taking the pure and virginal life of an especially sympathetic, blonde victim, they mockingly asked her if she truly believed in our lord and savior. She was martyred for her affirmative response.
This, we were told, is what happens when the natural social order breaks down. Marilyn Manson, Beavis and Butt-Head, dark clothing, loud music, divorce, feminism, homosexuality… these things are all connected, people! And if we as a society continue allowing for their proliferation, we can only expect more and more horror.
None of the narratives passed scrutiny. The shooters were not disaffected loaners; they were relatively popular and Harris was an athlete. They were not bullied. They did not ask a girl if she believed in God before they shot her. They were not picking off the popular kids while sparing the misbegotten nerds and weirdos. They didn’t even like Marilyn Manson–their favorite band was the avowedly non-violent KMFDM, a group whose lyrics usually sound like something taken from a Dick and Jane book.
In spite of the thorough wrongness of nearly every aspect of the shooting’s coverage, Columbine remains the template for how we process acts of mass domestic violence. There’s no shortage of cultural grievances on either side of aisle, and zero popular or political will to question why it is that a society so inured to needless and manufactured deaths might keep suffering these paroxysms of horror whose targets and scale grow increasingly profane with each passing year. Like every other social problem, the causes are always obvious, always wholly subjective, and yet somehow always just beyond our capacity to control.
The vulnerability is inevitable. Always has been. The only thing preventing the people you pass on the street from ripping your throat out is a shared sense of human connection that was once so basic it didn’t need to be enunciated but now seems like a quaint illusion, perhaps even a malignant trick, a sheet of wool pulled over our once-naive eyes that prevented us from understanding the evil depth of those whose cultural and consumer preferences do not align with our own. The fact that this sort of petty, superficial dehumanization appeared to be driving factor of the initial shootings is ignored. We do not possess the moral bandwidth to acknowledge that we are living in the world idealized by the likes of Eric Harris and Dylan Kleibold.
The terrors keep coming. Our responses make us dumber and more hateful. Our preparations render us much more vulnerable to future horror. The wheel keeps spinning. It will never stop.