“This could never happen to us.” These are the exact words that crossed my mind in 2013, as my 9th grade biology teacher told us that something terrible had happened. A shooting had taken place at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. I was a freshman, sitting in Building 1200 of my high school in Parkland, Florida. My teacher went on to explain what we would do if a shooting were to ever happen here. She talked about how to hide, call for help, and navigate escape routes. Period after period, our teachers tried their best to reassure us that we were safe in school and to shift the conversation back to academics. The thought of a potential school shooting haunted me for a couple of days. After a few weeks, life returned to normal and I never thought much about it. After all, these types of tragedies happened in other places to other people, far away from idyllic suburbs like my own.
Flash forward six years, and Building 1200 of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, my alma mater and a place that I considered a second home, became the site of one of the deadliest school shootings in American history. “Parkland” is now a name that triggers the same negative feelings that Newtown and Aurora do. As it turns out, no amount of mental preparation, class discussions, or placating reassurances was able to prevent the events of February 14, 2018. Though I had already graduated, the event rattled me, my friends and family, and the larger community. I felt a call to advocacy and action, with no sense of direction or idea of how to move forward.
It was not until I delved deeper into learning more about gun laws and safety that I learned just how pervasive gun violence is in the United States. School shootings rightfully gain attention from national media, allowing survivors to share their stories and communities to receive monetary and psychosocial aid to begin the recovery process. I realized that towns like Parkland and Newtown had the privilege of being heard and acknowledged on a national scale. People were willing to travel to join rallies and march in protest with these communities.
Mass shootings are only the tip of the iceberg in what is a deep culture of gun violence in the United States. Each day, children in America are silent victims of gun violence. The harsh reality is that for many, especially children of ethnic minorities and of low socioeconomic status, their stories fall upon deaf ears, and their needs often go unmet. There are no rallies or fundraisers for them when they return home from the hospital.
I am now six months into my pediatric residency. Within this short period of time, I have met multiple children whose lives have been forever altered by a senseless act of gun violence. Though they did not undergo a mass shooting, their injuries are just as grave. When rounding each morning in the hospital, I can’t help but notice the stark difference in support that these children receive, in comparison to the children from my hometown. Some patients go days without seeing a familiar face, as their parents work long hours to make ends meet.
I hope that by acknowledging this disparity, we can come together to implement effective strategies. All children who suffer from gun violence deserve to have their healing prioritized, their stories shared, their education valued, and their dreams upheld. It is our job as physicians to ensure that we preserve their personhood as best we can and connect them to those who will help them heal.