Delayed by COVID-19 and the city’s July Fourth mass shooting, Highland Park High School’s FOCUS on the Arts biennial event almost didn’t happen. But facing a multiyear hiatus, the suburban Chicago school rallied, inviting creatives from across the country to teach workshops, as it’s done since 1964. Organizers asked me to facilitate an interactive public art installation similar to the summer’s temporary Arts Memorial, which was a response to the shooting. The only guardrail: Steer clear of gun violence. Nothing triggering. Nothing orange. All light and love.
We landed on a collaborative project in which every student would tie a strip of blue fabric to symbolize their intention to make the world a better place.
Teacher Christine Hill’s environmental science students recently made an active intention to raise awareness about plastic waste. Inspired by Shedd Aquarium’s Shedd the Straw, we planned #CleanSeas, a sculpture upcycling 5,000 single-use plastic water bottles.
As I worked with her third-period AP science class to reinflate crushed bottles, measure colored water and tie caps to netting, the public address system announced a lockdown alert for a potential active shooter in the building. This was not a drill.
In an instant, the science lab turned into a bunker. Students barricaded the door with an 8-foot phalanx of desks. Many armed themselves with improvised weapons — steel Bunsen burner rods, fire extinguishers, yardsticks and glass jars filled with plastic bread tags.
We huddled in a corner, doing deep breathing to eight counts, sharing incoming texts in whispers and listening to the eerie hallway like campers poised for a bear attack.
Some students cried. Some strategized escape and counterattacks. Some distracted themselves by methodically attaching bottle caps to string. Everyone texted their parents to say, “I’m in room G215. I love you. I’m safe.”
After two chilling hours, suspects were in custody, and authorities instructed us to hold tight. Earlier that morning, dozens of students had staged a walkout to call for a national assault weapons ban.
With the worst behind us, Ms. Hill and I distributed blank note cards and asked the kids to tell the world about their experience. Here are just a few of their unedited messages:
“As I’m in lockdown right now, I feel anxious and scared. We just had to walk out protesting gun violence which is ironic. I wish my lawmakers who haven’t been in a school for over 30 or 40 years were in this classroom, hiding with me, feeling the way I do. I wish they could feel the heat of everyone clumped together, hear the sobs from the students surrounding them, and see the texts to parents and friends that say ‘I love you.’ Maybe then they will come to the conclusion that there are bigger things they need to focus on rather than gender laws, LGBTQ+ laws, and reproduction laws. I am fearing for my life right now.”
“I can’t even bring together words to express my feelings right now. 10 minutes after protesting violence, I’m sitting in a barricaded room. No person should endure one, nonetheless two shootings in their lifetime, and in a 9-month span. Complacency is no longer an option. When I make it out of this lockdown, I won’t rest until change is made. F*** guns.”
“We knew what to do. We acted fast and fearless. There was a shooter, and we were ready. That is so sad.”
“I have never been so scared in my life. My flight or fight kicked in, and I just texted my parents and family, letting them know I love them and that I was OK. It feels sad that this is our reality and that we’ve had to go through this many times. I can’t believe that this is the world we live in. We have become so aware of the problem that we’re just almost used to it. It’s horrible.”
“I feel numb. I’ve been hiding for two hours with my crying classmates. We can’t move. We don’t know if there’s danger just outside the door. I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t know how I will ever come back here. This needs to end.”
When we received the all-clear, we formed a gratitude circle, and shellshocked kids headed home to family — nearly all of whom experienced the July Fourth shooting firsthand.
Needing to decompress, I stayed on to continue our project alone. Hours into drilling holes into plastic caps, my concentration was rocked by the shouts of a SWAT team. In my hoodie, partially obscured by a mountain of hefty bags and holding what looked like a gun, I felt lucky I didn’t get shot.
Calm restored, we read the students’ messages together. I watched a grown man in tactical gear holding an assault-style weapon tear up. How on earth did we get here … again?
The following day, Ms. Hill invited the entire student body to her classroom to help make our installation. Students of every age and ethnicity poured in. As with the summer’s Arts Memorial, the restorative power of music and tactile craft helped smooth anxiety and build community. The lab became our refuge and redemption.
And yet, for the vast majority of kids across our country — for whom the threat of gun violence is a daily reality — public schools don’t provide dynamic arts instruction, therapy dogs or rapid-response counseling. What they do get, however, is the certain message that adults are failing them. We can, and must, do better.
Join us in making your own intentions — starting with a greener, kinder and safer place for us all. Godspeed.
