I was at my desk at the F.B.I.’s Critical Incident Response Group on April 20, 1999, when a colleague ducked his head into my office and asked if I’d heard the news. A school shooting in Colorado. Some place called Columbine. At least 10 dead. Columbine, I remember thinking as I clicked on the bank of TVs on the far wall. Where in God’s name is that?
After 13 years as an F.B.I. agent, I’d become somewhat inured to violence: bank robberies, murders, Waco, Ruby Ridge, Oklahoma City. Death had become my business. Yet these images were appalling. Teenagers were dying in a public high school. Almost as disturbing, I saw panic: people running, blue uniforms and black-garbed SWAT officers with rifles pointing at a threat no one yet understood. Confusion. Crisis. Dismay.
Such confusion may have been understandable eight years ago. But that was before a 16-year-old boy killed five students, a teacher and a guard in a Minnesota school; before a recently expelled student turned a gun on officials and students at Appalachian School of Law, killing three; before a truck driver shot 10 girls (killing five) at an Amish schoolhouse in Pennsylvania.
It was before the F.B.I.’s National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime held a symposium of 160 educators, law enforcement professionals and mental health experts from 18 universities in Leesburg, Va., and issued a comprehensive report on causes, mitigation strategies and security considerations of school shootings.
It was before this country’s 18,000 law enforcement agencies revised training procedures and adopted crisis-response protocols to deal with similar threats; before the release of dozens of relevant books, academic studies, television programs and documentaries; before high schools, colleges and universities made uniformed security guards a part of campus life.
So how did we end up here, yet again? Why are we still asking how a calamity like the deaths at Virginia Tech could happen?
The most obvious reason, and one that’s been widely discussed in the days since the shootings, is complacency. Well, we can wring our hands all we want, but to some extent complacency is unavoidable: it’s what sneaks in after all the blame has been handed out, the news media have disappeared, the critics have taken their shots and the political knees have stopped jerking.
There’s also a psychological reason for letting our guard down: we all want to return to day-to-day business and focus on things that are most likely to affect us. Deeper down, there is a natural instinct in all of us to block out the idea that anything so unthinkable could happen to us. To stay alert means to acknowledge that horror is just around the corner, and that runs against human nature.
And, to some extent, complacency is a rational response: major crises like Columbine and Blacksburg are statistically unlikely ever to directly involve any of us. Federal agencies like the F.B.I. and Department of Homeland Security try to maintain focus, dumping hundreds of millions of dollars each year into crisis management programs, but most other agencies are loath to spend hard-fought tax dollars on “frivolous” equipment and training they are unlikely ever to use.
Outside major metropolitan areas, high-level police officers won’t face anything even remotely like Blacksburg during their careers. It simply makes better sense to finance anti-gang operations and drug eradication programs in schools than to pay SWAT operators to sit around waiting for 16-year-old assassins. The solution doesn’t lie in blaming complacency for these events, but in finding a level of preparedness that, for local jurisdictions and large institutions, makes sense in terms of risk and expense.
A far less discussed reason we find ourselves facing another massacre is inexperience. Law enforcement is a noble profession, filled with men and women who devote their lives to protecting our communities; but crisis resolution in most departments is a career path that administrators and those with hopes for promotion avoid like the plague.
Why volunteer for the chance to make split-second choices under the worst possible circumstances, knowing you are going to be second-guessed and perhaps blamed every step of the way? The F.B.I.’s Critical Incident Response Group had to develop a computer-based training program because field office commanders resisted larger interagency training conducted by real people. These people knew that poor performance in simulations could damage their careers for real.
So, how do we move forward and prevent another nightmare like Blacksburg?
For starters, we have to assign blame where it belongs: on those who commit these heinous acts. Then our schools, businesses, hospitals, other institutions and communities must take the simple, commonsense decisions that countless studies recommend. Sure, the sorts of precautionary steps and community awareness being promoted in the wake of the Virginia Tech shootings are important, but all the profiling and counseling in the world will not stop every attack. We need to prepare for and deal with the attack itself.
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Every institution should have a crisis response plan. The scope and complexity will of course depend on factors like population, square footage and the presence of hazardous materials, but most don’t have to be expensive. Often small businesses can get away with simply taping a sheet of paper next to the copier that identifies exits, emergency contacts and safe areas inside the building. Most large corporations and institutions will need to find professional advice. (As someone who provides such advice, I admit it doesn’t come cheap. But the cost of preparation will pay off should disaster strike.)
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While each plan will be different, the fundamentals remain the same. All should insure that potential victims are able to maintain two-way contact with law enforcement and emergency medical providers. Many people feel that crisis-call stations, which have long been staples at universities and in some communities, are no longer necessary in the age of cellphones. That’s wrong: these brightly marked, well-lighted phone towers not only provide communications when cellular networks are overloaded, but their very presence can deter attackers.
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Whenever written emergency directions are posted, they should include understandable symbols for foreign-language speakers, children and the visually impaired. That may seem obvious, but I can’t tell you how many “emergency plans” I’ve seen that bogged down in unnecessary verbiage, directed people to nonexistent stairwells and failed to consider non-English speakers.
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All emergency plans should prominently list a “check in” number that every employee or student should be asked to call in the event of emergency. Even if you feel you are safe, rescue experts need to know where you are and how many people are in the area. (It will also provide relief to your family if the situation drags on.)
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Large institutions should compile detailed, easily available “site surveys” of buildings and campuses that rescue and law-enforcement officials can use to plan their strategies in a crisis. Site surveys should include blueprints of all buildings and infrastructure, videotapes of interior spaces, lock information, charts of surveillance camera coverage, notes on access to tunnels and other information.
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I recommend to my clients that they get a professional risk assessment of all their current policies that can, for example, point out improvements to exterior lighting and in their ability to “lock down” all buildings.
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While the police and medical professionals will eventually take charge, every institution should have set response protocols for its security personnel and employees who will manage the initial stages of the crisis. Where possible, planners should build and hire security staff for safe zones that these people can operate from, and where potential victims can take refuge.
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And because all threats — natural, criminal or terrorism-related — eventually require evacuation, employers should make sure their people know where and under what circumstance they should move from “bunkering in place” to trying an escape. Often it is safer to find cover where you are than to expose yourself by running away. Helping your workers understand how to make the right decision can mean the difference between life and death.
As I reflect on the Blacksburg shootings and think about ways to keep it from happening again, I look back to that April afternoon in 1999 and the important project I was trying to finish. It was a paper on crisis management — one of the last requirements I needed for the master’s degree I soon received. From Virginia Tech.
Christopher Whitcomb, the chief executive of a security company. He was a sniper on the F.B.I.’s hostage rescue unit and the author of two novels, Black and White.