America’s Schools: Why Do We Need Armed Guards to Protect Our Children?

This morning I walked my granddaughter to school in a semi-rural part of the United States, as I have done every morning this week. The walk was uneventful. We admired the scenery, looked at the flora and fauna and enjoyed the sort of peaceful morning that you would expect in the American countryside.

Then we arrived at the school.

The school doors were not due to open until 8.25am. Outside, a large group of children had gathered, while some teachers were already entering the building using their passes. But the children had to wait. Rules are rules, and nobody was going to make an exception.

At 8.25, a phalanx of teachers emerged from the school. No child was permitted to enter until a teacher had identified them. Most parents delivered their children by car. There was an efficient one-way traffic system, allowing parents to drop off their children without creating chaos. A teacher identified each child, and in they went.

My granddaughter was identified by name and disappeared into the school to begin her day.

When all the children were inside, the doors were locked. Completely locked, and I’m talking heavy duty doors with electronic release locks. Anyone wishing to enter afterwards had to use an intercom and identify themselves.

This afternoon, when I collect my granddaughter, I will have to first use the intercom to gain access to an outer office, then produce my passport and register my identity. My daughter has already had to confirm that I am indeed the child’s grandfather and an authorised person to collect her.

I have absolutely no objection to any of this. Children must be protected, and a school has a responsibility to know precisely who is entering its premises and who is taking its pupils home. This school appears to be well run and highly professional.

But it was what I noticed in the school office that really brought the situation home to me.

There was a man on security duty. I couldn’t establish whether he was a police officer or a dedicated security guard, but he was certainly equipped for serious trouble. He was friendly, approachable and not remotely intimidating. Yet he was armed and equipped with the assortment of weapons, radios, cameras and other equipment that one associates with American law enforcement.

It was an impressive security operation. It was also, I thought, a rather extraordinary sight in a primary school. I had a few brief words with one of the teachers as I was leaving and she described the process of the children entering and leaving the school as akin to a military operation. She was very good humoured about it to be fair.

I acknowledge that all children should have a safe place to be educated and should be protected at all times. But why on earth should this over-arching security be necessary?

A friendly society with a disturbing problem?

I have been in America for the past week, and I have encountered nothing but friendliness. People in restaurants, shops, bars and on the roads smile at you, strike up conversations and wish you a nice day. Most seem genuinely to mean it.

There is a natural warmth about these everyday encounters that makes a visitor feel welcome. To an outsider, American society, at least at this ordinary human level, appears to be doing rather well.

Of course, there are other aspects of American life that raise difficult questions. The political divisions, the arguments surrounding the midterm elections and the behaviour of some people at the highest levels of public life are matters for another article on another day.

What interests me today is something much closer to home: the security surrounding American schools, and what that security tells us about the society in which these children are growing up.

If you take a child to school in Ireland, as I did when my own children were young, the process is generally much simpler. You drop the child off, perhaps exchange a few words with another parent or occasionally a teacher, and go about your day. At collection time, you pick them up.

Arrangements vary between schools, of course, and Irish schools also have security procedures. But the prospect of routinely encountering an armed security officer while registering to collect a grandchild is not part of the normal school experience for most Irish families.

The same is broadly true in many other countries.

So why has this become such a feature of American education?

The grim statistics:

The obvious answer is the threat of gun violence, particularly the repeated shootings at American schools. I did a little research on this and while it is not definitive, it makes disturbing reading.

The scale of the problem depends on how you count it. Education Week, which tracks shootings on kindergarten-to-12th-grade school property that cause a firearm-related injury or death, recorded 27 such incidents in 2026 by 19 October. Seventeen people had been killed and 29 injured in those incidents. These figures exclude incidents in which nobody other than the perpetrator was shot and wounded, as well as incidents outside the publication’s definition.

The broader picture is even more troubling. Everytown for Gun Safety recorded at least 107 incidents of gunfire on school grounds by 26 October 2026, including incidents in which nobody was injured. The two figures measure different things, but both illustrate the scale of the challenge. It is difficult to get accurate statistics for a longer period but I did fine that between 2018 and 2025, 106 children were killed and a further 420 injured. The last thing I would want to do is to create alarm but surely this is truly shocking?

The figures can be checked in “Education Week’s 2026 school shooting tracker” (https://www.edweek.org/leadership/school-shootings-this-year-how-many-and-where/2026/01) and “Everytown’s school-grounds gunfire database” (https://everytownresearch.org/maps/gunfire-on-school-grounds/).

These are not simply numbers in a statistical report. Behind each incident are frightened children, distressed parents, traumatised teachers and communities forced to confront the possibility that a place of learning became a place of violence.

Nor is the problem confined to the occasional terrible event that dominates television news for several days. Gunfire on school grounds takes many forms, including arguments, accidental shootings and violence outside school buildings. The most notorious massacres attract national attention; many other incidents receive far less coverage.

America is not the only country in which a school shooting has occurred. Such attacks have happened elsewhere, including in Europe and the UK. But the frequency of school-related gun violence in the United States is exceptional among wealthy industrialised nations. A study published in the journal Pediatrics in 2024, examining school years from 1997–98 through 2021–22, reported that the United States had experienced 57 times as many school shootings as all other major industrialised nations combined, using the databases and definitions employed in that research.

That is a staggering comparison.

And it brings us back to the security guard in the school office. He is not there because American parents are unfriendly, or because teachers don’t care, or because US communities are necessarily dangerous. He is there because a country with an extraordinary level of gun violence has had to devise extraordinary measures to protect its children.

But security is a response — it is not a solution to the underlying problem.

Why target a school?

This is the question I find most difficult to understand. I just cannot get my head around it.

Why would anyone want to shoot little children? What possible grievance could justify such an act? And why does the school, rather than some other institution, become the target?

There is no single explanation, and it would be misleading to suggest that every perpetrator has the same motive. Research into school shootings has identified a variety of circumstances, including personal grievances, disputes, revenge, social isolation and a desire to make a statement through violence.

In some cases, the perpetrator was a current or former student. A school may be a familiar place associated with humiliation, resentment, rejection or a sense of having been wronged. Researchers at the US Government Accountability Office found that roughly half of the school shootings in their 2009–2019 dataset involved a current or former student, although the nature of the incidents varied considerably. But surely former students in other countries also have grievances? Do they take weapons and attack schools? Very rarely, and why not? Possibly because in other countries, automatic firearms are not readily available — to me, this is the nub of the problem.

For some attackers, the school is not an arbitrary target. It represents the people, experiences or institutions against which they feel aggrieved.

But there is another disturbing possibility: notoriety.

The 1999 massacre at Columbine High School in Colorado became a defining moment in the modern history of American school shootings. The killing of many students and a teacher shocked the nation, and the extensive coverage of the perpetrators created a template that subsequent attackers could study and, in some cases, imitate.

Research has found evidence consistent with a copycat effect. Some perpetrators have been influenced by earlier attacks, while others have sought fame, recognition or a lasting place in the public consciousness. For a person who feels insignificant or powerless, infamy may become a grotesque substitute for achievement.

This does not mean that everyone who commits a school shooting is seeking celebrity. Nor does it mean that mental illness alone explains the violence. The circumstances are complex, and it should be said that the overwhelming majority of people experiencing mental health difficulties never commit violent acts.

But the combination of grievance, access to firearms, a desire for recognition and the example set by earlier attackers deserves serious attention.

There is also a vicious circle at work. A shooting occurs, the news media broadcast the details, the country is horrified, and politicians promise action. Then, in time, public attention moves elsewhere. The next attack arrives, and the cycle begins again.

Meanwhile, children return to classrooms in buildings that may now have locked entrances, security drills, surveillance cameras and armed personnel.

So, is America still living in the Wild West?

In my view, part of the explanation lies in America’s long and complicated relationship with guns.

The country was shaped by frontier expansion, hunting, warfare and a tradition of individual self-reliance. The image of the armed pioneer, the cowboy and the lone hero has become deeply embedded in American popular culture.

Hollywood has played its part. For generations, American films and television programmes have portrayed guns as instruments of justice, courage and personal power. The hero reaches for a weapon, confronts the villain and restores order.

Real life, of course, is not a Western movie. A gun does not distinguish between a hero and a villain. It does not settle a dispute fairly, restore a damaged relationship or resolve the problems of a troubled young person. It makes it possible for a moment of anger or desperation to become irreversible.

I am not suggesting that Americans are inherently more violent than other people, or that everyone who owns a gun is irresponsible. Nor am I overlooking the constitutional and historical arguments surrounding the right to bear arms.

But a country must be prepared to examine its traditions when the consequences become so damaging.

The United States has more firearms in civilian hands than any other country in absolute terms. The widespread availability of guns means that a person who decides to commit an act of violence can obtain the means to do so quite easily, with devastating consequences.

The question is not whether every gun owner is dangerous. Clearly, most are not. The question is whether society should make it so easy for a person in crisis, or someone intent on mass violence, to acquire a weapon capable of killing large numbers of people in a short time.

What can be done?

I have strong views on this subject. I have never liked guns, and I believe their legitimate uses should be strictly limited.

I would favour a prohibition on civilian ownership of military-style assault weapons, alongside much tighter controls on other firearms. Hunting, where lawful and properly regulated, is a different matter, although it too should be subject to licensing, training and safeguards.

More broadly, the United States could take several practical steps.

First, it should strengthen background checks, licensing requirements and safe-storage laws, and ensure that people who present a demonstrable risk of serious violence cannot easily obtain firearms.

Second, I totally agree that, for now, schools need effective safeguarding procedures, trained staff and clear emergency plans. Secure entrances, visitor registration and reliable communication systems can all help. An armed guard may be appropriate in some circumstances, but security arrangements should be proportionate and should not turn every school into a fortress.

Third, more attention should be paid to warning signs. Research indicates that many perpetrators communicate their intentions or exhibit troubling behaviour before an attack. Students, parents and teachers need safe ways to report threats, alongside properly resourced systems that can assess them. School counselling and accessible mental-health support are important, too, not because mental illness explains every shooting, but because children in crisis need help before their problems become tragedies. Many US schools are already providing this level of support but not all of them can, due to lack of funding.

Finally, the media should consider how they report these crimes. Victims and their communities deserve attention, but repeatedly turning perpetrators into household names can feed the desire for notoriety. Reporting the facts without glorifying the attacker is a sensible place to start. I would even go so far as to prohibit naming the shooter at all. That would eliminate the notoriety and infamy at a stroke.

None of these measures will eliminate every risk. There is no single policy that can guarantee a school will never experience violence. But the absence of a perfect solution is no excuse for failing to make progress. I cannot understand why a society which claims to stand for truth and freedom and justice cannot put a few simple measures in place that will clearly demonstrate that it means this.

I return to the image of my granddaughter walking into school. She was happy, surrounded by her classmates, ready to begin another ordinary day. Outside, parents were going about their business. Teachers were welcoming children into their classrooms.

Everything about the scene suggested a society functioning as it should. And yet, beyond that ordinary morning routine, there was a security system designed to guard against the possibility of extraordinary violence.

I am grateful that the school takes its responsibilities seriously. I would rather see sensible precautions than careless indifference. The security officer was friendly, professional and doing a job that he should not be criticised for doing.

But I cannot help thinking that something has gone badly wrong when such measures become a normal feature of childhood.

Children, if they should have any worries at all, should be worrying about homework, friendships, games and what they will do at the weekend. Their grandparents should be thinking about the scenery on the walk to school, not about the armed man waiting in the office.

The answer cannot simply be to add another lock, another camera or another armed guard. Those measures may reduce certain risks, but they cannot resolve the conditions that make such extraordinary protection necessary.

America is a country of enormous generosity, friendliness and potential. The people I have met this week have reinforced that impression. Yet the security surrounding its schools reveals a problem that good manners and individual kindness cannot overcome.

The United States needs an honest national conversation about guns, violence, personal responsibility and the protection of children. It needs to move beyond the familiar arguments and ask whether its laws and traditions are serving the people they are supposed to protect.

I would like to think that, one day, I could walk my granddaughter to school in America and find the same friendly teachers, the same welcoming children and the same beautiful morning scenery, without the extraordinary security operation.

That would not mean abandoning the duty to protect children. It would mean creating a society in which protecting them no longer requires quite so much extraordinary protective measures.

Surely that is a reasonable ambition for any country?