This time, I held onto a glimmer of hope—that our nation would pause to engage in meaningful conversations. Hopeful that we would listen to the voices of victims, their families, law enforcement, and the educators who recognize the chronic underfunding of our schools. Perhaps, after truly listening, our elected officials would take action by enacting laws that genuinely serve the interests of the people.
However, I underestimated the depth of our society’s entrenchment in gun culture. The prevailing solution, as suggested by figures like our Secretary of Education, Laura Thompson, is to allow teachers to carry firearms on school grounds. Recently, Kentucky introduced Senate Bill 103, which would permit both public and private school staff to act as “school marshals,” effectively allowing them to carry guns in classrooms. Instead of reforming gun laws, more states are poised to follow this example, including Alabama, Colorado, and Florida, as highlighted in a recent NPR article.
The proposed remedy from many politicians is to increase the presence of firearms in educational settings to address the very issue of gun violence in schools. These same politicians frequently use educators as talking points and students as photo opportunities while ignoring the dire state of our underfunded classrooms. Now, they are asking me—a dedicated educator—to consider carrying a concealed weapon as part of my responsibilities.
Let me clarify what my role entails. As a speech-language pathologist, I focus on teaching vital social skills—like empathy, self-awareness, and kindness—to students with disabilities, including those struggling with mental health issues. Unfortunately, this crucial work is supported by very limited resources.
My experience isn’t unique; it mirrors that of countless professionals, whether school psychologists, nurses, or occupational therapists, who share similar stories of underfunding and neglect. When I started my new position working with teens facing communication and behavioral challenges, I encountered an office that was in disarray—thick dust, outdated materials, and broken heating and cooling systems. The technology was over a decade old, and the supplies I found dated back to the 1950s, despite the school’s claims of being innovative. After spending an entire day cleaning, I discovered a shocking lack of resources: no therapeutic materials, no activities, and no technology to aid my students.
When I expressed my concerns to my supervisor, I learned that other therapists were expected to bring their own materials, all while being constrained by a meager annual budget of $100. As a seasoned speech-language pathologist, I’ve often purchased my own materials, but with an older demographic, my previous supplies aren’t as effective. While I am willing to create new resources, this takes time—time that is increasingly hard to come by.
Like many educators, I have repeatedly invested my personal funds into necessary materials, but I am tired of being expected to do so. This expectation sends a clear message: “You are not valued. Education is not valued. Our students are not valued.”
In an attempt to introduce myself to parents, I prepared a letter for students who had not received services in over six months due to high turnover rates among providers. But when I went to print it, I discovered I had no ink, paper, or even a pen. Frustrated, I reached out to three different administrators and scheduled a meeting to voice my concerns. Their response? A lack of funding and directions for purchasing basic supplies. As a consolation, I was handed a single blue pen.
With a caseload of 60 students with severe disabilities, I’m expected to provide meaningful therapy, assist parents, attend meetings, write reports, and manage billing—all with minimal resources. Now I am asked to not only perform my duties but also to carry a firearm. How can I be entrusted with that responsibility when I struggle to do my job with what little I have? How can I be expected to buy a gun when I can’t even secure a pen?
Sincerely,
A deeply concerned speech-language pathologist dedicated to serving the students you have overlooked.