This time, I felt a glimmer of hope that our nation might pause to truly listen to one another. I hoped we would hear the voices of victims and their families, the insights of law enforcement, and the concerns of educators who are stretched thin in their efforts to support our students. I imagined that, after such discussions, our elected officials would step up to enact laws that genuinely benefit the communities they represent.
However, I underestimated the extent to which gun culture is woven into the fabric of our society. The prevalent solution, as suggested by our Secretary of Education, Linda Sanders, is to allow teachers the option to carry firearms in schools. Recently, Kentucky introduced Senate Bill 103, which permits both public and private school staff to assume the role of “school marshals.” This means that school personnel could legally possess weapons on campus. Instead of reforming gun laws, more states are looking to adopt similar measures, including Alabama, Colorado, Florida, Indiana, Maryland, Michigan, Pennsylvania, South Dakota, and South Carolina.
The proposed answer from many politicians is to increase the presence of guns in schools as a response to gun violence in those very same environments. These politicians frequently use educators as talking points and children as photo opportunities, all while neglecting the dire conditions of our underfunded schools. Now, they are introducing legislation that would require me, as an educator, to consider carrying a concealed weapon as part of my professional responsibilities. Let me clarify what my job truly entails.
As a speech-language pathologist, my role involves teaching vital social skills—such as empathy, self-awareness, and kindness—to students with disabilities, including those grappling with mental health challenges. Unfortunately, this critical work is performed with minimal resources.
This is not an isolated incident; it is a common narrative among seasoned service providers—school psychologists, nurses, therapists, and social workers—working within public education. When I began my new position assisting teenagers with communication and behavioral challenges, I entered an office filled with dust, remnants of old glue on the floor, and dried food on the counters. The heating and air conditioning were non-functional, and I was met with a computer that seemed to be from another era. After spending my first day cleaning, I searched for materials to aid in my therapy sessions, but found absolutely nothing useful—no resources, no activities, no books, and no technology readily available.
My supervisor informed me that many therapists resort to bringing their own supplies, as we are constrained by a budget of a mere $100 for the entire year. Though I have been a speech-language pathologist for over a decade and have often funded my own materials, I now find myself working with an older population where my previous resources are no longer applicable. While I am willing to create new materials, I lack the time to do so effectively.
Like many educators, I have spent my own money on necessary supplies, but I am exhausted from being expected to continue doing so. This expectation conveys a clear message: “You are undervalued, your profession is not prioritized, and students’ needs are not taken seriously.”
As I prepared a letter to introduce myself to parents—after their children had gone without services for over six months due to high turnover rates—I attempted to print it. To my dismay, I discovered there was no ink, no paper, and no pen available.
Frustrated, I reached out to three different administrators, only to be told—once again—that there was no funding and directed to order basic supplies myself. As a consolation prize, I was handed an ordinary blue pen.
I have been assigned a caseload of 60 students with severe disabilities while being expected to deliver effective therapy, support parents, attend meetings, draft reports, and manage billing—all with scant resources at my disposal. So I ask, how can I possibly fulfill my duties with the little you provide me, only to be asked to also carry a gun? To purchase a firearm? To undergo training to use a gun under pressure? To trust that my colleagues are free from personal issues that could lead to a catastrophic misuse of that weapon?
How can you expect me to carry a gun when you can’t even supply me with a pen?
Sincerely,
A deeply concerned speech-language pathologist dedicated to the students you have overlooked.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt letter, a speech-language pathologist expresses frustration over the expectation to carry firearms in schools while being provided with inadequate resources for effective teaching. The author highlights the stark contrast between the demands placed on educators and the support they receive, emphasizing the urgent need for investment in educational resources rather than arming teachers.