"If We Can't Change the Gun Laws, Can We At Least Get A Lock on the Door?
Published Fall 2023 by The Law News
Washington & Lee University
By Christian Madison
I'm sitting in the law school parking lot as my friends wait for the all-clear. Group messages are pinging around with tiny shreds of information about what's going on, with a healthy mix of gallows humor to keep spirits up as they sit with heads held low in their unlit classrooms.

Among the messages sent are photos of the doors to their rooms. For some of my friends, their fears are especially heightened - and rightfully so. Belts are now being used to secure doors with no locks, a pitiful symbol of how fragile the situation really is. Thankfully, they have two.
(A brown leather belt is the only thing keeping this room from open entry. There are two entrances in this room. Thankfully, the students had two belts.)
As pictures of these makeshift security measures make their rounds on WhatsApp, the gallows humor turns to a call for the guillotine. Students become more upset at the idea that - should this shelter-in-place order turn into a worst-case scenario - the administration of Washington and Lee refused to do the bare minimum to protect their student's lives - put locks on the doors.
(A series of safety alert text messages from Washington & Lee to students.
Note that the system was tested less than a week ago.)
When reading the term "worse-case scenario," you knew exactly what I meant. The tragic headline of gun violence in schools has taken permanent residence in students' minds across the nation, from early elementary to law school grad students such as these. I remember there was a massacre last week, but I can't remember where. It's hard to keep up.
These particular law students come from all over the country and from all economic backgrounds. It is hard to think of a more succinct indictment of the gun violence epidemic than the fact that each of these law students likely has a "hometown shooter" story of their own.
As this harrowing thought strikes me, another WhatsApp notification blips across my screen. Photos of armed officers entering a classroom show that the building is (finally) being scanned room by room. This particular classroom is one of the ones with belts on the door. As the officers left, they chastised the students for "being too loud" and told them to lock the door behind them and await further instructions. 

The students took great pleasure in informing the armed officers that there was no lock on the door, which got the exact response they had hoped for. The armed officers risking their lives to enter a possible active shooter situation were bewildered that a room like this could have no lock. They left anyway to continue securing other rooms.
(An armed officer enters the room with the "belt" locks.)
With the anger of the students partially vindicated by the officer's response, the group chats briefly returned to gallows humor. Students joke about whether or not they can bring the W&L Board of Directors to trial under the school's Honor Code for violating the community's trust. Others jokingly hope their 5:00 PM classes will now be canceled.
(My view from the outside, approximately 6:00 PM after officers leave the area.
Immediately before this picture, there were 5-6 police vehicles lined up in this area.) 
Meanwhile, I wait outside. I feel helpless as I watch my friends virtually huddle together under their desks through WhatsApp notifications. When you think about it, it really is absurd that I am laughing in my car as this situation unfolds a few hundred feet from behind me. But that's what this community does. They support each other. They share laughter every day and home cooked meals every night. It's one of the things that made Washington & Lee the reason my partner and I moved 17 hours to Lexington, Virginia from southeast Texas (not far from Santa Fe, mind you). At W&L, everyone wants the same thing but is unwilling to take it from each other. A law school with this kind of culture should be protected at all costs.

It is a shame that the administration doesn't agree.
The WhatsApp chats continue to spiral out in all directions as students begin processing their emotions. As 6 o'clock approaches, jokes about missing the 5 o'clock class are considerably less funny. Some classes are playing a version of Jeopardy! to study and pass the time, which feels a little on the nose for a metaphor, so I won't comment on that.

The physical threat seems to be all but vacated at this point, with students and faculty alike holding their breath for the notification that the building is now safe. Something tells me that when it comes, students will have a hard time believing it. At least, until there are proper locks on the doors.

As buildings are marked safe one-by-one (even though students still can't leave), I text my friends this question:

"If you could send a text message to administration about this situation, what would it be?"

Here's what they said:
Anonymous 1:
Anonymous 2:
Anonymous 3:
(Anonymous 3 did not draft a "better one".)
Anonymous 4:
Anonymous 5:
Anonymous 6:
It is now 7:25 PM and I am still sitting in the parking lot, waiting to see my friends now that they are cleared to leave the building. I can already feel that the students inside are moving back into a business-as-usual attitude. They don't have much of a choice. ▣
Reporting by Christian Madison
Published in The Law News | Washington & Lee University
An excerpt of this piece was also published in Lexington's The News Gazette
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