I wasn’t going to write about this week’s school shooting — mostly because, as a dad of a four-year-old in pre-K, I didn’t know what to say. The thought of reflecting on it more deeply makes me sad, sick, angry, and overwhelmed with emotions.

But I spoke with my mom after the shooting, and she said she was looking forward to reading what I might write about it. That gave me pause. She was right — even when words feel impossible, sometimes they’re exactly what’s needed.

From a communicator’s standpoint, I’ve never (thankfully) had to manage the response to a mass school shooting. I did manage a Joint Information Center (JIC) during a school-related shooting that ended in the perpetrator taking his own life, and I’ve led communications during other active threat incidents. I’ve also participated in more trainings and drills than I can count. But never this.

It’s now Saturday, a couple of days after the tragedy, and the grief is still raw. My heart is with the families, friends, teachers, classmates, first responders and communicators who are mourning and carrying trauma from this horrific event. From a communications perspective, I can only imagine this being a career-defining — and in some cases career-ending — moment. The weight of these words and decisions never leaves you.

Human First, Message Second

In a crisis of this magnitude, the first words spoken matter deeply. They should never begin with procedure, statistics, or law enforcement terminology. They must begin with people.

When a parent is sitting by the phone or glued to the news, desperate to know if their child is safe, hearing a message that acknowledges their fear and pain matters more than any tactical detail. Communicators should prepare statements that put humanity before process: “Our hearts are broken. We grieve with you. We are here for you.”

This isn’t weakness. It’s leadership.

The Balance of Compassion and Clarity

A PIO in this moment is asked to do the impossible: speak clearly, factually, and calmly while the world is collapsing around grieving families.

The lessons from exercises and past tragedies are consistent:

• Provide facts quickly, but don’t speculate. Silence breeds rumor. Speculation destroys trust.
• If you don’t have an update, say that. A trusted source is one that shows up regularly, even to say “we are still working and will update again at __.” Frequency builds trust. If you aren’t filling the space, others — including rumor and speculation — will.
• Avoid jargon. Speak plainly so parents, children, and neighbors can understand.
• Point to resources. That includes family assistance centers, crisis counselors, and official outlets. Words matter here — calling it a family assistance center instead of a reunification site acknowledges that for some families, reunification will never come.
• Don’t forget your internal communications. Staff are scared, hurting, and looking for answers too.
• Remember your community. Beyond families and the media, the broader community is watching for reassurance, guidance, and connection.

Tone is as important as content. Robotic delivery makes people feel abandoned. Compassion builds connection.

Coordination Across Agencies

Few events bring together as many entities as a school shooting: police, fire/EMS, schools, hospitals, clergy, and elected leaders. Each has a role. But the public doesn’t care about organizational boundaries — they care about one thing: safety and clarity.

That’s why coordination is essential. A Joint Information Center (JIC) or at least a tightly coordinated messaging strategy prevents contradictory statements and ensures that every voice is unified in compassion and fact.

When leaders stand together at the podium, they show a fractured community that there is unity at the top. That image matters.

Don’t Train Without the Communicator

Police, fire, EMS, and schools train and drill regularly on school shooting scenarios. They run active shooter drills, tabletop exercises, and full-scale simulations.

But here’s a hard question: are PIOs and communications staff at the table when these exercises happen? If not, they need to be. Because when tragedy strikes, the communications response is just as critical as the tactical response. Public trust depends on it.

PIOs must advocate for their seat in planning and exercises. If you aren’t in the room, your voice will be missing when it matters most.

Lessons From Prevention Work

When I worked at the New Hampshire Department of Safety, I had the privilege of working with the Governor’s School Safety Task Force in 2018 to draft their final report. That report — still available today — spent significant time discussing the “pathway to violence” and made recommendations to help communities disrupt that pathway before tragedy could occur.

I’m very proud of the small role I played in drafting that report, because prevention is just as much a part of this conversation as response. Ultimately, the task force’s recommendation, in part, was that if we can identify and disrupt the pathway to violence early, we can save lives — and maybe prevent another family from facing unimaginable loss.

The Weight on the Communicator

We don’t often talk about the impact on the communicators themselves. For some, this may be the incident that defines their career. For others, it may be the one that ends it. The trauma of being the voice in such a tragedy can’t be minimized.

Trauma-informed communication isn’t just about the public — it’s about protecting the communicator too.

• Avoid graphic details or sensational language.
• Center survivors and victims, not the perpetrator.
• Check in on your colleagues. The person standing beside you at the podium is carrying this too — they need compassion and support as much as anyone.
• Seek support for yourself as much as you provide it for the public.

Compassion for others includes compassion for yourself.

Preparedness Before the Unthinkable

As awful as it is to acknowledge, every community must prepare for this possibility. It is far better to have practiced messaging, family assistance planning, and coordinated strategies before tragedy strikes than to scramble in the moment.

Preparedness doesn’t erase pain — but it does prevent confusion, mistakes, and added trauma.

Final Thought

So, I write not just as a communicator, but as a dad. I hug my daughter much tighter and pray for the parents who can’t.

For those in public information roles, let this tragedy remind us of the sacred weight of our words. They can’t undo violence. But they can acknowledge pain, guide the grieving, and show a community that in its darkest hour, they are not alone.

If you’re a communicator, ask yourself today: Do we have a plan? Do we have the words ready? Do we have a seat at the table in training? Preparation is one way we honor the lives already lost — by working to ensure we are ready to respond with compassion, clarity, and unity when tragedy strikes again.

Because sometimes, when words aren’t enough, words are still all we have.