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The Creative Edge

PEARCE: When fear hits our schools

Mar 17, 2026 | 6:00 AM

ON THE AFTERNOON OF Feb. 10, 2026, a quiet, remote mountain town in British Columbia became the scene of one of the deadliest school shootings in Canadian history. At Tumbler Ridge Secondary School, at least seven people were killed in an attack that also claimed the lives of two individuals at a nearby residence — bringing the death toll to nine. More than 25 others were wounded, including students and staff. Authorities confirmed the suspected shooter died by a self-inflicted injury and that police arrived on scene swiftly.

In the days since, families, neighbours and entire communities have been left holding a grief that was once almost unimaginable here. Provincial and federal leaders have offered condolences and support, and vigils have been held in memory of the children and adults taken so suddenly.

Parents across the country are asking the same question: How could this happen?

But there’s another question lurking beneath that one — a quieter, deeper one: What does it do to us when we start to feel this kind of fear — not just for others, but for our own children?

Fear Becomes a Lens

Safety used to be an abstract term for many Canadian parents – something you worried about on a field trip or in a chemistry lab. Now, it feels personal. The hallways of schools once whispered of learning, laughter and friends – now some hear footsteps and follow them with unease.

Fear doesn’t just show up in headlines and policies. It shows up in the quiet moments:

  • When a parent drops a child off for the first time this year
  • When a teacher walks into a classroom at 8:00 a.m.
  • When students glance nervously toward a locked door

These are not just statistics or news updates. These are lived realities etched into the nervous systems of families and communities.

What Fear Does

A fearful community is a defensive community. It reaches for obvious solutions – metal detectors, drills, police presence, perimeter security. But fear can also narrow our view of what safety is – and what safety feels like.

When we are scared, our brains contract. They look for simple answers, easy fixes and quick reassurances. But fear rarely delivers nuance.

It’s worth saying plainly: Canadian schools remain statistically safe places. Incidents like this are rare compared with many other countries. Yet when one occurs, the impact ripples far beyond the town where it happened.

Our emotional systems treat rare tragedies as if they are likely to repeat. We protect harder, we worry longer and we lose trust in the environments we once took for granted.

Fear vs. Reality

The challenge now is this: Fear feels true. But does it reflect the everyday reality of students, teachers, and families?

When we collapse safety down to fear alone, we risk missing something important – the difference between momentary danger and enduring wellbeing.

Schools are places of learning, risk, play, friendship, challenge, disappointment, triumph – and yes, vulnerability. But reducing them to sites of threat only traps us in reaction.

True safety includes predictable routines, yes, but it also includes connection, trust, care and emotional resilience.

Those are not quick fixes. They are long conversations.

A Collective Moment

This tragedy has opened a wound that cannot be ignored. But in naming the pain, we have an opportunity to reflect more deeply – not just on what we fear, but on how that fear reshapes our view of learning spaces, community trust and human connection.

Before we jump to the next solution or slogan, perhaps we should ask: What does it feel like to be safe — not just protected — in a school?

And what would it take to help our children feel that again?

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Editor’s Note: This opinion piece reflects the views of its author, and does not necessarily represent the views of CFJC Today or Pattison Media.