“Don’t worry, it happened 30 minutes ago,” I heard one of my classmates say as I rushed to shut the open curtains of my classroom. “It’s been long enough.” 

A chorus of laughs followed—I clearly missed the joke. This was not what I expected an active shooter lockdown to feel like at Wesleyan. 

“The suspect is definitely in custody,” one student said with a laugh as my phone lit up with a shelter-in-place text alert from Wesleyan.

Jokes about the lateness of this alert began to fill the room with chuckles as one classmate broke down into fearful tears. I sat in silence, incredulous, confused, and appalled by the scene. 

“I’m used to this. I think we should just continue with class or watch a movie or something,” one student remarked.

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean it isn’t serious,” someone retorted.

The first student glared back. Tensions were high, but not high enough to prevent another joke about the incompetence of Wesleyan’s emergency alert system.

Earlier this week, an active shooter made his way toward campus in the middle of the day. He was eventually apprehended by local law enforcement and placed in police custody. But of course, the presence of an active shooter on campus meant that Wesleyan went on lockdown—or at least, it was supposed to.

Instead, at least in my classroom, students responded to the very real threat of an active shooter with nonchalance. Some acted as though the shooter was old news and could not possibly be a threat anymore, while others seemed desensitized into delusion. Across the board, my classmates seemed to collectively believe that they were safe, that nothing could possibly happen to them, that the danger of an active shooter in the vicinity was minimal.

As I witnessed this behavior, scared out of my mind that one of my friends or myself would be hurt, I tried to understand where my classmates’ illusion of safety was coming from. I didn’t find it and still have not, but I am intrigued by this delusion and apathy towards their fearful classmates.

Perhaps they did not experience multiple lockdowns in high school or weren’t forced to sit in a middle school classroom as siblings and friends at our neighboring high school were sheltered-in-place for hours. But did none of them experience the fear-inducing news of yet another school shooting every year growing up? Do they not know that in 2024 alone, there have already been 63 incidents of gun violence on campuses nationwide? Did they never have to go through the motions of a code red drill? Have they never felt fear?

Naturally, I began to think about privilege. Perhaps students from suburbs and communities so far removed from violence and danger have no conception of gun-based danger. Perhaps with enough money in one’s parents’ bank account, it is possible to believe that you are invincible, that the dangers of the world are foreign, that your affluence will act as a shield from the world outside of your bubble. In the same way that the Buddha discovered suffering only when he ventured outside the gates of his palace, perhaps my classmates have yet to venture far enough outside of their bourgeois bubbles that they still do not believe in the realities of danger. 

Perhaps this incident is indicative of broader feelings of disconnect from current events experienced by people with privilege and power. While gun violence is constantly in the news in America, it is possible that my classmates have been able to separate themselves from it in a way that makes them feel immune to the very real threat it poses. I see connections between this and apathetic attitudes toward other social justice issues like abortion rights and racial injustice that can be seen as “bad, but not a threat to me and my community.” Students I have interacted with have expressed sorrow at instances that threaten women’s bodily autonomy and the safety of Black communities across the country. However, they seem to think that they are simply unhappy observers of these issues, as there is no way they could be personally affected by legislation that feels at odds with the ethos of Wesleyan’s campus or their siloed worlds of privilege. The more time I spend at Wesleyan, the more I am surrounded by this genre of inaction or at least, separation. I would argue that my experience during this very real shooter threat is indicative of similar feelings of disconnect from real-world issues felt by students in the Wesleyan bubble.

This active shooter revealed the privilege of Wesleyan’s student body, or at least a part of it. After all, only someone who has no concept of the fact that ill could befall them could crack jokes across the aisle from a sobbing person in the midst of an active shooter lockdown. And only someone uninterested in the pain and suffering of others could argue with their clearly scared peers as they rushed to lock doors and shut blinds. Beyond inaction, it is apathy that indicates both privilege and an unwillingness to acknowledge the experience of those who lack it.

I hope that my classmates learn from what they experienced on Wednesday, though everything I witnessed indicates otherwise. I hope the threat of violence on campus helps more people understand that while they may only choose to surround themselves with wealth and privilege on campus, they cannot outrun the reality of fear and suffering forever. I hope they saw the seriousness of their peers and thought about their feelings of safety in comparison. 

But I am certainly being much too optimistic. At least I got a taste of the delusional levels of privilege exhibited by my peers. I am disenchanted, and I am glad. At least I know who I am truly surrounded by at this institution.

Akhil Joondeph is a member of the class of 2026 and can be reached at ajoondeph@wesleyan.edu.