The hallways of East Lansing Public Schools recently buzzed with something far more unsettling than usual school-day chatter. In a span of just three days, the school was hit with two “swatting” calls – those terrifying false alarms that trigger a massive police response. First, a bomb threat evacuated the high school, sending students home early. Then, just a few days later, reports of a gunman outside the building plunged everyone into another lockdown. While both turned out to be hoaxes, the aftermath has left many teachers feeling shaken and critically questioning the district’s emergency response. It’s a sobering reminder that while schools strive to be safe havens, the reality of potential threats, real or imagined, can expose cracks in even the most well-intentioned plans. For those on the front lines, like the teachers, the experience was less about official protocols and more about navigating fear and uncertainty with their students.
One teacher, choosing anonymity to avoid repercussions, vividly recounted the terror of the second incident. Receiving a “hold in place” alert – a less severe measure than a full lockdown – they suddenly looked up to see heavily armed individuals approaching their classroom. The chilling ambiguity of that moment, not knowing if these were tactical officers or a genuine threat, was deeply unsettling. Their students, naturally, were terrified, and the teacher themselves was scrambling to assess the danger, questioning if a “hold in place” was sufficient. This teacher even overheard the school’s head of security desperately calling for an immediate lockdown over the radio, a plea that, to their dismay, went unheeded by administrators for precious moments. This delay, and the sheer visual impact of armed personnel, underscored a profound concern: in a real emergency, rapid, decisive action and clear communication are paramount, and in this instance, they felt lacking.
Tim Akers, an English teacher,, echoed similar sentiments of chaos during the gunman scare. While he missed the bomb threat, he was in his classroom with three students just after school when the lockdown was announced. The immediate panic in his student’s eyes was palpable. To compound the confusion, his emergency app, designed for critical communication, notified him of a fire – a message that bewildered him as no fire alarms had sounded. Simultaneously, texts from friends and colleagues relayed that an armed suspect was outside. Akers found himself in an impossible bind: should he lead his students out for a potential fire, or keep them locked in for a potential gunman? The conflicting information left his students even more distressed, and Akers himself unsure of the best course of action. This communication breakdown wasn’t isolated; the anonymous teacher confirmed that vital updates were often spread through group chats and word-of-mouth, rather than official channels. Both teachers rightly pointed out the terrifying implication: had these been real threats, these communication fumbles could have had devastating consequences.
The teachers’ concerns weren’t just left to hallways and personal conversations. At a staff meeting held the day after the gunman scare, many sought answers and accountability. Akers directly asked Principal Ashley Schwarzbek why communication protocols weren’t followed, only to be told that administrators were still learning the technology and that “everyone was very busy.” The anonymous teacher noted that genuine concerns were often redirected, and open discussion about the district’s response was stifled. These responses only deepened the teachers’ unease, solidifying their belief that clear, consistent communication and well-rehearsed emergency plans are not just bureaucratic exercises, but critical life-saving measures. Their frustration wasn’t about blaming emergency personnel, but about ensuring the district provides the safest and clearest possible guidance for everyone during rapidly unfolding crises.
Even a school board member, Tali Faris-Hylen, Vice President of the ELPS Board of Education, experienced the raw anxiety of the situation firsthand. Her child, not in a classroom at the time of the lockdown, called her from a bathroom, panicking. Faris-Hylen quickly instructed them to lock the door, trying to calm their fears over the phone. She acknowledged the inherent confusion in such situations, especially when students are scattered after dismissal. While she applauded Superintendent Dori Leyko for informing the board promptly and noted administrators were actively moving through halls to secure students and staff, the personal experience of her child’s distress underscored the broader systemic issues. Her acknowledgment highlights that while efforts were made, the reality on the ground for students and staff was often one of fear and uncertainty.
In light of these events, Tim Akers is pushing for concrete action. He plans to recommend that the teachers’ union, the East Lansing Education Association (ELEA), file a grievance. His argument is rooted in Michigan law, which mandates that school districts have comprehensive safety plans, including clear emergency procedures and communication systems. Akers believes the district fell short by failing to reliably execute the very protocols they trained staff on, particularly with the “Panic Button” app. While ELEA President Will Paddock acknowledges the gravity of the situation and will consider the grievance, he emphasizes a desire for collaborative solutions with the administration. Both the union and the district share the common goal of safe schools, and Paddock believes that working together, learning from these incidents, and continuously refining their emergency plans will ultimately lead to better outcomes. Even Superintendent Leyko, though declining a direct interview, affirmed a commitment to gathering feedback from staff to improve protocols, suggesting an understanding that while challenging, these incidents offer crucial learning opportunities for the entire school community.