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On a late-October morning in Topeka, the air inside the Kansas Civics Games was electric with nervous energy. Seven teams of high school students from across the state had gathered for a competition unlike any other. They were not here to recite dates of amendments or name the three branches of government from a textbook. They were here to solve a real-world civic emergency. Bishop Seabury Academy, a small independent school in Lawrence, had sent four seniors—Lucien Brockhoff, Eva Farmer, Gillian Asher, and Aidric Bernd—along with their history teacher and team sponsor, Sonja Czarnecki. None of them had ever competed in this event before, and they had no idea what to expect. By the end of the day, they would be walking away with first place, a shared sense of accomplishment, and a $1,000 award for each team member to put toward college courses or higher education costs. The annual competition, organized by the Kansas Press Association with support from the Kansas Department of Education and the Kansas Office of Judicial Administration, was designed to promote civic engagement and test students’ understanding of state, local, and national government. But on that particular Thursday, Oct. 29, it became something more: a proving ground for a generation often dismissed as disengaged. The winning teams were announced, and Bishop Seabury took the top spot. Olathe East finished second, and Fort Scott High School came in third. Yet for the students who had spent an intense hour wrestling with a fictional crisis, the real reward was not the ranking. It was the knowledge that they had risen to a challenge that would have stumped many adults.
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The challenge dropped on them like a breaking news alert. In a fictional city, an AI-generated video had begun circulating online, falsely showing the mayor announcing that the local drinking water was unsafe. Within hours, thousands of residents had shared it, and panic was spreading faster than any official correction could catch up. The students had exactly one hour to design a response plan that would help residents verify information, communicate accurate safety updates quickly, and protect freedom of speech throughout the crisis. It was a deliberately difficult assignment, one that required them to think simultaneously like journalists, public officials, and concerned citizens. They had to decide what the city government should say and through which channels, what role local news organizations should play in a moment when public trust in media is fragile, and how ordinary residents could be empowered to check sources before hitting share. As the minutes ticked down, the Bishop Seabury team felt the pressure. Gillian Asher later recalled how nervous they were about the tight timeline. But in the middle of their discussion, something clicked. They found what she called an “aha moment”—the point where the pieces of their argument fell into place and they realized they had something strong. The rest was a blur of drafting, refining, and rehearsing. Even when technical difficulties interrupted their presentation, they kept going. That kind of poise under pressure is exactly what the competition was meant to measure.
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For the four students from Bishop Seabury, the experience was both exhilarating and intimidating. They were all seniors, which meant this was a chance to prove themselves in the final stretch of high school. Their sponsor, Sonja Czarnecki, had helped them prepare and guided them through the basics of civic structures, but the actual competition required them to think on their feet. Asher admitted that none of them had competed before, and there was no playbook to follow. They had to trust each other, listen carefully, and build on one another’s ideas. That trust became the foundation of their success. The team’s dynamic was not about one star performer; it was about four people who brought different instincts and perspectives to the table. In the pressure of that one-hour window, they learned something important about collaboration: a good idea becomes stronger when it is shared, tested, and refined by people who are willing to ask hard questions. The technical difficulties that hit during their presentation could have derailed them. Instead, they became an unexpected opportunity to show the judges that they could adapt. Asher’s own account of the moment is telling. “We even had technical difficulties mid-presentation and we still continued on,” she said. That sentence captures the spirit of the entire experience. They did not panic. They did not look for someone to blame. They simply kept going, finished the job, and let their work speak for itself. In a competition where so much depended on composure and clarity, that quiet determination made all the difference.
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While the full details of Bishop Seabury’s winning plan were not released to the public, the competition’s framework offers a clear picture of what the judges were looking for. Each team was required to explain how the city government, local news organizations, and everyday residents would work together to respond to the crisis. That meant addressing the immediate need for reliable information—such as an official statement from the mayor’s office through verified channels—while also dealing with the underlying problem of misinformation. A strong plan would not simply order people to stop sharing the fake video. It would give them tools to fact-check, encourage them to wait for confirmation from trusted sources, and remind them that freedom of speech includes the right to question information but not the right to spread harm. The city government would need to be transparent, responsive, and human in its communication. Local news organizations would need to serve as independent verifiers, explaining what was true, what was false, and how they knew. Residents would need to feel like partners in the solution, not passive recipients of official orders. The fact that all seven teams identified these roles suggests that Kansas students have a surprisingly sophisticated understanding of how democracy should function in a crisis. Bishop Seabury’s plan stood out for its clarity, practicality, and respect for the values at stake. It was not enough to stop the panic; the plan had to preserve trust, protect speech, and model how a community should treat its members when fear threatens to take over. That is a lesson no textbook can fully teach.
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The Kansas Civics Games is not a typical academic contest. It is an annual, state-wide competition designed to promote civic engagement by putting students in realistic situations where government, media, and citizens intersect. This year’s focus on artificial intelligence and misinformation could not have been more timely. As deepfakes become more convincing and social media amplifies falsehoods, the ability to communicate clearly and responsibly in an emergency is a vital civic skill. The event brought students in grades nine through twelve to Topeka, where they competed in teams of four. The Kansas Press Association organized the event, and its partners included the Kansas Department of Education and the Kansas Office of Judicial Administration. That partnership is significant: it brings together the institutions that shape how Kansans learn, receive information, and seek justice. By sponsoring the competition, these organizations are making a statement that civic education does not end with a classroom lecture. It must include practice—messy, time-pressured, collaborative practice—in the kind of problems citizens actually face. Olathe East and Fort Scott High School also earned recognition, finishing second and third respectively, but every participating team benefited from the experience. The prize money awarded to the Bishop Seabury students is a tangible investment in their futures, but the deeper reward is the confidence that comes from knowing they can handle a complex public challenge with grace. For the students who traveled to Topeka, the competition was a reminder that their voices matter and that their ideas can shape the way communities respond to crisis.
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In the aftermath of the competition, Gillian Asher summed up her team’s journey in a simple but powerful sentence: “I am proud of us.” That pride was not just about winning. It was about the way they had handled themselves in a situation they had never faced before. “It’s the first time any of us had ever competed, but we handled it with grace and made the best of it,” she said. Those words speak to a deeper truth about civic life. Democracy is not a spectator sport. It requires ordinary people to show up, think critically, communicate honestly, and make decisions under pressure. The students at Bishop Seabury did exactly that, and they did it with poise. In a world where artificial intelligence can make it nearly impossible to know what is real, their willingness to confront that challenge head-on is a hopeful sign. They did not retreat into cynicism or rely on easy answers. They rolled up their sleeves, worked as a team, and offered a vision of how a community could protect itself from misinformation without sacrificing its values. As they move on to college and beyond, Lucien Brockhoff, Eva Farmer, Gillian Asher, and Aidric Bernd will carry more than prize money with them. They will carry the knowledge that they are capable of making a difference. And for anyone who worries about the future of democracy, that might be the most reassuring result of the 2026 Kansas Civics Games.