In recent times, incidents involving teenagers and extreme acts have been occurring with such frequency that we can no longer regard them as exceptional. Something is happening that we need to look at in a different, more profound way.
The settings change, the forms change. Sometimes it happens inside a school, sometimes outside. In some cases, a teacher is involved; in others, a peer. But every time, afterwards, something very similar happens.
People look for a quick explanation, or talk of an emergency, often through headlines that exaggerate the drama rather than helping us to understand. And from the corridors of power come the familiar calls: more rules, more control, more sanctions.
It is an understandable reaction, but it risks petering out too soon and remaining superficial.
Because there is a question that remains on the sidelines, one that should instead be central:
Has anyone seen before these boys?
Not the desperate act. Not the moment when everything becomes clear. But what comes before that. What often goes unnoticed, unspoken, unheard.
Those everyday behaviours, those absent stares, those silences that schools sometimes seem to want, but which are not a good sign
No one reaches such an extreme point all of a sudden, without leaving any traces
And saying this does not mean making excuses. It means taking responsibility for looking at the process, not just the outcome.
This is where the conversation inevitably shifts to adults.
Not about what to do next, but about the opportunity we have today to be present first. To be in what comes before.
Educational institutions, in particular, find themselves in a difficult position. They are expected to deliver content, assess pupils, plan lessons, keep records and keep themselves constantly up to date.
Added to these demands are the expectations of families, technological changes and new educational priorities.
And all this takes place in the same space, within a limited timeframe, often taken up by bureaucracy, forms to fill in, and requests that pile up. Against this scenario, the time and space to really observe, to listen, and to pick up on signals that are not immediately obvious are reduced.
Not because there is a lack of attention, but because the right conditions are often lacking. And, at times, also because there is still a perception that the teacher’s role is merely to convey content.
It is here, then, that we might need to ask ourselves a different question:
What scope do we have today, as adults, to realise this in time?
To stop and reflect.
To truly understand what is happening.
To create spaces where things can be said before they come to a head.
This also changes the way we think about educational work.
It is not just a question of what to say, or what content to present. It is about how to create the conditions in which that content can take on meaning, find a point of connection, and offer an opportunity to be truly engaged with. How to initiate conversations that are not straightforward. How to be present with whatever may emerge, without avoiding it but without forcing it either. These are questions that have no immediate answers. They are part of a process. But that journey always begins with a first step.
With a simple gesture: stopping, listening, and setting aside for a moment the content to be conveyed.
Because arriving later helps to repair. But it’s not enough.
And getting there first isn’t a question of control. It’s a question of presence.
This topic forms part of a wider discussion on adolescence, which you can read here