Thunder in the Classroom

I had a fourth-grade teacher once who used to say she wanted to hear the thunder in our brains to prove we were thinking.

She always said it during a period in class set aside for reading, and we took it literally.

I remember concentrating so hard I thought my head would burst, just to get the thunder going. Sometimes I’d make rumbling sounds under my breath to convince her there was a storm rolling through my brain.

I mention it today only as a prelude to discussing a kind of thunder that roared through Figueroa Street Elementary School three weeks ago.

It came in the form of two bullets that slammed into the building. One hit a wall, the other lodged in the brain of teacher Alfredo Perez, who was partially paralyzed.

In response to one of the worst campus assaults in the history of the L.A. Unified School District, we all lit candles, sent flowers, donated money, rallied the politicians and prayed that it would never happen again.

And now we’re adding one more element of crime prevention to demonstrate that L.A. isn’t taking the whole thing lightly: bulletproof windows are being installed on the first and second floors of Figueroa Elementary.

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It was announced in a burst of generosity by Mayor Richard Riordan who said he’d pay for the windows himself, followed by the offer of actor Edward James Olmos to share the expense.

Others jumped in with gifts of cash, and the company that sold the glass eventually cut its price from $80,000 to $66,000. Volunteers contributed to the outpouring by offering to install the windows for nothing.

By Sunday afternoon, Figueroa will be the first school in the district to have glass that will resist a bullet fired from a .357 magnum.

So in addition to the metal detectors at every secondary school, in addition to high fences and security guards, we’ve surrounded at least some of our kids with the kind of protection meant for popes, heads of state, Mafia chiefs, bank tellers and diamond dealers.

What am I missing here?

Through all of the tears and fist-shaking that accompanied the tragedy at Figueroa, I heard no one decry the necessity of installing bulletproof glass to protect our kids in what ought to be the safest environment in the world.

I heard no one wonder aloud if those who gathered to advocate protective glass understood the irony of donating money to deflect bullets but not shouting their rage against the guns that fire them or the organizations that condone them.

In a society drooling to possess firearms, we’re building walls against an enemy to whom we’re supplying the means to breach those walls.

“What’s sad,” a school official would say later, “is that we’re turning our schools into fortresses.”

What is equally sad is that compared to the streets, a school is still the safest place to be. Try thinking about what happens to the kids when they’re not behind metal detectors or bulletproof glass.

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As well-intentioned as the motives might be underlying the installation of protective windows, it’s still the moral equivalent of shaking your finger at a serial killer coming down a dark alley.

The problem is too complex for bulletproof glass, too massive for actors and politicians to handle alone, and too horrifying to ignore. It transcends physical barriers. It mocks human decencies.

On Sunday, the Committee to Heal L.A. will march on City Hall to rally for the kind of racial and cultural peace necessary to end at least some of the violence that bloodies our streets.

But marching is just another form of bulletproof glass that is easily ignored or circumvented by those who choose to do so. Helmets, flak vests and armored cars wouldn’t stop a killer on the make.

What we need is an explosion of awareness that claws at the soul, an epiphanic realization that the newest victims of the mayhem that bleeds us are our children, and the traumas they suffer today are sure to emerge in their behavior as adults . . . and ultimately in the children they bear.

I don’t know what the ultimate answer is to breaking a cycle of violence which, like cultural quicksand, is sucking us down into darkness beyond imagination. I do know, however, we could use the kind of leadership that looks for solutions beyond protective glass.

My fourth-grade teacher was right. Thinking is essential here. We’ve got to address the growing evil of violence en masse until the world hears a thunder of response that will drown out even the loudest gunfire.

If not, the tears of our children will drown us in despair.

Al Martinez can be reached through the Internet at al.martinez@latimes.com