On June 19th, thousands convened to watch the final round of Humorous Interpretation. Spectators gathered in a giant auditorium; the room was engulfed in happy, unassuming kids and adults alike. But moments before the sixth and final Humorous Interpretation speaker began her speech, spectator and former national champion Jayden Roccaforte climbed onto the stage. He wielded a backpack, his thoughts incapacitated by psychedelic drugs. He swayed for a second, then screamed: “You wanna hear a real joke? Knock knock.” Then, he dropped his backpack and reached inside. Nobody wanted to stay and find out what was in there.

The auditorium was dispersed in chaos. A crowd of thousands started pushing and running over each other in a desperate attempt to escape. Some made it out, while others found themselves stuck in bathrooms and under bleachers. As news traveled through the halls of Congress and to the lounges of coaches, the panic only intensified. Nearly seven thousand people ran for their lives within minutes of the shock.

Truth be told, it’s hard to encapsulate the distinct, horrific emotions that those seven thousand individuals felt in one article. The student suffocatingly trapped in the bathroom, the coach crushed in the hallways, the parent alerted thousands of miles south—they’re all different experiences marked by their own unique suffering. We involved don’t even have the liberty of uniting under the guise of “that happened”: as far as the news is aware, no shots were fired. No bomb was detonated. And they’re right—Roccaforte carried nothing on his person.

 But to be naive and say everything was fine is unconstructive. To say that nothing happened would overlook the streams of tears that flooded the Hilton lobby; the NSDA’s initial reaction, which claims that no threat was made, ignores the thousands of kids crying incessantly in clustered hallways. It wasn’t a prank. It wasn’t a farce. It was a genuine threat, and everybody feared for their lives.

 We are a few weeks removed from the event, and the entropic nightmare that nearly ruined nationals is already fading into obscurity. And you can’t really blame those involved—it’s healthy to move on from traumatic experiences. But leaving behind stories of hardship without closure makes them feel incomplete. While browsing articles online, I could never find a complete picture that underscores everyone’s reaction to the panic, not just one coach or one student, but everyone. Most left it at a legal overview, or if the article went into impressive depth, a quote from a student. My intention with this article is to create a comprehensive acknowledgement of the National Tournament’s mass shooting scare, from the viewpoint of as many individuals involved as possible, and then offer rectifications for how the National Tournament can be made safer for next year. Though I doubt it’s possible to comprehend the true damage this threat caused, compiling as many diverse stories into one compendium may be the closest we'll ever get to understanding it. By understanding pain, we gain insight into the need for progress. That’s why this article is important.

In order to get the most complete picture of the mass shooting threat, I reached out to over twenty individuals who experienced the threat firsthand with three questions:

1. Where were you during the time of the threat?

2. How did the incident impact you, and how does it continue to impact you?

3. What did you think of the NSDA’s immediate response?

The article includes six of those testimonials. These testimonials come from a wide range of competitors, spectators, tournament officials, and individuals associated with the Iowa Events Center at the time of the threat; I have also included my own experience in these recountings. Besides myself, all referenced individuals are anonymous to avoid any potential harassment: whether you agree or disagree, everyone who included their opinion has an equally valid viewpoint on this subject. And finally, a quick thank you to those who participated —without them, this article could not have been created.

1. Where were you during the time of the threat?

“I was backstage getting ready to be mic’d for my final round. I sat down next to one of my friends who had finished performing, and we were watching Allie take the stage.”

“During the time of the threat, I was in the bathroom near the exit closest to the skywalk. Congress had just recessed after the first bill in the second session, and I left the room right as the recess started. When I came out, there were hundreds of people running to the exit, and I had no idea what was going on. The security guard near the escalators wouldn’t tell me what was going on, and one of my friends had to pull me out and let me know about the threat in the building.”

“I was sitting at a table in the food court right by the escalator.”

“On I-95 north, somewhere in the middle of rural North Carolina. I opened Instagram to check the NSDA Instagram page for updates, but instead opened to a teammate messaging me that “There was a shooting / I’m fine.” I felt relatively helpless considering I was not present, so when I initially got that message, I immediately thought the worst, as much as I wanted to immediately reach out to my teammates. I also knew that I wasn’t (nor did I want to be) a priority. Every minute that went by was agonizing; I was hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.”

“I was in my Congress room when everyone ran–we literally didn’t know it happened until we saw people running.”

For me I was about twenty feet away from Roccaforte when he took the stage, being close enough to the podium to see the speaker without the overhead projections. When he made the threat, I found myself amidst over a thousand dashing for their lives–I tripped, and was so disoriented, I missed the exit. I ended up being locked in the woman’s bathroom for ten minutes, idly waiting for gentle reassurance of Roccaforte’s arrest.

2. How did the incident impact you, and how does it continue to impact you?

“It gave me a reality check no one is ever truly prepared for. At first, we thought it was a shooter, and all of a sudden, I was living in one of the stories I only ever read about in social media or watched in the news. It became so clear to me in that moment the kind of America we live in, where security is no longer a standard but is now some sort of fantasy: feeling protected is not something people can expect anymore, and that truly terrified me. This incident has made me more aware of how blessed we all are to be alive, and it has pushed me to be more intentional with my activism and how I actively use my voice to pursue change. I know good will come out of this because the people who experienced this are amongst the best speakers and changemakers in the nation, they too will continue to push for the change this country desperately needs.”

“The incident was very scary. I'm privileged enough to live in a good area and go to a school where security is a high priority. I never imagined that I could be in a situation like this; I called my parents, my friends, and my coaches immediately. I'm a very emotional person, and I cry very easily, so it was hard to understand what was going on when I was barely up to date on the situation. I was separated from my room and from my friends. It continues to impact the way I view safety, and it was easy for the NSDA to be as secure after the incident. It shouldn’t take a scare to prioritize safety.”

“It made me fear for my life, gave me extreme panic and distress when my friends didn’t respond, and severely stressed me out. Now, it continues to give me recurring nightmares, panic attacks, and I can’t get the event out of my head. I feel lucky that I wasn’t in the room and that no one I know personally was physically harmed, but it’s been weighing on my conscience that people I know are in therapy because of it.”

“Not being there physically was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I’m grateful since I wasn’t there to witness such a tragedy, but on another I felt nothing short of helpless and wishing I could have been of more support to those affected. At present, my focus has been on raising awareness and helping uplift the community and spread the messages from those directly affected. Following the events, I am also heavily considering hanging up my suit for good. An organization meant to uplift our voices was instead silencing them; it would take significant accountability and reform from the NSDA for me to put it on again.”

“Immediately, it was more frustrating, in a moment like that, you know you’re not recovering stability from NSDA or the judges, so I kinda figured it was my last time debating because of this threat, which was unfortunate. Honestly, I was impressed by the level of cooperation from the people involved. Coaches were caring for students even if they weren’t part of their program or even if they didn’t know the kids’ names. Competitors who wouldn’t even talk to each other even if they competed for years gave kids who were struggling hugs and support, which was reassuring for faith in humanity.”

 As for myself, the incident was a culmination of everything I feared: loneliness, solitude, death. It has given me recurring panic attacks. I, along with multiple individuals I know, have scheduled therapy sessions because of it. When a life-or-death situation happens to you, you can’t just roll your eyes and move on—you need to come to terms with how lucky you are to be alive. But behind all of my gratitude has been fear: a fear surrounding the memories of thirty individuals screaming in that restroom.

3. What did you think of the NSDA’s immediate response?

“There was so much uncertainty. Deep down, I thought that there was no way we’d actually compete that day. When we thought the tournament would resume, all DI finalists were gathered backstage at the specified time in the new schedule. Then, Mr. Scott Wunn addressed us and our coaches. He said that instead of continuing with the round, it would be best to go back to our hotels and heal and recover for tomorrow. And of course, we all agreed. We felt cared for and seen, and we were all grateful that our emotional and mental well-being was being taken into account. I know a lot of people were angry, and I was too. I advocated so that there would be security and police on both sides of the stage while everyone performed the next day, and I’m glad I did. The individual was a judge, and he had all the credentials to access the event: it wasn’t an issue of ribbons being given out without a care in the world.”

“The NSDA's immediate response was disgusting. There were kids sobbing on the side of the road on the phone with their parents, people who had tripped and fallen, and people who were separated from the only other people they knew. We were all shaken and trying to reach out to those closest to us. While I was trying not to have a panic attack, an NSDA director came to us and informed us that the perpetrator had been arrested, didn’t have a weapon, and that competition would resume at 4:00 pm. It was sick to tell a group of traumatized children to continue to debate. I felt so sick to my stomach and afraid to re-enter the event center. Even though it is everyone’s dream to become a national finalist, I was ready to throw away that hope just so I could go back to my hotel. I was hungry, exhausted, and traumatized. The last thing on my mind was sitting in a room for another hour and a half, trying to debate to the best of my ability. No child should be told that their physical or mental health is second to performative competition. Luckily, NSDA asked the house semifinal rounds what they wanted, and unanimously, every chamber agreed to adjourn early.”

“When I first heard the report, I assumed that no one was harmed. After finding out that wasn’t true, I felt betrayed and lied to. I think the response was inhumane, ignorant, and tried to treat the response like the WiFi going down in extemp draw. I watched people get in without badges and past security, less than an hour after the event happened, and they swept the building. I think it was insane that they tried to start rounds back up at 4, and I’m disgusted it took competitors and judges protesting to force delays. Overall, the response was incredibly uneducated and tried to pretend like nothing happened to cover their own image.”

“The first initial post that came out that reported “no injuries” and “no threat” was bizarre and confusing to me. Based on the information I had received up to that point, I knew that to some extent the NSDA was downplaying the severity. A teammate wouldn’t have texted me “there’s a shooting” and “we were evacuated” if there wasn’t a threat? And if he wasn’t in the building, what were the chances that those who were present got out unscathed? I texted another friend of mine who had no prior knowledge of the incident, and they agreed. When I opened the comments, I was met with claims of the injuries sustained from the stampede, beginning my dismay at the NSDA’s response. This only worsened upon reading the second post, where I learned that competition was to resume less than 3 hours after the incident occurred. To say I was furious is an understatement. The blatant lying, dishonesty, misinformation, and dismissal of what truly occurred was nothing short of disgusting.”

“I think NSDA got a bad rep for the situation when they did the best they could given their situation: No one thinks there’s going to be a threat until there is a threat. Even still, people got out in like 5 minutes, NSDA got organized after some 20 minutes. Cause also, think about this from their perspective: they’re scared for their own lives while being responsible for the lives of others. Just because firefighters in 9/11 are heroes doesn’t mean that tab and NSDA are villains for not responding the same way. I also appreciate how, after things settled, they let the competitors decide, running their decisions through with us. That showed their care for mental health, and it showed that we make the NSDA what it is.” 

I relate to pretty much every response I received. Initially, I was irate: my hotel lobby was swarming with crying children, and all of us victims had received in short-term recompense was a notification of rounds continuing. But as the incident recedes further into the past, that anger feels misplaced. Though the NSDA’s initial response was disappointing, they did their best to rectify it, with an official statement being aired from NSDA director Scott Wunn; this amended response was far more empathetic and understanding. That’s far more reassuring than leaving competitors, coaches, and all others involved with one haphazard notice.

Whilst the initial emotions from the threat are still buzzing, multiple individuals involved have scheduled therapy sessions to heal from this event – nebulously yelling at the NSDA isn’t constructive. Could they have done more? Yes. Was their initial reaction shortsighted? Absolutely. But that doesn’t make the learning lesson one of anger and outrage. Harking at the NSDA regarding the horrific event without offering solutions isn’t constructive – it won’t help “dethrone” the NSDA, nor scar its reputation. Sensationalism only serves to alienate us from progress; further ad hominem attacks are simply petty.

But trust me, I get the allure of wanting to utterly lambast the NSDA: the minutes I spent locked in that bathroom were some of the scariest of my life. But the fear I felt in that moment hasn’t purged my desire to compete. Like everyone else attending the national tournament, I love Speech and Debate, and I want to see it improve itself. And while part of improvement is criticism of the past, in equal part, improvement includes planning for the future. There are a few easy solutions the NSDA can implement to make the tournament safer for the debaters of the future.

1. Implementation of metal detectors and bag checks

While placing police officers inside competition rooms is both infeasible and harmful—no one wants to laugh at a humorous speech when a cop is staring them down—implementing the use of law enforcement in intermittent areas is ideal. In many public gatherings, organizers mandate bag checks to ensure that no one is carrying any dangerous equipment. The NSDA did not conduct bag checks for events inside the expo center, and although there were technically bag checks outside the Capitol, sources who wish to remain anonymous attested that they weren’t comprehensive: often, the officers wouldn’t even inspect the contents of the bags. The NSDA partners with the local law enforcement of any city where it holds its tournament, and that law enforcement is held to the same standards of accountability. Bag checks are a reasonable, swift, and effective measure to remove the possibility of weaponry.

Metal detectors are an even more convenient tool for detecting dangerous objects. The NSDA had metal detectors stationed throughout all of Iowa, yet there were very few in total; moreover, many of the metal detectors weren’t accompanied by police officers. Once more, there is no excuse for a lack of oversight for measures of safety. Next year, the national tournament will be significantly more secure with these two metrics.

2. Verifying the possessors of identification ribbons

The NSDA’s safety measure was the event ribbon, a ribbon that you suspended from your outfit; if you had one, you were allowed to enter the expo halls. The idea has value, but the execution of it was asinine: throughout the tournament, it was appallingly easy to acquire a spectator’s ribbon. You’d receive one at the front desk, and all you'd need to do is inform the desk worker that you were a competitor who wanted to watch the rounds. There was no prerequisite work required: no searching of socials, no verification of a “competitor’s” identity. You were allowed to enter as long as you said the right thing.

And it was easy to get a new ribbon, sure. But for some reason, if you didn’t want to go through the effort of getting a new one, you could just bring an old ribbon to the front desk, no one batting an eye. The identification ribbons didn’t have QR codes verifying an identity, or any way to ensure that the person wearing the ribbon was its rightful owner. Even if bag checks and metal detectors are implemented, dangerous individuals could still easily infiltrate the national tournament with this ribbon system: it demands change.

My proposal to restore the ribbon’s usefulness—keeping the ribbon system intact whilst refining it—is to employ QR codes on the ribbon’s back. Whenever an individual wants to enter the expo hall, they must have their QR code scanned. The system then verifies who the code is assigned to, and the owner’s identity is revealed. This wouldn’t be an unmanageable burden, and it would alleviate concerns of unstable individuals easily gaining access to the tournament.

Whilst these two solutions would be both applicable and useful, they wouldn’t have stopped Jayden Roccaforte from conducting his mass shooting threat: he could have acquired a ribbon like anyone else, and due to his lack of a weapon, his baggage would not have been flagged. During any year, whether that be twenty years in the past or twenty years in the future, any crazed individual could scale a stage and imbue threats. But that doesn’t mean that the NSDA should back down from addressing its security concerns.

Even if Roccaforte did not possess a firearm, without fixes like background checks, he very well could have; even though he had no weapon on his person, he very well could have. Improvements in safety are never perfect and never will be – we have to accept that there will always be some metric of risk when attending the National Tournament. That shouldn’t be a cue to ignore people’s safety. Roccaforte didn’t have a weapon: I want to make it so he couldn’t have had a weapon.

When I was originally asked to write this article, I refused—not because I was incapable, but because I was scared. Scared of what impression the national tournament had left on me, scared of the event I grew to love. And for weeks, that reluctance to engage with anything related to Speech and Debate remained. The NSDA, an organization I love, had given a terse and unsympathetic response to a traumatic event. They used to make me feel included: after this incident, I felt alone.

But with a year left in my Speech and Debate career, this isn’t a note I’m fond of ending off on. The NSDA has accomplished incredible things for tens of thousands of people competing in its events, providing them with a second family and a space where they could truly be who they dreamed of being. Jayden Roccaforte’s threat was harrowing, sure. However, it shouldn’t tarnish the memories we, as a collective, have made with Speech and Debate. Because, in truth, rewriting history doesn’t erase the value of the education we learn and friendships we make under the NSDA’s umbrella.

So, with next year’s tournament already being scheduled, the ball is in the NSDA’s court: if they fix their security concerns, acknowledging their initial lapse of judgment, the national tournament won’t suffer from the Roccafortes of this world. In a space where we competitors, we coaches, we parents, and teammates feel safe, the National Tournament will be more incredible than ever. There’s nothing I’d want more than to see that happen.

I love Speech and Debate, and can’t thank it enough for the amazing impacts it has had on my life. And as scarring as the mass shooting threat was, that admiration will never disappear. We participants of Speech and Debate shouldn’t cower in fear and anger of a security oversight; instead, we ought to become stronger because of it. Don’t be scared of the mistakes of our past. We all survived the threat together; we all healed from the threat together; and in a year’s time, we all will be attending a safer and more loving National Speech and Debate Tournament together.