It begins with a phone call: an armed gunman on campus, shots fired, students in danger. Within minutes, classrooms lock down, police units swarm, and young people crouch under desks, hearts pounding. Hours later, the truth emerges: there was no gunman, no shots, no danger. Only a hoax.
In recent weeks, more than 50 U.S. colleges have faced such calls, part of a growing wave of “swatting” incidents — false reports of active shooters or violence designed to provoke a militarized police response. What might once have been dismissed as juvenile mischief now unfolds against the backdrop of mass shootings that are tragically real. The result is a campus culture gripped by fear, where hoaxes and horrors blur into the same anxious reality.
From prank to public threat
Swatting has its roots in fake bomb threats and online gaming disputes, but it has since evolved into something darker. According to the FBI, which has created a national center to track such incidents, law enforcement agencies have reported thousands of swatting cases since 2023. The hoaxes are now often carried out in batches, coordinated through online forums, and amplified on livestreams where perpetrators and their peers mock the chaos in real time.
Groups like “Purgatory,” affiliated with the loose network known as The Com, have been linked to several recent incidents, according to the Global Project Against Hate and Extremism and the Center for Internet Security. The FBI has not confirmed these connections, but the pattern is hard to miss. On recordings reviewed by researchers and shared with the Associated Press, the calls are punctuated by background laughter, casual banter, even rap verses — evidence that for some, sowing terror has become a form of digital entertainment.
Detecting the hoax
If the cruelty is brazen, the deception can also be crude. Dispatchers and officers are trained to look for red flags: calls made to non-emergency numbers instead of 911, mispronunciations of school names, or background audio that sounds suspiciously like television gunfire. At Kansas State University last month, a caller reported a gunman in the library but referred to the institution as “Kansas City State.” Local police quickly noted the inconsistency but still dispatched units, aware that a real attack could not be ruled out.
Such responses consume enormous resources, both technical and human. Companies like TDR Technology Solutions now work with law enforcement to flag suspicious calls, particularly those routed through VoIP services and VPNs to mask the origin. Still, experts admit that prevention remains difficult. “You’re not going to look up a police number if you’re in an emergency,” TDR chief executive Don Beeler told AP, pointing to one of the telltale signs of a hoax.
The human toll
Beyond the technicalities lies the deeper impact, on students who live with the constant possibility of violence. At several historically Black colleges, recent swatting calls led to campus lockdowns or canceled classes, disruptions that carry heavy psychological weight.
For students, the dilemma is stark. To treat every alert as real is exhausting; to dismiss one as a hoax could prove fatal. “I hope we’re not desensitized enough to the point where we don’t take these alerts seriously anymore,” said Miceala Morano, a journalism major at the University of Arkansas, who sheltered during a recent threat. “Unfortunately, it still is a very real possibility,” she told AP.
A fragile safety net
The spread of swatting underscores a grim paradox. Campuses have spent years refining their active-shooter protocols — drills, text alerts, lockdowns — measures meant to reassure. But when hoaxes flood the system, they risk undermining trust in those very safeguards. Each false alarm chips away at vigilance, creating the danger that a real threat will one day be met with hesitation.
Swatting may have begun as a prank, but in today’s America, where the line between hoax and horror grows ever thinner, it has become a haunting force reshaping the daily reality of college life.
In recent weeks, more than 50 U.S. colleges have faced such calls, part of a growing wave of “swatting” incidents — false reports of active shooters or violence designed to provoke a militarized police response. What might once have been dismissed as juvenile mischief now unfolds against the backdrop of mass shootings that are tragically real. The result is a campus culture gripped by fear, where hoaxes and horrors blur into the same anxious reality.
From prank to public threat
Swatting has its roots in fake bomb threats and online gaming disputes, but it has since evolved into something darker. According to the FBI, which has created a national center to track such incidents, law enforcement agencies have reported thousands of swatting cases since 2023. The hoaxes are now often carried out in batches, coordinated through online forums, and amplified on livestreams where perpetrators and their peers mock the chaos in real time.
Groups like “Purgatory,” affiliated with the loose network known as The Com, have been linked to several recent incidents, according to the Global Project Against Hate and Extremism and the Center for Internet Security. The FBI has not confirmed these connections, but the pattern is hard to miss. On recordings reviewed by researchers and shared with the Associated Press, the calls are punctuated by background laughter, casual banter, even rap verses — evidence that for some, sowing terror has become a form of digital entertainment.
Detecting the hoax
If the cruelty is brazen, the deception can also be crude. Dispatchers and officers are trained to look for red flags: calls made to non-emergency numbers instead of 911, mispronunciations of school names, or background audio that sounds suspiciously like television gunfire. At Kansas State University last month, a caller reported a gunman in the library but referred to the institution as “Kansas City State.” Local police quickly noted the inconsistency but still dispatched units, aware that a real attack could not be ruled out.
Such responses consume enormous resources, both technical and human. Companies like TDR Technology Solutions now work with law enforcement to flag suspicious calls, particularly those routed through VoIP services and VPNs to mask the origin. Still, experts admit that prevention remains difficult. “You’re not going to look up a police number if you’re in an emergency,” TDR chief executive Don Beeler told AP, pointing to one of the telltale signs of a hoax.
The human toll
Beyond the technicalities lies the deeper impact, on students who live with the constant possibility of violence. At several historically Black colleges, recent swatting calls led to campus lockdowns or canceled classes, disruptions that carry heavy psychological weight.
For students, the dilemma is stark. To treat every alert as real is exhausting; to dismiss one as a hoax could prove fatal. “I hope we’re not desensitized enough to the point where we don’t take these alerts seriously anymore,” said Miceala Morano, a journalism major at the University of Arkansas, who sheltered during a recent threat. “Unfortunately, it still is a very real possibility,” she told AP.
A fragile safety net
The spread of swatting underscores a grim paradox. Campuses have spent years refining their active-shooter protocols — drills, text alerts, lockdowns — measures meant to reassure. But when hoaxes flood the system, they risk undermining trust in those very safeguards. Each false alarm chips away at vigilance, creating the danger that a real threat will one day be met with hesitation.
Swatting may have begun as a prank, but in today’s America, where the line between hoax and horror grows ever thinner, it has become a haunting force reshaping the daily reality of college life.
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