There are moments when a society pauses—not out of respect, but out of bewilderment.
A 15-year-old kills. A person dies. And somewhere in between lies a void larger than any headline.
One can try to cling to numbers, to statistics, to terms like “isolated case.” But honestly—in moments like these, that simply feels wrong. Too polished, too convenient, almost cynical. Because when a young person takes a life, it is not only about guilt. It is about failure. Our failure.
The first question is not: Why did he do it?
The far more uncomfortable question is: Where were we beforehand?
Where was society when this boy began to stand out? When violence may initially have been only words, looks, small escalations? Who paid attention—and who looked away? Schools at their limit, social workers overloaded, parents often trapped in their own struggles. And somewhere in between, young people learning that being loud brings attention—and violence brings power.
That sounds harsh. It is.
For years, we have been talking about prevention, integration, support. Big words, programs, summits. But in everyday life? What is often missing is what matters most: genuine relationships. Time. Presence. Adults who do not only react when it is too late, but are there beforehand.
Young people do not simply fall into violence out of the blue. They slip into it. Step by step. And sometimes no one notices—or no one wants to notice.
Of course, in the end the perpetrator bears responsibility. That must not be relativized. But anyone who believes that says it all is making it too easy for themselves. Because a 15-year-old is not a fully formed person. He is a product of his environment, his experiences, his ruptures.
And that is precisely where the real problem lies.
We have become accustomed to managing symptoms instead of combating causes. We discuss harsher penalties, faster proceedings—yes, fine by me. But that is the fire brigade, not fire prevention.
What is missing is a real, close look. Early. Consistent. Even when it is uncomfortable.
More support for families that have long been overwhelmed. Schools that are meant not only to impart knowledge, but also to provide stability. Psychological services that do not only take effect once everything has escalated. And above all: a society that does not only notice young people when they cause problems.
Because let us be honest—we often only look when things explode.
And then we are shocked.
Of course we are.
But perhaps we should be alarmed much earlier. By the quiet signals. The small boundary violations. The young people who slip through the cracks while everyone thinks: “It will work out somehow.”
No. It will not, at least not always.
This case from Nice is not some distant drama. It is a mirror. One we do not like to look into. Because it shows that prevention is more than a political buzzword. It is work. Relationship. Responsibility.
And sometimes courage, too.
Courage to get involved. To look closely. Not to walk away when things get complicated.
Because when a child becomes a perpetrator, much was missing beforehand.
And that is precisely where the real task begins.
A commentary by Andreas M. Brucker