See all posts in the Chaska Public Safety series

(Chaska Police Department shares insights, updates, crime prevention tips, and more to keep the community informed.)

by Hunter Panning

I grew up here. Chaska is the place I work – but it’s also the place that built me. It’s where my family put down roots, where my children will go to school one day, and where we shop, eat and make memories. I’m a part of this community and I have a sincere interest in its wellbeing. That’s why the way we communicate with the people who live, play and work here means so much to me. 

As one of the police department’s public information officers (PIO), I’m behind many of the social media posts, press releases and community updates. The City of Chaska’s community engagement manager Kevin Wright and our police department’s crime prevention officer Martin Godinez also contribute to our work in connecting with the community. As a part of my role, I get a front row seat to the day-to-day life of our city–both the lighthearted and the life-altering – and then I have the job of turning those moments into something the public can understand, learn from and hopefully feel connected to. But that’s easier said than done. 

We live in a world of short attention spans. Experts say I get roughly four seconds to earn your attention and it’s even more of a challenge to keep your attention. We’re bombarded by news, posts, opinions and alerts all day long. So if I want our message to be heard, I must write in a way that stands out—not by shouting louder, but by sounding different. That’s where humor comes in. So does empathy. So does storytelling. I don’t just “put out” information, I try to create messages that make people stop scrolling and begin to listen. 

Every time I write something, I ask myself: What’s the tone? Who’s the audience? What do they need to feel in order to actually hear this message? Because sometimes we need to laugh. Sometimes we need to reflect. And sometimes, we need to be called out with love. That balancing act is especially important when it comes to something like impaired driving.

Impaired driving is still one of the most reckless, preventable choices a person can make. And yet, it keeps happening. I’ve seen what it does to victims, to families and to the officers who respond to the aftermath. It’s personal. It’s painful. And it’s something we take seriously. But here’s the thing: if I just wrote angry posts about how dangerous it is, people would tune it out. It’s a heavy topic and people avoid heavy.

That’s why I use humor. Not to downplay the seriousness of impaired driving, but to highlight the selfishness of it in a way that sticks. When someone gets caught driving drunk and they try to convince officers they only had “one drink”—while their car is upside down in a ditch—that’s a teachable moment. That’s a story that, when told with the right mix of humor and clarity, reminds people how absurd and dangerous that behavior really is. Humor gives me a way to sustain the stigma around drunk driving without sounding like a preacher. It lets people shake their heads, maybe laugh at the ridiculousness and still walk away thinking, “Wow. That could’ve ended so much worse.” It lands better. It lingers longer. And if it helps even one person think twice before grabbing their keys after a night out, then it’s working.

But not everything can be light. A lot of our work carries extra weight – when someone is hurt, when lives are changed or when tragedy strikes close to home. In those moments, I turn to empathy. I try to write in a way that honors the people involved and reflects the reality of what happened without sensationalizing it. Behind every radio call is a person. And often, behind that person is a family. There’s always more to the story than what fits in a few lines but again, I only have a few lines to earn your attention. 

Whether I’m sharing a traffic safety reminder or a heartfelt story about an officer’s act of courage, I always try to write as a neighbor, not a faceless voice of a government agency. Because when people feel like they’re being talked to instead of talked at, they’re more likely to listen. And when they understand the why behind what we do, that’s when trust starts to grow.

It’s not just me doing this, either. I may be the one hitting “post,” but I’m speaking on behalf of our team. The officers on our streets. The dispatchers answering the calls. The staff behind the scenes. The supervisors leading with heart. These are the people whose work I have the honor of sharing, and whose stories I try to tell with dignity and heart. We’re all working toward the same goal: making sure our city is safe and connected. We want people to see what’s behind the badge; to know that we care about the people we serve. And if we can build that connection through transparency and heartfelt communication, then we’re telling stories, educating communities and strengthening the very fabric of our own community.

I’ll keep sharing the funny, the serious and everything in between. I’ll keep using humor where it helps. I’ll keep showing the human side of this job. And I’ll keep making sure that when we speak, we do it with purpose, because the words we use shape the trust we build. 

You matter. We matter. And the more we talk like neighbors, the more we’ll continue to grow-together.