Leo’s wariness of Latin is understandable. When the “Habemus Papam” declaring him Pope was delivered in Latin, it encountered , reigniting debate about whether Latin is still useful in the modern era.

Rumors of Latin’s demise are greatly exaggerated, but school districts are planning its funeral. That needs to stop; the first step in planning for Latin’s continued life is to resist the elitist label that studying the language imparts. Latin is an equity tool, and we don’t acknowledge that enough. 

Latin programs across the country are being euthanized. In Needham, Massachusetts, a more than $2 million budget shortfall combined with declining enrollment led the public school district to eliminate its entire high school Latin program. Only 62 students were enrolled across four classes, compared to 945 in Spanish. Latin 1 had already been removed the prior year.

Over in Shaker Heights, Ohio, the district decided to Latin out of the middle school entirely — removing it grade by grade over three years — while technically keeping it at the high school for now. The high school Latin teacher warned it would be unsustainable: Without a middle school feeder, most students simply wouldn’t switch languages.

A t across Denver Public Schools put Latin at risk at Riverside High School, where the teacher noted that the lack of Latin in middle schools was already contributing to low high school enrollment. 

Cutting Latin off in middle school is the death knell for the language. Middle school Latin gets cut first due to low enrollment, which then makes high school Latin unsustainable, creating a self-reinforcing decline; about 80% of students who took Latin in middle school had been continuing it in high school.

That’s why the language is on life support. Only about 1,513 public high schools teach Latin, out of roughly 24,000 high schools total —  about of schools. That’s just public schools; private and Catholic schools push the number higher, but a comprehensive combined figure isn’t tracked precisely. Estimates put total K–12 Latin enrollment at around 210,000 students, which is about of all students studying a foreign language.

This decline is not new: High school Latin students dropped from around 700,000 in , largely due to the post-Sputnik push toward math and science. More recently, Advanced Placement Latin exam takers fell from 6,083 in 2019 to 4,336 in 2025,suggesting continued erosion at the advanced level.

That’s bad for English speakers, as Latin forms the root of nearly two thirds of English vocabulary, especially the advanced words used in science, law and literature. For school-related vocabulary, the figure is 90%. Studying Latin can strengthen reading comprehension, which is why some schools still offer the course. 

It’s time to address the real reason why Latin studies have been declining without many scholars becoming too concerned: the elitism debate. 

Classics always had an elite image — classical knowledge was historically the hallmark of gentility — and parochial and private schools maintained classical standards longer than most public ones.This difference in offerings is most stark in the U.K.: only of private schools.

In the U.S., Latin is especially concentrated in certain types of schools: elite independent prep schools — such as Exeter, Andover and Groton — and Catholic secondary schools where it’s often required. 

But a third type of school is breaking that loop: charter schools. They demonstrate how to keep Latin alive. Classical Charter Schools in the South Bronx offer a tuition-free education in one of the most underserved congressional districts in the U.S., with Latin as a core part of the curriculum. Latin instruction starts in , framed not as prestige-building but as a practical tool: improving English grammar, spelling, vocabulary and readiness to learn other languages.The idea is to flip the script: give low-income kids the same linguistic tools that elite schools have always hoarded.

Latin critics have pointed out that no one speaks the language but that’s not exactly true.  Linguists like Tim Pulju argue that Latin never truly stopped being spoken — it continued in Italy, Gaul, Spain and elsewhere, g into the Romance languages over centuries.There’s an important distinction:  Classical Latin of Cicero and Virgil became fixed and may have died conversationally but Vulgar Latin — what ordinary Romans actually spoke — kept evolving into what we now call Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese and Romanian. 

For Latino students especially, Latin can be framed as the root of their own language, not a foreign elite artifact but something ancestral and relevant. 

Latin is very much alive but it’s limping. Presenting it as an equity tool rather than a classical tradition can change who sees themselves as a potential Latin student and can change curricula — and lives.

This constriction did not emerge from a simple shortage, but from deliberate policy decisions made in the wake of . School closures, discriminatory placements and the mass dismissal and demotion of tens of thousands of Black educators occurred alongside formal compliance with desegregation mandates, all but dismantling the Black teacher pipeline. 

In the decades since these actions were taken, policymakers have enacted a range of initiatives — from grow-your-own teacher programs to financial incentives and certification reforms — to strengthen the Black educator workforce. However, because these efforts have largely taken a general approach, they have not been sufficient to repair the damage at scale. 

Rebuilding the Black teacher pipeline will require sustained, intentional investment in targeted pathways into the profession — particularly programs that provide early, hands-on teaching experience for Black students and aspiring educators.   

One example is the , a five-week summer program offered both virtually and in person at four elementary schools in Philadelphia. It brings together high school and college students who serve as apprentices in classroom- based teaching roles. College-aged Servant Leader Apprentices facilitate instruction, while high school students assist with small-group lessons and classroom activities as Junior Servant Leaders, all under the guidance of experienced educator-coaches who also provide professional development and structured feedback cycles. This builds instructional skill, leadership and a foundation in Black pedagogy. Together, participants gain hands-on experience while supporting students entering first through third grade.  

In 2025, 82 apprentices participated across the five sites. In Servant Leader Apprentice-led classrooms, apprentices delivered culturally responsive literacy instruction, academic enrichment and social–emotional support to approximately 10 elementary students. Through this work, the apprentices experienced the demands of  planning, leading and supporting a classroom — helping many begin to see teaching as both a craft and a viable career.  

This shift in how participants view teaching is reflected in survey data: By the end of the five weeks, interest in teaching among Servant Leader Apprentices rose from 89% to 95%, and 77% of all participants indicated they plan to return the following year. One Junior Servant Leader said, “I learned to be more confident … building bonds was my favorite part.” A Servant Leader Apprentice shared something similar: “My favorite part … was getting to know the scholars and building relationships in my classroom.” In these moments, teaching shifts from an abstract profession to a commitment rooted in trust, care and a growing sense of responsibility.  

Student outcomes improved as well. Nearly nine in 10 scholars in the program met or exceeded literacy growth goals. Students reported increased confidence and a stronger sense of self, and 90% of participating families plan to return. For many students, even if only for the summer, the classroom became a place where academic growth and cultural affirmation went hand in hand — demonstrating the kind of learning environment that attracts and retains future educators.

While not every apprentice enters the classroom immediately, the academy serves as an entryway to a longer pathway into the profession, connecting participants to structured that provide academic support, professional development, financial assistance and ongoing guidance as prospective educators progress toward the profession.  

Taken together, these outcomes point to a larger conclusion: Rebuilding the Black teacher pipeline will require more than initiatives aimed at strengthening the overall educator workforce. It will need investments in opportunities that allow young Black people to experience teaching and see themselves reflected in it. Programs like the academy create those opportunities, helping aspiring educators build confidence in their ability to influence the futures of the students they serve. 

For policymakers, this means investing in early, structured pathways — such as summer learning programs, and — as a core strategy for expanding entry points into the teaching profession. Investments in these programs allow young people to discover, through practice, that teaching is not simply a job, but a form of freedom work, a commitment to the communities that shaped them and to the students who will shape what comes next.    

At a time when Pennsylvania’s Black educator pipeline remains constrained, failing to invest in these emerging educators will only reinforce the conditions that produced the historic gap.  

The question is not whether talent or interest exists — it does. The question is whether  legislators, school systems and advocacy organizations will build and invest in targeted pathways that directly address the specific harm done to the Black teacher pipeline in the wake of Brown v. Board of Education. 

Ironically, the announcement comes as the administration is aggressively inserting itself in state and local education decision-making through a little-known administrative process. 

A General Services Administration that would require almost all applicants for federal funds to certify compliance with federal laws, executive orders and regulations — including non-discrimination laws — would also mandate adherence to the administration’s interpretation of what is discriminatory. In doing so, the announcement suggests that the Trump administration is interested not just in enforcing the law, but in discouraging efforts to increase diversity in education and beyond. 

The document treats “diversity, equity, inclusion and accessibility” initiatives as potentially discriminatory, including, for example, statements used by many employers to encourage applicants from various backgrounds. It rejects what the administration calls “cultural competence” requirements, potentially imperiling teaching practices that connect instruction to students’ backgrounds. And it would likely ban questions asking applicants to describe how they have overcome obstacles, as colleges are increasingly doing in the wake of the 2023 Supreme Court ruling striking down affirmative action in admissions. States and school districts found in violation of the proposed requirements would be subject to funding reductions, civil liability or even criminal prosecution — stark consequences for refusing to conform to administration policy. 

The GSA’s proposal flies in the face of studies showing that teacher diversity benefits all students.

demonstrates that student and teacher diversity in schools and colleges helps Black, Hispanic and other traditionally underserved students achieve in school and beyond. As FutureEd noted in a , when students of color have teachers of color, attendance, academic achievement and college enrollment increase and disciplinary infractions decline. 

The research has an important bearing on the performance of the nation’s schools, given that students of color comprise more than 50% of public-school enrollment nationally, while nearly 80% of teachers in the country’s schools are white.

White students also benefit from having teachers of color. In a of four East Coast school districts, white students who studied under a teacher of color reported working harder and being more confident in their abilities than those who did not. Among the potential reasons for the greater engagement: Teachers of color were more likely to believe that student intelligence is malleable rather than fixed and to address student misbehavior in ways that didn’t damage classroom climate.

For their part, teachers value diversity in their ranks. In a national survey of K-12 teachers conducted for by the RAND Corp., 81% of participants said it is “important or extremely important” for students of color to be taught by teachers of diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds, and 79% said it is “important or extremely important” to have colleagues of diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds.

Of course, subject matter expertise and effective teaching experience should be paramount in hiring decisions. And anyone who receives federal funds should comply with non-discrimination law. But the GSA announcement would put at risk diversity initiatives that are valuable in schools and would seemingly pass legal muster. 

It’s the latest administration move against diversity in education. Weeks into President Donald Trump’s second term, the Department of Education canceled hundreds of millions of dollars in grants awarded under the previous administration that had already been distributed and sought in part to increase educator diversity. 

Then, the department issued a that sought to eliminate DEI programs in school districts and institutions of higher education. It was subsequently struck down by the courts, and the department of Education dropped its appeal in January, only weeks before GSA’s proposal was released. This suggests that the administration is trying to achieve through administrative means what it failed to accomplish with last year’s letter. 

If the Trump administration wants to ensure appropriate enforcement of anti-discrimination laws in education, it has the tools to do so through the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission and the Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights. Unfortunately, the administration last year downsized OCR dramatically, leading a federal court to the reinstatement of hundreds of staffers so the agency could fulfill its duties. And staffing levels at the EEOC are down more than since the end of fiscal year .

The resulting cutback in civil rights enforcement under the Trump administration has been dramatic. As of December, OCR had , compared with 16,500 at the end of the Biden administration. 

Rather than staffing the federal government to enforce civil rights laws, the administration seems to be trying to weaken diversity efforts in schools by intimidating state and local educators with the threat of lost funding, criminal prosecution or civil liability into preemptively complying with its priorities, as it with its Dear Colleague Letter last year. 

But that tactic not only contradicts research on the value of educator diversity; it takes authority over teaching and learning out of the hands of the very leaders McMahon says she wants to empower. 

This bill would grant student members of the right to vote on the decisions the councils take. If passed, out of the 13 votes per council, students would hold two of them. 

CECs consist of elected community members who evaluate the efficacy of educational programs, recommend improvements, approve zoning lines and weigh in on all things related to public education. State law currently requires that two students, serving in student government and nominated by their superintendents, serve on each of the 32 councils and one on each of the four citywide councils.  

Students on these councils attend the meetings, offer feedback and consultation, share informed perspectives — perspectives that carry unique weight because of their lived experience — yet when the time comes to decide, they have no voting power. 

This dichotomy reveals how  deeply shapes our civic relationship with young people. For decades, institutions have them from the democratic process or included them only in token ways.  

Ironically, CECs themselves perpetuate this pattern. Not only do they deny students voting power, but they have also failed to comply with state law requiring student representation. As of 2024, only 14 student seats were filled, leaving at least two-thirds vacant. An honest reflection of the law makes that not surprising. Would you sit on a council if you were the only non-voting member? 

This bill addresses both problems. It increases the number of students on each council and ensures that students not only inform decisions about policies affecting their daily lives but can cast votes on those decisions. It also broadens access by removing a requirement that the student members serve in student government.

When considering the utilitarianism of this bill, it is easy to understand why it hasn’t generated a lot of attention — it seems like an obvious ‘Yes.’ But pragmatism alone doesn’t guarantee success. Lawmakers introduced this bill in 2023 and three years later, it has yet to pass.  

This is particularly concerning as the new mayor and chancellor vow to improve our current governance model that gives the mayor control over our system. CECs are contingent on mayoral control and are expected to provide vital input to both the mayor and chancellor. Giving students a real seat at the table is a simple but important first step they could advocate for. 

The lack of traction likely stems from limited awareness, paired with to fully embrace the burgeoning movement for youth voice and enfranchisement.   

Fortunately, young people deserve the right to inform and influence the policies and practices that affect their daily lives.  

For those of us working in the youth civic and democratic ecosystem, we’ve witnessed young people’s perspectives and impact on policy from communities to the . We trust their judgment and benefit when we listen. This bill asks lawmakers in Albany to extend that trust.  

Research on adolescent development reinforces this need. By their early teens, young people’s brains are developing in ways that heighten their focus on . 

Evidence from the field and research alone will not secure this bill’s passage. Advocates must also demonstrate what this looks like in practice. , the original author of this bill, demonstrates that reality better than anybody in the city. 

For three decades, BroSis has in New York City. These efforts show how capable young people are and how essential their voices remain in galvanizing change. Young leaders bring insight into systematic challenges in ways that very few decision-makers can fathom, such as longstanding racial disparities in education as well as emerging challenges like artificial intelligence. 

EdTrust-New York has seen the same impact. Through the developed in partnership with BroSis and Adelante Student Voices, students have shaped policy conversations on school discipline, suspension rates and equity across the state. Their contributions have improved both the quality and urgency of those discussions. 

Together we view this bill as a catalyst for better informed education policy and a mechanism to ensure direct student representation. It will also help build civic ownership among young people. 

The bill will ensure the education reflects what students actually need. It also signals to young people, who are growing from the lack of access to the democratic process, that New York City is committed to engaging them and elevating their civic power.  

The strength of this bill lies in its practicality, but we should not mistake simplicity for insignificance. As advocates and policymakers consider how to improve mayoral control, they should take this simple and meaningful first step. This bill deserves full-throated support from anyone in New York City who values young people’s perspectives and believes they must play a meaningful role in the civic process. Let’s give high school students, not just a seat at the table, but a vote.

The child care closure at UNO is reflective of a concerning trend: Across the country, universities, school districts and hospitals are shutting down affiliated child care programs at an alarming rate as the cracks in America’s child care system begin to widen into fissures.

Since the beginning of 2025, a growing number of institutions have closed or put forth plans to close on-site child care programs that serve employees and, in the case of universities, student parents. These include universities such as , , and the , along in Washington, Arizona, and Kentucky. During the same time, public K-12 districts — including in Michigan, in Missouri and in Colorado — have announced similar closures, as have hospital systems in , and .

In almost every case, administrators are pointing to rising costs as a key culprit. Indeed, absent public funding, large institutions cannot run a sustainable child care business, particularly as most institutionally-affiliated programs offer tuition discounts to employees. In the case of Baptist Health, a nonprofit health care organization in Arkansas, the system said it $2 million a year operating two of its child care centers.

While there may have been a time when such losses were manageable, these institutions are being buffeted by other headwinds. Many colleges, universities and school districts are dealing with declining enrollment numbers that have . A key federal funding program that helps colleges and universities subsidize child care for student parents — Child Care Access Means Parents in School (CCAMPIS) — has been held flat, which is a functional decrease in the face of inflation and rapidly rising child care costs.

Meanwhile, hospital systems are struggling with Medicaid cuts, rising labor costs, and tariffs increasing the costs of imported medicines and supplies; The American Hospital Association a “perfect storm of financial pressures.” 

The rash of institutional closures should be a stark warning about the future of employer-sponsored child care. That term usually conjures the concept of private companies offering on-site centers or subsidies for child care as a workplace perk. But in practice, these institutions function similarly: They operate on-site child care for their community members, such as staff, students or patients — and in many cases, the programs have been around for decades. In a sense, we might consider institutionally-affiliated child care programs the best-case version of employer-supported care. The institutions are often anchored in public missions, subject to greater accountability and backed by generally reliable funding streams. Yet, even these programs are disappearing.

If institutions designed to serve the public can’t sustain employer-linked child care, it raises a larger question about how realistic it is to . 

It seems clear that, reluctant as the decision may be, child care quickly finds itself on the chopping block when budgets tighten. Often, it is viewed as a nice-to-have for institutions, even while it’s a must-have for families. When programs close and families lose subsidized care, they’re often forced into a wild scramble for a spot among scarce options. With the aforementioned headwinds only projected to worsen, more closures are, unfortunately, likely on the way. 

To be clear, the closures don’t signal that on-site child care is inherently flawed. In fact, the passionate reaction of families and providers show just how valued these programs are. The question is, how should such programs be funded? A model that relies on institutions themselves bearing the cost seems to be breaking down. Similarly, depending on a single funding stream, like CCAMPIS, is clearly risky, as it keeps programs in a constant state of vulnerability — just one unfavorable grant cycle away from collapse.

What’s needed, instead, is a way to wrap institutionally-affiliated child care into a broader publicly-funded system, as is done in nations like and . 

The child care sector may well be entering a phase where Band-Aids like incentivizing employers to offer child care benefits like on-site programs or stipends can no longer hold back the bleeding. If universities and hospital systems — to say nothing of Fortune 500 companies like and — are increasingly unable or unwilling to maintain their child care programs despite evidence of their positive impacts, then a course correction is needed. 

Policymakers are rushing to incentivize employer-sponsored child care at a moment when the American economy is slowing down and financial headwinds are picking up. If there’s any good news, it’s that about five thousand years ago humans invented a way to pool individual resources and redistribute them for collective benefit. In other words, the antidote to institutional child care closures is the same as the antidote to mom and pop child care closures: tax dollars. 

Traditional high-impact tutoring can cost upward of $2,000 per student a year, and staffing is the single biggest constraint. At the same time, shortages of qualified teachers persist, with districts struggling to recruit and retain the educators students need most.

These two crises, a tutoring access gap and a teacher pipeline shortage, are usually treated as separate problems, but they shouldn’t be. Among the full landscape of education interventions, high-impact tutoring is one of the most consistently effective, evidence-based strategies for accelerating student learning. The results are replicable, offering up a solution to both crises that is currently hiding in plain sight.

Each year, more than 600,000 aspiring teachers are enrolled in educator-preparation programs across the country. Another 600,000 college students are employed through as well as state programs, such as . We can, and must, activate these people as tutors for the students who need them most. To do that, policymakers should act on two fronts.

First, unlock Federal Work-Study dollars for tutoring. The infrastructure already exists. Work-Study employs 600,000 college students annually in federally subsidized campus jobs. Redirecting even a fraction of these positions toward high-quality tutoring would create one of the largest, most cost-effective tutoring workforces in the country without requiring new appropriations.

This is already happening. Step Up Tutoring engages college students paid through Federal Work-Study or College Corps at 40 colleges and universities across 15 states, making it one of the fastest-growing Work-Study–powered tutoring programs in the country. Step Up delivers one-on-one virtual tutoring and mentorship to over 5,000 underserved students annually in more than 40 districts across four states. Its students are outperforming peers by wide margins; an independent evaluation found that students receiving tutoring with Step Up gained two to four additional months of learning in math compared to a control group.

Critically, this model both expands the tutoring workforce and strengthens the educator pipeline. This year, 73% of Step Up’s college and high school-aged tutors reported that they are somewhat to strongly interested in pursuing a career in education, and 82% said their Step Up experience increased that interest. As one tutor shared: “Step Up confirmed my desire to go into teaching. I wasn’t sure before, but working with my student has been the most fulfilling part of my week.”

Second, require tutoring experience as a core component of teacher preparation. Many aspiring teachers enrolled in prep programs don’t have an opportunity to regularly practice what they learn until a culminating student teaching experience or a year-long residency near the end of their program. Tutoring can be the lab where theory meets practice earlier in their preparation, allowing candidates to begin working directly with students to practice instructional skills and identify and use high-quality instructional materials in real time.

Deans for Impact’s partnerships with nearly 300 prep programs demonstrate that aspiring teachers grow more skilled, confident and effective when they have structured opportunities to engage in on-the-job learning early and often. Through a pilot designed to prepare aspiring-teacher tutors to identify and effectively use high quality materials, there was an average 20-plus percentage-point growth in instructional skills and knowledge among participants. Findings also showed an average overall increase of over 49% in tutors’ feelings of preparedness to teach.

When tutoring is embedded into preparation, and not treated as an add-on, aspiring educators build instructional skills earlier, with support, before stepping into the complexity of full-classroom teaching. Districts gain a steadier, stronger pipeline. And states produce teachers who know how to accelerate learning from day one.

There is another reason to be optimistic about the effectiveness of these novice tutors. Increasingly, AI-powered tools can provide real-time instructional guidance, helping tutors decide what to teach, how to explain concepts and how to respond when students struggle. This is not about replacing the human relationship at the center of effective tutoring; it is about ensuring that every willing tutor, regardless of prior experience, can deliver consistent, high-quality instruction.

If we act on these two priorities — unlocking Work-Study funding and embedding tutoring in teacher preparation — we can solve two critical problems at once. Students gain the academic support and human relationships they desperately need. And more young adults can build their confidence and skills in teaching from the start. In the process, they establish a habit of service that will shape the rest of their careers.

Despite the sunset of ESSER funds, the federal government has continued to foster momentum by elevating tutoring as a priority in existing and future grant competitions. In December 2025, the U.S. Department of Education awarded $256 million via the to scale tutoring and improve literacy. Also in December, a growing bipartisan, bicameral coalition of Congressional leaders re-introduced the PATHS to Tutor Act to scale local partnerships working to embed tutoring into teacher training. 

But the next step must be bolder: we need a comprehensive, national strategy that integrates tutoring into the fabric of teacher preparation and channels federal dollars toward improving academic outcomes while simultaneously cultivating the next generation of educators. 

Frederick Douglass’ advice is a blueprint for a brighter future for men in America. Unfortunately, fewer and fewer men are volunteering in the lives of young men, and the number of male educators has been dropping consistently over the past 30 years. According to the American Institute for Boys and Men, only 27% of men volunteered in 2023, five points lower than women. At the same time, the share of male teachers has dropped from 30% in 1988 to 23% in 2022. 

According to professor and author Scott Galloway, “The single greatest point of failure when a young boy comes off the tracks is when he loses a male role model.” With boys falling behind in schools while struggling with anxiety and depression at home, we are reaping the effects of the lack of male volunteers in our communities and schools. 

April is National Volunteer Month, an opportunity to celebrate the men and women who sacrifice their time to support a worthy cause. And as the world celebrates the 50th Anniversary of National Volunteer Month, we not only recognize the impact volunteers have on others, but we also appreciate the lasting benefit giving one’s time has on the volunteer. 

Americans increasingly support mandatory national service, with more than two-thirds of Americans backing it for 18-22 year-olds. Surprisingly, that support is even higher among young people ages 18-24, three-quarters of whom back mandatory national service. Parents support requiring their children to serve with such programs as the Big Brothers Big Brothers of America, AmeriCorps, Teacher For America, City Year or the United States Peace Corps. The largest group of parents with children expected to serve (ages 38 to 44) endorse mandatory national service at a rate of 62%. 

Volunteering also benefits the volunteers, especially for men who are reporting to be more lonely and less connected to their communities. The data is clear, volunteering will give men more social connection, positive health outcomes, and better mental health. The irony is that while young boys need male mentors and teachers, programs that offer volunteer opportunities are reporting less and less participation by men. 

In March, I celebrated Peace Corps Week and my time as an education volunteer in South Africa. Peace Corps Week honors how the service opportunity fosters connections and contributes to meaningful change — in the United States and around the world. Since 1961, over 240,000 American men and women have dedicated over two years of their life to serving in more than 60 developing countries around the world. Today more than 3,000 Peace Corps volunteers are serving: 56% of them are female, while about 44% are male. 

The shortage of men volunteering is not limited to international work; women are outpacing men at home too. Big Brother Big Sisters of America reports that more than 70% of children on their waitlist are boys because of a lack of Big Brothers. Similarly, only 32% of AmeriCorps volunteers, 34% of Teach For America members, and 39% of City Year volunteers are men. 

My time as a Peace Corps volunteer over 25 years ago sparked my career in education. My own experience makes me believe that targeting male volunteers could be the answer to closing the gap of male teachers in America. Nearly 40% of all Peace Corps volunteers are focused on the education sector in their host country, the largest group among all the programs. Men who serve as education volunteers are trained to teach subjects like English as a foreign language , math, science and special education in a foreign country. 

The experience these men gain serving in their host communities is often brought home and applied locally when they return. Nearly two-thirds of volunteers who serve as teachers in the Peace Corps work in the education section in America upon completion of their service. Similarly, more than half of the men and women who complete their City Year service work in education. 

States are already leading. Maryland requires 75 hours of community service for students to qualify for graduation and has just launched a “Young Men and Boys Initiative” to increase mentor recruitment and create pathways for young men. 

Other states have worked to promote volunteering as well, including: 

• California launched a statewide initiative seeking 10,000 men to serve as mentors, tutors and coaches to combat rising suicide rates, social disconnection and declining college attendance among young men. 
• Washington enacted a National Mentoring Month campaign to address the need for male mentors.
• Virginia created a Boys to Men Mentoring Network with local chapters focusing on young men.
• Arizona partnered with Big Brothers Big Sisters of America to launch a statewide campaign to recruit male mentors.
• Wisconsin organized events to help recruit Black male mentors for young boys.

Nonprofits and male membership organizations have begun taking the lead as well. Big Brothers Big Sisters of America are partnering with greek letter membership organizations like Alpha Phi Alpha, Kappa Alpha Psi and Omega Psi Phi to increase the number of African-American male mentors.

In Georgia, the National Parents Union celebrates their NPU Parent Week of Action by encouraging men to volunteer in local schools. Through NPU and Black Male Educators, fathers and father-figures serve as bus monitors and crossing guards. The program has been a tremendous success leading to volunteers even becoming bus drivers. In other instances, these organizations are connecting fathers with opportunities to volunteer in classrooms reading to students. Introducing fathers into their children’s schools as volunteers could be the first step to them becoming teachers. 

We can do this, we can connect men with volunteer opportunities that give them meaning and purpose. For men who volunteer and find passion in mentoring young men and boys, opportunities to transition into teaching should be easier and less expensive. We need more male teachers; being laser focused on partnering with volunteer programs could be a silver bullet.

What gets discussed far less often is that this pattern rarely begins in third or fifth grade, when participation gaps become easier to see. It begins in children’s first classroom experiences, where they learn whether speaking feels safe, whether mistakes are survivable and whether the classroom has room for the way they enter language.

The problem is not simply that some children talk more than others. It is that schools often mistake fast, public participation for understanding and then build opportunity around that mistake. A child who speaks quickly and often is usually read as engaged, confident and capable. A child who hesitates, watches or offers little is more likely to be read as uncertain, underprepared or less able.

Yet speaking in front of others is not a simple measure of understanding. It requires children to process a question, organize language quickly, tolerate public attention and respond while everyone is listening. For multilingual learners, it may also mean searching across languages while monitoring pronunciation and trying not to make a visible mistake.

What can look like “just talking” is often thinking under pressure.

When schools confuse reduced public response with reduced competence, they begin shaping a trajectory. That trajectory is rarely built through cruelty or obvious exclusion. More often, it emerges through small instructional decisions that seem reasonable on the surface. When participation in whole-group discussion decreases, teachers—often out of care—may call on certain students less, simplify questions or stop asking for elaboration. Meanwhile, other students are invited to explain, justify, extend and defend their thinking.

Each decision appears minor, but over time they accumulate. Opportunities to demonstrate complexity expand for some students and quietly contract for others. This is how underestimation takes root in schools — not through overt exclusion, but through a subtle redistribution of opportunity.

The problem deepens when educators collapse many different experiences into the single category of “quiet.” From the outside, quiet students can look similar, but the reasons beneath the silence are not. Some are fluent and expressive in low-pressure settings but constricted in public ones. Others understand directions in two languages and still shut down the moment speaking becomes public.

In everyday classroom moments — during snack, in play, or beside one trusted peer — these same children often become animated and engaged. Expression can expand quickly when pressure is lowered, home language is welcomed, or an adult creates space for response.

In one kindergarten classroom, a child who rarely spoke during group instruction began, almost invisibly, by moving his chair a few inches closer to the circle each day. The teacher noticed and named the shift without demanding more than he was ready to offer. “You came closer today,” she told him, and later, “I see you’re staying with us.”

Within days, he began whispering answers to a partner, and within weeks he was participating in small-group discussion. His language had not suddenly changed. The environment had. That is the point schools too often miss: Participation begins before speech.

In early classrooms, many children participate long before they do so in polished verbal form. They move closer to the group, track the teacher’s face, point instead of answering, imitate actions, sort materials, whisper to peers or respond through gesture and gaze. These are not lesser forms of participation. They are participation in its earliest form.

Yet schools often reward only the most visible and verbally fluent version of engagement, while everything that comes before it is treated as secondary. For multilingual learners and other cautious children, this creates a profound mismatch: their bodies are already engaged while the classroom waits for a kind of public speech they are not yet ready to produce.

If schools want to turn this around, they do not need an expensive new program. They need to stop treating the fastest and most exposed form of response as the clearest proof of understanding.

That shift begins with classroom routines. Before asking for a public answer, teachers can build in real “think time” —10 or 15 seconds that give students a chance to process before the quickest voices take over. They can let students rehearse with a partner before whole-group discussion, so the first public response is not also the first act of language formation.

They can ask students to point to evidence, sketch an idea, jot a sentence or sort materials before speaking aloud. They can return to a child after another voice has entered the conversation, instead of treating one missed moment as closure. And they can widen what counts as participation so that gesture, writing, peer explanation, and home-language processing are recognized as evidence of thought.

Teachers can also lower the social risk built into participation by slowing the pace when questions become more demanding, avoiding rapid-fire questioning that rewards only the quickest responders, and making hesitation less punishing. “Take a second and think” invites participation differently than “Come on, you know this.” “Show me first” opens a door that “Use your words” can close.

Just as important, teachers can look for patterns instead of drawing conclusions from isolated moments. A student who is silent in whole-group discussion but expressive in play, writing, small groups or in another language is not showing an absence of understanding. That variability is information: It shows that expression is conditional, not fixed, and that classroom conditions shape what becomes visible.

These moves do not lower rigor — they make it more accurate. Rigor is not how fast a child can speak in front of others. It is whether a classroom can recognize thought before it arrives in its most polished, public form.

When silence is misinterpreted early, the consequences extend far beyond one discussion. Expectations drift downward. Opportunities narrow. Referrals increase. Children acquire identities they did not choose: hesitant, low, disengaged, behind. What begins as a participation gap becomes an opportunity gap, and over time the system names what it helped create.

The student who lowers her hand is not always unsure, unmotivated or disengaged. She may be calculating whether the room is safe enough for the way she speaks, whether there is time to find language without being rushed, and whether what she is about to say will be met with patience or correction. If schools want more students to participate, they should stop treating voice as something children either have or do not.

Participation is not a trait — it is a condition. Quiet students do not need louder prompts. They need safer entry points. If schools understood that earlier, they might stop asking why some students do not raise their hands and start asking the more important question: What have we taught them participation will cost?

Once a month at Impact Puget Sound Elementary, I break it on purpose.

We call it Hallway Holler. About once a month, teachers nominate scholars who have embodied our school’s Core Values and Commitments in meaningful ways. Those students get to sprint down the hallway — full speed, arms pumping, sneakers squeaking — while their classmates line the walls, arms outstretched to form a tunnel, cheering as loud as they possibly can. Teachers run right alongside their kids. The noise is glorious. The joy is real.

I know how that sounds. But I’d argue it’s one of the most direct things I do to address one of American education’s most stubborn problems: getting kids to show up.

Hallway Holler started at our Tukwila campus, in a single ground-floor hallway, almost as a small experiment. The idea was simple: Take something we care deeply about — our core values — and make the recognition of it feel like the biggest deal in the building. It worked so well, so fast, that we expanded it to all four of our schools and moved it to monthly. Now it’s a founding pillar of who we are as a charter school network.

What I didn’t fully anticipate was what it would mean to the kids. One first grader told me: “My favorite part is that we get to run. When I am chosen to run, and people are cheering for me, it makes me feel proud of myself.” A fourth grader put it even more plainly: “I always want to be at school to see if I am running again. I want to work even harder.”

When we surveyed families about what they wanted as we expanded to middle school, Hallway Holler came up unprompted. Not from parents. From kids. Students told their families about it. That feedback loop — from a child’s excitement to a family’s sense of belonging — is not something I could have manufactured with a policy memo.

I want to be honest about what Hallway Holler is not. It is not a reward for perfect behavior or a prize for the most popular kids in class. Teachers nominate scholars who have embodied our values in meaningful ways: spreading kindness in the classroom, in common spaces, at recess and beyond. Recognition rotates, so that every child gets seen across the year for something real. 

 I think about one of our fourth graders who, just a year ago, struggled to find his footing. Third grade had been difficult: academically, socially and in how he experienced school. This year, he set a goal: to show up each day as his best self. He knew Hallway Holler wasn’t about perfection, but about growth. 

Over time, through small consistent choices like choosing kindness in the classroom, supporting peers at recess, and taking responsibility when things went wrong, he grew! He even stepped up as a buddy to a younger class. When his name was finally called for Hallway Holler, it wasn’t for being the loudest or the most polished. It was for that steady, daily effort.

Since then, he has grown more than 15 points in both reading and math, a reflection of what can happen when a student feels seen, valued and motivated to keep showing up.

The kids who aren’t running this month are forming the tunnel, dancing and cheering and sending love as their peers sprint past. They are part of it too. And they know their moment is coming.

That deliberateness matters. This isn’t about performance or perfection. It’s about the ongoing, daily work of noticing kids — and then making that noticing feel like the biggest deal in the building.

The joy work and the academic work are not in competition. They are the same work,and the field doesn’t talk about that enough.

Chronic absenteeism is one of the most stubborn problems in American public education, and the conversation around it tends to focus almost entirely on removing obstacles — calling families, connecting them to resources, offering transportation. All of that matters and we do all of that. But that framing treats attendance as a problem to be solved rather than a behavior to be motivated. What gets talked about far less is the other side of the equation: making school a place kids are genuinely, viscerally excited to return to. 

And when kids are in school, they’re learning. At Impact Puget Sound Elementary, 65.3% of our students meet grade-level standards in ELA and 65.8% in math — outpacing our local district, Tukwila School District, by 13.9 percentage points in ELA and 25.8 points in math. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. 

A child cannot learn on a day they are not here — and a child who wants to be here shows up. At Impact Puget Sound, we have over 90% average daily attendance which places us on pace with and slightly above the national average for all students. Nationally, schools where 75% or more of students qualify for Free and Reduced Lunch average attendance rates of 80% to 85%. At Impact Puget Sound, where 79% of our students qualify, we’re at 90.8% — a gap our team and families have earned.

But it requires knowing your community well enough to find the specific version of joy that lands for your specific kids. For us, it turned out to be something as elemental as permission to run in the hallways while your whole school cheers your name.

Some of my students don’t fully understand the data behind attendance yet. They don’t know what chronic absenteeism costs them in the long run. But they know the feeling of rounding a corner at full speed. They know their teacher is running beside them. They know that this — this specific, loud, joyful moment — only happens because they showed up and lived our values.

That’s enough. For now, that’s everything.

Pacheco is one of approximately 15,000 residents in what is known as America’s first solar-powered town, defined by its environmental vision, hurricane and strong sense of community. Since welcoming its first residents in January 2018, Babcock Ranch’s population has soared, with plans to reach 50,000 in the years ahead.

As this future-focused community grows, its K-12 education landscape is expanding alongside it, shaped by the same spirit of innovation. With a rising assortment of public schooling, homeschooling and micro-schooling options, Babcock Ranch offers a distinct snapshot of today’s evolving education offerings and the families who choose them.

“It’s kind of like choose your own education adventure,” said Laura Felker, who moved to Babcock Ranch from Colorado last spring. She enrolled her son in kindergarten at the Babcock Neighborhood School, a public charter school that opened in 2017, just a few months ahead of the community’s first residents. Babcock High School, also a public charter school, launched in 2022.

Felker was attracted to the school’s commitment to project-based learning, which is embedded into the curriculum. Her son has excelled at Babcock Neighborhood School, but when she heard about a new school opening in Babcock Ranch this fall, she was intrigued. Her son is academically advanced and in need of a more challenging learning environment, while also thriving with project-based learning. “I wanted some kind of meet-in-the-middle microschool,” said Felker, explaining that she was looking for a school that would blend the flexibility of homeschooling with the structure of traditional schooling, while prioritizing hands-on, project-based learning.

“Primer is able to do that,” said Felker, referring to the venture-backed K-8 private school network that is opening a Babcock Ranch location this fall. Founded in 2019 by Ryan Delk, expects to have 19 teacher-led campuses across Alabama, Arizona, Florida and Texas in the upcoming school year — including Babcock Ranch. The company did not disclose its network-wide enrollment numbers or current registration figures for Babcock Ranch, but Felker says that many of her neighbors are excited about this new model.

“Hands-on learning is going to become incrementally more and more important,” said Felker, who leads data and AI strategy for a Silicon Valley-based company. She sees first-hand how emerging technologies are impacting the workplace and shaping the jobs of the future, and she wants a schooling environment for her son, and his two younger siblings, that mixes core academics with ample time for creative, community-based projects. “I want that to be part of his schooling, so when Primer came, I think I was one of the first people to reach out because this is the exact thing that I’m looking for,” she said.

Emerging schooling models like Primer are taking root in communities across the country, as families look for more personalized education options. In states such as Florida, expanding school choice policies make these models financially accessible to more families. Felker expects most of Primer’s tuition to be covered by the state’s education savings account programs.

While some parents like Felker use ESA funding toward private school tuition, today’s programs often enable much greater customization of learning. In Florida, for example, families are eligible for funding through the state’s Personalized Education Program, an ESA enabling them to tailor their children’s education in myriad ways, including covering homeschooling expenses, tutoring services, curriculum resources, online learning and part-time school fees.

This flexible funding, averaging about $8,000 per student per year, is what Pacheco uses to educate her 13-year-old daughter, Bella. When the family moved to Babcock Ranch in the summer of 2024 following that enchanting Friday night visit, Pacheco began homeschooling Bella, who had previously attended a public elementary school from kindergarten through fifth grade. 

Pacheco liked the school, but she wanted something more for Bella as she entered her middle school years. “I always felt like the public school wasn’t the best fit,” said Pacheco, a nurse practitioner who helped to co-found a family medicine practice with three Florida locations, including a new one opening soon in Babcock Ranch. “It’s like a one size fits all, but that’s not how people are,” said Pacheco, who was particularly concerned about the frequent focus on standardized testing in the public schools and the anxiety it created for her daughter.  

When she moved into Babcock Ranch, Pacheco discovered a large and vibrant homeschooling community. “There are so many homeschooling groups,” she said, often gathering for park meet-ups, enrichment activities and field trips to the aquarium and similar spots. Parents also take turns hosting lessons at their homes, which supplements the online curriculum that Bella uses for her core academics. “It’s like a little homeschool village here. I love it,” said Pacheco, adding that Bella is much happier than she was in a conventional classroom.

Babcock Ranch was designed to be a modern-day village, where community life is intentionally built. That same intentionality is shaping how Babcock Ranch families choose to educate their children. From project-based charter schools to homeschooling to emerging models like Primer, families have a growing array of learning options to consider.  

In Babcock Ranch, this variety isn’t only reserved for K-12 education. options are sprouting, and the community recently a partnership with Florida Gulf Coast University to create a new sustainability-focused campus center at Babcock Ranch.

“There is a lot of educational opportunity here, and it just keeps evolving for every layer of education,” said Felker. “It’s cool to see that type of vibrancy.”

This feeling of frustration is one that leaders at New York’s know well. Situated between Rochester and Syracuse, this rural district of 750 students is often seen as a stepping stone by educators. Many new teachers get a few years under their belt, then take off for higher-paying suburban schools. 

Even before the pandemic hit, Clyde-Savannah experienced a districtwide employee turnover rate of 25%. This churn, particularly among teachers and support staff, disrupted the continuity and quality of students’ learning. At the elementary level alone, six to seven teachers out of 21 would leave in any given year.

Experienced educators carry institutional knowledge about curriculum implementation, assessment practices, and effective strategies for meeting student needs. When a large portion of staff leaves each year, districts must repeatedly rebuild this expertise. While new teachers often bring enthusiasm and fresh ideas, their learning curve can affect the consistency of instruction and student outcomes, at least temporarily.

As superintendent for Clyde-Savannah, I knew the district could not compete on salary. Instead, school leaders and board members focused on what we were able to control: the district culture. Could we build a better workplace, where people felt genuinely supported? Could we reduce teachers’ stress, both inside and outside the classroom? Most importantly, could we create an environment where educators were excited to come to school each day?

By reimagining its approach to recruitment, the district increased its overall employee retention rate to 98% from 2023 to 2025 and made Clyde-Savannah a top choice for prospective teachers. Finalists who were speaking with neighboring districts or had received offers told our interviewers they had withdrawn those applications in order to accept positions at Clyde-Savannah. In addition, I have seen first-year teachers choose to relocate to the Clyde-Savannah community, which is key, as early-career educators typically move only when they view a district as a place to build both a career and a lasting home.

The district’s approach to changing its culture took several forms. First, through conversations with staff and teachers, district leaders discovered that a lack of accessible and affordable child care was often the biggest deterrent to employment. Many talented educators were leaving the classroom because the high cost of child care made working full time financially impractical.

To ease the burden on working families, the district opened a for all employees in 2023. Rather than contract services to outside caregivers, Clyde-Savannah became the first school system approved by the New York Office of Family and Child Services to operate a district-run child care center. Today, 18 children between the ages of 6 weeks and 4 years attend the program each day, providing families with much-needed support while ensuring their little ones will be ready for kindergarten.

For many employees, but especially support staff and teacher’s aides earning minimum wage, the program has been life-changing. For one, being relieved of the cost of child care means she was able to purchase a car for her family. Another teacher chose Clyde-Savannah because the availability of care made it possible for him and his wife to both pursue the careers they wanted.

For Clyde-Savannah teachers and staff, the cost savings and peace of mind of knowing their children are well cared for outweigh the lure of a modest salary bump a district away.

The second initiative involved filling a longstanding gap in what had been a coffee shop desert. As a small town, Clyde lacked a spot for teachers, staff and students to grab their daily caffeine fix. So the district turned a high school classroom into a café that rivals popular coffee chains. 

The coffee shop is staffed by trained student volunteers who earn community service hours toward graduation. In the process, these young baristas gain hands-on experience in food preparation, customer service and promotion, equipping them with marketable skills.

Students prepare drinks using standard coffee shop equipment, such as brewers, syrups and espresso-style machines. The cafe serves walk-in customers, makes deliveries to all district buildings during designated times of the day and stays open after school hours to accommodate staff, visitors, teachers and community members attending meetings or activities after 3 p.m.

Because many school bus drivers are on the road during the shop’s regular hours, the district created a drive-through option just for them. Drivers can pull up their bus outside the school doors, and students will bring out their coffee order — a small but meaningful way to include transportation staff.

When the café first launched, the district lacked the budget for paid staff. So, I stepped in as store manager, working at 6 in the morning to help get everything prepped for the day ahead. Eventually, because of the café’s popularity, it earned enough money to pay for a full-time manager to run the shop. 

By creatively addressing a community need, Clyde-Savannah demonstrated that the district is actively listening and responding to its staff. Teachers value having a place in which to connect, collaborate and recharge. At the same time, prospective hires see this investment in staff well-being as an advantage when comparing offers from other districts. As competition intensifies for a shrinking applicant pool of qualified teachers, small districts must think creatively to set themselves apart. Higher salaries are important, but compensation does not always guarantee fulfillment. For many educators, job satisfaction comes from feeling happy, supported and genuinely appreciated — benefits that cannot be measured in dollars alone.

Child care during nontraditional hours — including early mornings, evenings, nights and weekends — is a growing need for American families. Flexible care with variable hours from week to week is also in demand.

In many homes across the country, work happens outside of 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. The best available data, drawn from the past decade, suggest that in some states live with a parent who works nonstandard hours, and that accommodate those schedules — though these figures rely on data collected before the pandemic. These data also indicate that work outside traditional hours is common in families that have lower incomes. 

Expanding access to equitable child care options requires careful attention to the diverse child care needs of working families. For a parent who starts a shift as a nursing assistant at 7 a.m., works overnight as a hotel receptionist or drives for a ride share service as a second job on the weekend, , as many licensed child care programs follow a more conventional schedule. Challenges also exist for parents who work jobs with rotating shifts, who not only require care outside of normal business hours, but also need the hours to be flexible. 

To ensure that working families can thrive, the child care sector needs more public investment in child care settings that offer care during nontraditional hours and increased support for the workforce needed to deliver it. When designing a universal child care system, policymakers must consider the growing population of parents working outside traditional business hours and should incorporate the following three principles.

Include home-based child care providers in policy design. Right now, most child care during nontraditional hours is , rather than by licensed child care providers. In other words, by people families trust who care for children in ways that resemble parental care. This type of arrangement — known as family, friend and neighbor (FFN) care — is in the U.S. child care system. This trend points to both a preference and a gap: Families rely on familiar, home-based care during these hours, yet the supply of licensed child care that is open during these hours simply isn’t there. Building a universal child care system that is responsive to families’ needs will require recruiting and investing in licensed family child care providers and FFN caregivers who operate outside of child care licensing systems. Building policies that include the full range of home-based providers will require creative solutions, such as community-based peer support groups and access to resources and materials related to caring for children. 

Create fair working conditions and compensation for providers who offer care during nontraditional hours. Increasing child care access for working families must prioritize investment in the workforce caring for children during . These providers face some of the in an already strained sector: low pay, unpredictable schedules, on-call demands for families that need last minute child care or need to change hours without notice, and the strain of balancing their own family responsibilities with offering child care. Many FFN caregivers provide child care for their families . Expanding child care options that meet the needs of families working nontraditional hours requires intentional strategies that ensure a livable wage for paid child care workers and compensation for FFN caregivers — many of whom indicate for their work. These approaches must also reflect that the cost of care varies by time of day. 

Right-size standards and regulations to reflect the realities of providers caring for babies and children during nonstandard hours. Finally, quality and regulatory frameworks must evolve to recognize that care at 10 p.m. does not look like care at 10 a.m. Children’s development during nontraditional hours is shaped by like shared meals, bedtime stories and quiet, unstructured time. Systems that measure quality solely through daytime standards risk missing — such as healthy sleep practices and creating calm and comfortable environments — while placing unnecessary burdens on providers. Universal child care systems should offer tailored professional development that reflects the realities of care at night and on weekends — focused less on building lesson plans and more on developing routines, relationships and supporting children through transitions like bedtime or early wake-ups.

As states and cities build universal child care programs, ensuring access to child care beyond standard work hours must be a central goal. By embracing a mixed-delivery system that values all types of care, investing in compensation and professional development, and developing appropriate standards, early adopters of universal child care initiatives can provide an example of how to create policies that meet the needs of all working families.

Student demographics are shifting so that in just six years, districts have lost nearly 2 million students nationwide. Meanwhile, charter schools gained about half a million, private schools added thousands more, and homeschooling rates remain higher than pre-pandemic levels. These shifts look different depending on where you live, but almost no district is immune. The result: Traditional district schools are serving a shrinking share of a shrinking market. 

In many states, options that used to be considered fringe alternatives are now much more accessible. Policy shifts favor charter schools and open enrollment across district lines; and education savings accounts and tax credit scholarships incentivize alternative school options. 

This means the traditional assumption that most students in a district’s boundaries will attend its schools no longer holds. It also means districts need to rethink how they can continue to successfully serve their students and communities. And it means that it is more important than ever to think about how districts and states serve students with disabilities so they don’t fall through the cracks. 

Enrollment declines create immediate pressure. Districts still have to maintain buildings, transportation systems and central office functions even as student numbers fall. Political realities often make it difficult to close under-enrolled schools. And districts must continue to meet legal obligations, especially for students with disabilities.

Over time, this leads to hard tradeoffs. Resources shift away from classrooms just to keep systems running. Meanwhile, are often the first to leave. That can concentrate marginalized students and students with disabilities in the schools with the fewest resources and the least capacity to adapt. Staffing becomes harder. Financial strain grows. Academic outcomes can suffer.

Left unchecked, this becomes a downward spiral that, in some places, ends in state intervention or financial insolvency. States will increasingly face a choice: develop a new playbook for districts or manage the consequences of decline. 

Two paths districts must pursue at the same time

For decades, districts operated as vertically integrated systems: They ran the schools, delivered the services and served nearly every student in their area.

That model no longer reflects reality. Today’s districts face two distinct but connected challenges:

First, they must compete for students by offering schools and programs that families will actively choose. That means understanding what families want and building options that respond to those preferences.

Second, they must support a broader ecosystem of public education,finding ways to serve students, families and schools beyond those they directly operate. 

Districts that succeed will do both.

Competing today isn’t about marketing existing schools more effectively. It’s about rethinking what schools look like.

Some districts are already moving in this direction. Orange County, Florida, is facing enrollment declines for the first time in decades. To meet new demands, they’re exploring screen-free microschools and other specialized programs. Elsewhere, districts have launched classical education schools modeled on approaches gaining traction in the private sector. In Houston, a district-run virtual academy now serves more than 11,000 students, helping offset losses elsewhere.

The most effective efforts share a common thread: They start with understanding what families want and build new models from the ground up.

Other cities like Denver, New York City, Indianapolis and New Orleans have expanded school options while maintaining common enrollment processes, accountability frameworks and access to services like transportation and special education.

States can accelerate this work by removing barriers. Creating more flexibility around staffing, seat-time requirements and program rules can make it easier for districts to launch microschools, hybrid programs and career pathways that reflect how families want their students to learn.

At the same time, districts can no longer afford to disengage from families who choose other options.

In many places, families are piecing together education across multiple providers: a few district classes, an online program, tutoring or homeschooling. In Florida, more than half of districts now offer classes or services to students using scholarships or education savings accounts, often on a fee-for-service basis. This keeps districts connected to students and creates new revenue streams.

But doing this well requires clearer rules. Questions about pricing, accountability and safety are often unresolved. States can help by setting expectations for part-time enrollment and unbundled services, making it easier for districts to participate while protecting students.

There’s also an opportunity to simplify choice. Many families just want an education that works; they don’t want to have to navigate a complex marketplace of options.

Even as student enrollment declines, districts will continue to control significant assets: buildings, buses, food services and specialized expertise,especially in areas like special education. 

Those assets don’t have to sit underutilized. Districts that partner with charter schools offer a template for how to use these assets in new and novel ways. In places like Miami, Indianapolis, Camden and San Antonio, charter schools have been able to lease space, opt into transportation or food service or purchase maintenance and security services. This lowers barriers for new providers, improves use of taxpayer-funded infrastructure and creates revenue streams for districts. 

Districts can also play a larger role in delivering specialized services, particularly special education. Smaller schools often lack the capacity to provide comprehensive support for students with disabilities. With the right funding and flexibility, districts can offer these services across multiple schools and providers. 

States set the conditions for success

Districts didn’t become rigid by accident. State policies that impact funding formulas, staffing rules, accountability systems have shaped the current model. Now those policies need to evolve.

States can help districts adapt by:

• Funding students, not systems, while maintaining strong accountability
  
• Removing barriers that limit innovation and flexibility, such as seat time requirements or teacher certification rules
  
• Clarifying rules for part-time enrollment and shared services
  
• Ensuring districts are compensated for serving non-enrolled students
  
• Modernizing facilities policies to support shared use
  
• Stepping in when districts cannot or will not adapt

The era of school districts as monopolies is over. But their core mission remains: ensuring every student has access to a high-quality education.

The question is not whether districts will change. It’s whether they will change fast enough, in ways that strengthen, rather than weaken, public education.

Districts that embrace both being a competitor and a connector have a path forward. With the right support from states, they can remain central, trusted institutions in a more dynamic and diverse education landscape. 

Disclosure: Travis Pillow wrote this commentary while working as the director of thought leadership and growth at Step Up For Students. He has since taken on a new role as a spokesperson for the Texas Education Freedom Accounts program at the Texas Comptroller’s Office.

Instead of being asked to score at least a on tests of English Language Arts, mathematics, social studies, science and one optional exam, New York students will be assessed using standards. 

It is yet unclear as to who will be evaluating whether they can be considered:

• academically prepared
• creative innovators
• critical thinkers
• effective communicators
• global citizens
• reflective and future-focused

It is also unclear what the criteria for succeeding in each category will be.

When I asked parent subscribers to my mailing list how they felt about the shift, the answers split starkly into two camps.

There were those who cheered. Josh Kross, father of two high schoolers and one graduate, wrote, “Regents are outdated. Good riddance.” Moria Herbst added, “Other states don’t have them. Certainly not in Massachusetts, where I grew up. And Massachusetts does just fine!”

“I am deeply in favor of moving away from a standardized testing model,” said E.J., the Washington Heights parent of a first grader. “While Portrait of a Graduate is still being worked on as to how it will actually function, I’m encouraged by the idea and the possibility of it being a more complete picture of the human we’re sending out into the world.”

Other parents, however, were less enthused.

“Portrait of a Graduate is so fuzzy as to be meaningless,” wrote Rachel Fremmer, dismissively. “I didn’t think standards could be lowered any further, but they have been.” 

“It seems like a process that will make things more subjective for teachers, and thus less fair for many students,” opined Marina. “This seems like a vague requirement that will allow parents with resources even more leverage.”

Yiatin Chu, mom of a ninth grader, went even further, saying, “For those who criticize the Regents as a low bar/waste of time, why aren’t we improving it and making it more rigorous instead? Portrait of a Graduate is aspirational — over 40% of eighth grade students are entering high school not reading at grade level. I see the change to these graduation metrics for HS graduation as a way for the system to push kids out the door.”

New York City already faces the issues of straight A students being unable to perform equally well — or even pass — state elementary and middle school tests, not to mention high school Regents exams.

“Without objective tests, there is no way to gauge what kids are actually learning,” Diane Rubenstein predicted. “This will allow the (Department of Education) to give kids nothing in the classroom. This will give (them) cover to not teach.”

“Removing this requirement dilutes education standards even further,” agreed AW. “It plays very well into the current administration’s program of ‘equity,’ aka ‘mediocrity for all.’ It disincentivizes kids from learning and teaches them that if something is hard, just protest and it will be removed from your path, even to your detriment.”

For many parents, the perceived lowering of standards will hurt city students when it comes to competing not just nationally, but internationally.

“If USA high schools become less competitive, that’s not good for the next generation,” Jenny worried, while Ella added, “Our kids will fall behind other countries. We are already falling behind in the world. My kids cannot compete with foreign students.”

Of the that currently have high-school exit exams in place, New Jersey ranked No. 2 in the country for educational achievement for 2025, Virginia was No. 13, Ohio was No. 15, Florida was No. 19, Texas No. 31 and Louisiana No. 35. (Massachusetts, which got rid of its exit exams in 2025, is, as noted above, ranked No. 1. However, that ranking was achieved while the state still had its exit exam up through last year.)

In New York, while students will no longer be required to sit for Regents exams in order to graduate, they will still have the option of taking them in order to earn a .

This could have the effect of widening the gaps between students, rather than improving equity. Colleges and employers will be able to see who earned a Regents diploma and who opted to bypass established standards via a more subjective metric, which could imply less academic rigor.

Like those rejected from colleges that went SAT/ACT scores because they realized those were a reliable predictor of applicants’ capabilities, students who choose not to take the Regents exams could find themselves negatively perceived and penalized.

“I understand the growing pressure to move away from standardized testing, but we still need a meaningful way to measure student progress and evaluate our schools,” ventured Stephanie Cuba, the mother of children in seventh and ninth grades. “Education policy should be deliberate and comprehensive, not a series of reactive decisions. If you’re going to dismantle the old system, you need a clear, credible plan to replace it. Without that, we’re operating without a compass.”

Right now, with Profile of a Graduate details vague and , New York risks graduating multiple cohorts whose achievements will not be properly valued. The repercussions might follow them for years.

Within weeks of ChatGPT’s release, hard rules appeared almost overnight. AI tools were banned throughout departments. Teachers watched what seemed like an existential threat materialize in real time, and they responded the way institutions usually do under pressure: They drew a line and told everyone not to cross it.

Three years later, that line is still there. And at many places, nobody ever asked whether it should be, at least not the people most affected by it.

When I looked into how my Austin, Texas, high school’s AI policy was developed, I found that my administrators made the decision internally. There was no student committee, no open forum, no campuswide survey. The rulebook was simply handed down. In K–12 education, require districts to develop and publish AI policies; when they are published, they’re often developed without proper consideration of all stakeholders, including students themselves.

It’s reasonable to counter that students are minors, that institutions need coherent governance and that not all decisions can go to a committee. But AI policy isn’t a routine curriculum adjustment. It governs what tools students are allowed to use to think, draft, research and communicate — tools that increasingly shape how knowledge is produced and evaluated outside school. Getting those rules wrong produces consequences for students.

Brittany Carr’s situation is a well-known example. In early 2023, the had three assignments flagged by an AI detector. She provided her revision history and explained her process writing deeply personal essays about her cancer diagnosis, her depression and her personal recovery. It wasn’t enough. Fearing that a second accusation could cost her financial aid, she began running every essay through an AI detector herself, rewriting any sentence it marked until her writing voice felt flattened and unfamiliar. By the end of the semester, she left the university.

Carr is not alone. The same NBC News investigation found that students across the country deliberately simplified their vocabulary and avoided complex sentence patterns — not to write better, but to write less like themselves. Creative writing assignments exist to help students find their voice, which they can’t do in fear of an algorithm. Carr’s case shows a student reshaping her writing, and ultimately her education, around a software system she had no role in approving, in a policy she had no voice in developing.

Student involvement would not necessarily have guaranteed a different outcome in Carr’s case. But it might have changed the structure that enabled it. Students could have brought up concerns about relying on automated detectors without corroborating evidence. They could have described how fear of false accusations pushes students toward simpler vocabulary, safer syntax and less intellectual risk. They could have asked what procedural protections exist before a software flag becomes an academic charge.

Instead, at many institutions, enforcement architecture was built first. Conversation came later, if at all.

It doesn’t have to work this way. In Los Altos, California, did more than sit in on policy meetings — they designed and ran community workshops, facilitated discussions between sixth graders and administrators, and built an AI chatbot to help other districts draft policies. 

A found that students overwhelmingly want to be part of decisions about how AI is used in their education — and that many already hold sophisticated views on its risks and potential. The fact that Los Altos made national news tells you how rarely that invitation is extended.

But there is a deeper reason students belong in these conversations: We know something policymakers don’t.

At my high school, I’ve witnessed — and experienced — a secret loop in the learning process: we use  large language model tools like ChatGPT and Claude to genuinely improve learning by unraveling concepts, studying for tests and brainstorming ideas. 

A few days ago, a student asked a question about a formula in my AP Physics C class — and nobody knew the answer. Another student opened his laptop and asked Claude, and after a few minutes of back-and-forth, we had completely straightened out our question, improving everyone’s understanding of how circuits worked. I used an LLM to compile notes from my Multivariable Calculus class, which helped me study and earn a near-perfect score on my test. My friend used ChatGPT to learn Java syntax for a project — not to write code, but to understand the language.

A found that 54% of U.S. teens now use AI chatbots for schoolwork, with the most common uses being research and brainstorming — not copying and pasting answers. But that message hasn’t reached the people writing the rules. This secret loop goes completely disregarded by schools, simply because it’s easier to blanket-ban the technology altogether. The generation that grew up with these tools understands their texture in a way no outside committee can replicate.

These AI policies directly affect students’ outcomes and futures. To exclude them from the conversation is simply undemocratic.

If educational institutions are serious about preparing students for democratic citizenship, that commitment must go beyond coursework and into policy-making. The time to invite students into these critical conversations is now. Will schools treat students as subjects of policy, or as participants in it?

Experts have raised a variety of factors contributing to this reality: learning loss due to the pandemic, increased screen time, the dissolution of long-form reading and teacher burnout. While each of these points are critical, there’s an even deeper, more fundamental issue facing students that a flurry of educational reforms haven’t fixed and may have worsened:

They are simply not spending enough time actually reading in school.

Practice makes perfect, but without the reps, there’s no room for growth. Research kids should have at least 15 to 30 minutes of uninterrupted reading time a day. The reality? Much worse. On average, middle school and high school kids are getting about, if that.

This poses an even greater challenge for students in poverty. Kids who have little to no reading opportunities at home depend on school to fill the gaps. When reading minutes are reduced, they’re hit the hardest.

So how do educators fix it?

It turns out, they already have the answers. Here’s what the research tells us.

First, schools must protect uninterrupted reading time — and make it non-negotiable.

Right now in school, kids are bombarded with interruptions: digital devices, announcements, visual distractions, visitors. In fact, a recent of the Providence Public School District revealed that classrooms are interrupted more than 2,000 times a year, resulting in the loss of between 10 and 20 days of instructional time. What’s more, administrators often underestimate or misperceive how these interruptions might be disrupting the learning process.

Students need to be given the space to focus. If educators want to make changes, they need to get intentional about providing stronger opportunities for kids to focus in school: rethink the physical environment to reduce visual noise, streamline communications for students and build in time for cognitive processing.

That means giving students the time and space to get their reading reps in.

Second, teachers must make the time kids are spending in school worthwhile.

Giving kids the time and space they need to read, requires that they know how to do it. And there needs to be accountability and checks that tell us the practice is worthwhile. That’s where a strong curriculum comes in.

Educators need to be asking ourselves whether the work we’re asking students to do is worthy of their time and intelligence. If our kids are spending 15,000 hours in school across K-12, it’s on us to ensure they’re getting out what they’re putting in. It starts with providing high-quality instructional materials that are comprehensive, coherent, evidence-based, knowledge-rich, and grade-appropriate.

shows students learning under a coherent curriculum gain an average of 1.3 months of additional learning — 1.8 months for struggling students. With the right instruction, kids who are hit the hardest finally have the opportunity to catch up.

Unfortunately, TNTP’s 2018 multi-system study,, and its subsequent study revealed that students are rarely taught grade-level work, and they’ve often seen the materials that are being covered in a previous class. As a result, while kids are getting As and Bs, they’re demonstrating mastery of grade-level standards just 17% of the time.

Bottom line? Kids are doing the work, but they aren’t being appropriately challenged. They’re caught in an incoherent moshpit of disconnected academic programming. Schools are underestimating students’ potential, and it’s backfiring on their ability to learn to read.

Schools need to prioritize a curriculum that is cohesive, knowledge-rich, and grade-appropriate to support true learning. If we’re going to ask kids for their time, let’s make it count.

Finally, schools need to be clear-eyed about how they are measuring success.

Today, the domain of English Language Arts is made up of three key areas that are interconnected: reading, writing and oral language. these areas work hand in hand to help students build their skills; writing improves reading comprehension, while oral language supports both reading and writing.

The problem? Most testing tools that are used for instructional decision-making focus on a small slice of what it means to be proficient in the higher order skills of ELA. They rely on limited data sets like from to draw conclusions around proficiency across the whole domain, sometimes with big consequences for kids and teachers and instructional programming. Often, these tests don’t measure grade-level proficiency, they measure recall. That’s why our children can get As and still not be proficient readers.

If schools want our kids to succeed in literacy — an imperative in the age of AI — there has to be a more advanced discussion about assessment. Schools need to adopt an assessment system that aligns with the domain of English Language Arts. That means moving away from single-point-in-time multiple choice testing strategies and adopting assessment practices that hold the bar for higher order reading, critical analysis, writing, speaking, communicating and collaborating.

Solving the literacy gap doesn’t require an overhaul of our education system or an innovation that is smarter than all humans combined. As educators, we can teach children to read who attend school for 15,000 hours. We need a collaborative, aligned effort to challenge the status quo. We need leaders who are willing to pull on the right levers for change: protect reading time, provide high-quality, grade-level materials and measure what actually matters

Since then, many school districts have indeed announced closures, including in the communities of and, where we live and work. More, unfortunately, are on their way.

School closure announcements can elicit the worst kind of deja vu. These feelings are well-founded. Atlanta plans to shutter schools in the south and west parts of the city, which is also where overwhelmingly live and where previous closures left several buildings vacant or underutilized for years. In Philadelphia, found that achievement gains occurred only when displaced students were moved into significantly stronger schools, while peers sent to schools of similar or lower quality did not benefit and, in some cases, saw setbacks.

It doesn’t have to be like this. Districts may have to close schools for financial or performance reasons, but they don’t need to exacerbate inequities along the way. By learning from past examples, we believe it’s possible — with thoughtful, comprehensive planning and deep and broad community engagement — for school closures to serve as a new opportunity for students, families and educators. 

The first of four steps to a more constructive, less harmful closure is about stabilization. The time between when a closure is announced and when students move out of the school can produce learning loss, staff instability and family stress. 

These in-between periods are not trivial lengths of time. Students at one Philadelphia school included in the district’s January announcement will . In other words, the students who are currently in kindergarten at this school are poised to spend their entire elementary years — through fifth-grade — in a school the district has said should close due to its low enrollment and poor facilities. 

That’s a long time, especially considering students are impacted as soon as the closure is announced. found that the largest negative achievement effect occurred between the time when the closure was announced and when students actually moved to new schools. Students in schools that were being closed had scores that were lower than expected in the year of the closure: roughly in math.

To avoid this drop-off, districts can commit to maintaining through the school’s final year. They can also help reduce staff turnover by providing early clarity on placement processes, minimizing uncertainty about job security and offering retention support. 

The second step has to do with the building itself. Again, found that neighborhoods that experienced school closures led to and lower shared sense of capacity for neighbors to act together for the common good. Schools often serve as community anchors, and closing a school can make a community feel unmoored. Countering this outcome involves smart, collaborative planning to ensure buildings are invested in, not abandoned. By this measure, Philadelphia and Atlanta are off to a positive start; their closure plans include repurposing buildings for other uses, such as in Philadelphia and in Atlanta. 

The third step is about student learning, particularly ensuring students leaving a closing school can attend a higher-quality alternative. This focus shifts the conversation from the non-academic factors that often drive closure decisions — like building utilization rates and the cost to repair aging facilities — and instead centers on student learning. Administrators must ask: Which local public schools could take in displaced students without reducing the quality of their education? 

This is not a quixotic exercise. Studies from multiple cities have when students are able to transfer to demonstrably stronger schools with higher achievement levels, more experienced teachers, richer course offerings and better facilities. 

The fourth and final step is about the schools receiving new students. Especially with the months and, in many cases, years between when a closure is announced and when it takes place, there is no reason receiving schools should be caught flat-footed. These schools should have both academic and social-emotional support available for students, and districts should cap how many new students each school receives. The odds of giving individuals the support they need decrease with each additional student an institution takes in.

What we are calling for is a paradigm shift. District leaders need to begin shifting from announcing “we’ve decided to close schools” to “we’ve decided to close schools and for preventing harm and maximizing student opportunity at every stage.”

District leaders in Atlanta, Philadelphia, and elsewhere deserve credit for recognizing the trends and taking action. What’s important for these and other leaders to recognize, however, is that their work is just beginning. 

This social capital — the knowledge of how to forge connections that make opportunities visible and attainable — is the missing curriculum in American K-12 and postsecondary education. And it’s a shortcoming with consequences.

Young people from well-connected families absorb social capital almost by osmosis when it comes to learning things like how to ask for help, follow up and signal ambition without arrogance. Others, equally capable but from less-connected families, must figure this out alone. The result is unequal starting lines and unequal outcomes — a yawning between social wealth and social poverty. 

Social wealth means having not only knowledge and credentials, but relationships that open doors, including mentors who give advice, supervisors who challenge us when we need to grow and networks that surface opportunities. Social poverty is the absence of those assets. It is being a talented individual without advocates.

Research finds that students from higher-income families are far more likely to report having mentors who help them consider careers, internships and next steps than students from lower-income backgrounds, first-generation college-goers and young women, especially those without college-educated parents. They report thinner networks and fewer trusted adults to guide them through critical transitions.

One of the most schools and colleges can counter social poverty is through mentorship. It’s not just a “nice to have” experience; young people with mentors are more likely to persist in education and transition successfully into work than those who lack such guidance.

But schools treat mentorship as an optional add-on, something that happens only if a motivated teacher, counselor or employer goes above and beyond.

Psychologist David Yeager what young people need is not generic encouragement, but relationships combining high expectations and genuine support. Effective mentors don’t simply reassure students that they belong. They communicate that growth is expected and that effort will be taken seriously.

This builds trust and reinforces agency. Young people are more likely to persist when they believe that adults see their potential and are invested in helping them meet it.

Yeager suggests these dynamics can be designed and structured rather than left to chance. This doesn’t mean turning schools and colleges into networking factories or diluting academic rigor. It means recognizing that social development is educational development. 

Just as literacy requires instruction and practice, so does learning how to form professional relationships and networks, seek mentorship and navigate institutions.

What would it look like for schools and colleges to design a system that takes this responsibility seriously? Here are six principles to guide this effort.

1. Make mentorship universal, not exceptional. Mentorship shouldn’t depend on self-selection or teacher heroics. Schools and colleges should assign mentors, integrate advisory systems and partner with local organizations to ensure every student has sustained contact with at least one non-family adult mentor. 

2. Start early. Students should encounter mentors beginning in middle school, when identities and aspirations are still forming. These relationships should become more formal and structured as students progress through school and college. Mentorship should be framed as normal, not remedial.

3. Teach the skills of relationship-building. Social capital isn’t only about access — it’s about competence. Students need instruction and practice in how to ask for help, follow up after meetings, give and receive feedback, and navigate professional norms. These skills can be taught, rehearsed and assessed, just like writing or public speaking.

4. Connect learning to people and places. Career exploration should include visits to workplaces, not just abstract classroom discussions about careers. Opportunities to shadow professionals on the job, internships, project-based learning and alumni networks help students see how knowledge travels into the world, and who helps move it along.

5. Signal high expectations with high support. Mentorship programs should avoid coddling or coldness. Adults should communicate clearly that they expect students to grow, stretch and persist, and that they’ll provide the guidance that makes growth possible.

6. Measure what matters. Schools and colleges track test scores and graduation rates but rarely monitor whether students graduate with mentors, references or professional networks. Simple measures, like verifying whether students can name adults who would help them find a job or write a recommendation, should serve as leading indicators of social wealth.

The remedy for this missing curriculum isn’t a mystery. It’s the will to treat social development as a core educational outcome rather than a byproduct. Reframing education around social wealth doesn’t diminish the importance of academic knowledge. It completes it. 

In a world where opportunity increasingly flows through relationships, schools and colleges that ignore social capital risk graduating students who are credentialed but stranded. Those that build it provide young people with the relationships and networks they need so they know that they are seen, supported and connected to a realistic future they can pursue.

That is the curriculum students need. And it’s one that schools and colleges can no longer afford to leave unwritten.

We are developmental cognitive neuroscientists who study how children’s daily interactions with parents, caregivers, teachers and peers shape , and development. We are not anti-AI, but we are extremely concerned about corporate efforts to market AI toys to parents and educators of young children. We do not yet know how many young children are already engaging with generative AI bots, but if are any indicator, this is a rapidly growing market. 

Some companies say their toys and devices are “age-appropriate” and will support children’s learning and development, but that’s not always the case. For instance, the makers of Kumma, a plush teddy bear, promised to build conversational skills for children from ages 3 to 5. But the toy was pulled from the market last year after it was caught encouraging researchers testing it . 

Beyond these physical safety risks, we have essentially no data on how interacting with generative AI “friends” will shape very young children’s foundational brain, socioemotional and language development. Rather, the preponderance of evidence about how brain development works in the earliest years of life suggests that families should proceed with caution before letting their littlest children play with these new technologies in the form of toys.

We are not alone in this concern. Together with scientists around the world who study the exquisite, human-to-human interactions that shape early brain and cognitive development, we recently released an about the risks of direct infant-AI interaction. 

Decades of scientific studies paint a clear picture of optimal development in the first few years of life. Babies and toddlers grow and learn through daily, moment-to-moment interactions with their close caregivers. Indeed, humans cannot develop fully without these foundational interactions. Present, responsive, real-time interactions shape children’s language, sculpting their growing understanding of new words, grammar, pronunciation and social intentions. 

These real-time interactions shape children emotionally, helping them map their inner experiences to their outer perceptions. There is evidence that when a caregiver and a young child interact, — from eye contact to to heart rates, oxytocin levels, and even . 

Unlike AI models, which can parrot human-to-human interactions, caregivers pair their words with touch, eye contact and facial expressions that signal their love and attention. Real conversations include inside jokes, local dialects, family lore, and the distinct conversational patterns that make a family a family and a community a community. 

Development is about real-time rhythm, and every unique caregiver-child dyad develops their own. It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence, something an AI model can never and will never be able to provide. 

In fact, toys that imitate social responsiveness may interfere with an infant’s developing sense of how people relate to one another. The better these toys get at mimicking a parent, a child care provider, a grandparent or other adult caregiver, the more concerned we should be, particularly in the earliest years when infants and toddlers are developing a distinction between self and other  — a growing awareness that the other humans who surround them each have inner worlds of their own. 

From a policy perspective, . There is much more to learn about these new technologies before parents let their babies play with them. 

Without these policy protections, parents and educators must take the lead, that simulate social reciprocity, replace face-to-face caregiving, or are designed to replace soothing behaviors that infants and toddlers need from caregivers in order to build attachment, trust and human connection.

The earliest recorded scientific experiments with electricity happened 3,000 years ago. Today, access to electricity has raised the standard of living for nearly the entire world. Still — after more than a hundred years of widespread use, safety standards and engineering to wield electricity for the common good — no responsible adult would let a child anywhere near it in raw form. 

AI has the power to improve human lives, but these are early days. We take for granted that we cover our light sockets to protect all our community’s children. We must take the same protective stance with AI.

That’s the finding of a from the Hoover Institution, based on its “” project. Hoover researchers held nine in-person focus groups across seven states — Colorado, West Virginia, Minnesota, Pennsylvania, Indiana, New Mexico and New York — and talked with 82 participants, from parents and teachers to leaders of nonprofit organizations and elected officials. The format combined short surveys with open-ended discussions, which allowed the researchers to gather a wide variety of information and hear the nuance behind it.

Of course, 82 participants across nine sites is a small sample, so the findings should be seen as qualitative and exploratory rather than nationally representative. Still, the responses identify some consistent patterns and offer some potential solutions. 

People don’t know how bad things are

The authors deliberately focused on communities where academic proficiency scores were low, in the bottom fifth of all schools statewide. Yet more than half of the participants weren’t familiar with how their local schools actually performed.

Focus group participants reported that they rarely heard news about student reading and math scores. Instead, they described district communications  as occasionally misleading. For example, one expressed concern that the local district was celebrating growth metrics that obscured persistently low performance. As another participant put it: “Parents can’t be involved if they aren’t informed. They can’t be informed if they aren’t invited.”

Those who do know the ratings think their schools are failing

Among respondents familiar with the performance data, more than half rated their local district schools as needing improvement, or worse. When asked about the quality of different types of schools in their communities, participants gave district schools the lowest average rating, below charter and private schools and vocational programs. They described teachers ill-prepared for diverse classrooms, inadequate special education services and a striking absence of practical preparation for students in things like financial literacy or vocational and technical skills.

Communities want to help but feel shut out

A majority of participants said they want to be real partners in improving their schools, but fewer than a quarter said they think their districts actually want that. School boards, in particular, were rated as particularly unreceptive to community input.

The anecdotes reveal a repeating pattern: People show up to meetings, join committees, raise concerns — and are ignored, dismissed or labeled as troublemakers. In some communities, language barriers and unreliable translation services make things harder. In others, parents hold back out of fear that speaking up could affect how their children are treated in school. Overall, only about a quarter said they felt they could personally drive change. 

And yet, people are still willing to get involved. Nearly 90% of participants said they would join a community task force to improve their local schools. More than half said they’d take on an active or leadership role, and nearly two-thirds were optimistic about what a coordinated community group could accomplish. People may not think they can drive change on their own, but they still hold out hope for collective improvement efforts.

So what would actually help?

Participants had concrete suggestions like flexible meeting times, reliable translation services, transportation, modest stipends to recognize parents’ time commitments and protections against retaliation. Procedurally, they wanted to feel like they are being included early, not handed decisions after they have already been made.

None of this will be especially surprising to people who’ve followed education debates over the years. This is not the first report to find that families are often excluded from decision-making.

Still, the Hoover research adds nuance and urgency. It offers a portrait of communities that are ready and willing to be involved, but are often blocked from doing so — and provides a set of suggestions for what changing that would take.

Written in response to the fatal shootings of Alex Pretti and Renee Good during federal immigration operations, the song offered more than commentary. It interpreted a national crisis, asking listeners to confront what state power looks like when it arrives in neighborhoods, on sidewalks and in the lives of ordinary families. 

That is precisely why this moment belongs not only on playlists and opinion pages, but in civic education.

Since then, the political terrain has shifted, but not in ways that make the issue less urgent for schools. President Donald Trump Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem after months of political fallout surrounding the administration’s immigration crackdown. 

Around the same time, reporting showed that the administration had scaled back the most visible ICE tactics in Minneapolis, there from roughly 3,000 agents to about 650, and shifted toward more targeted operations after the public backlash. Arrests declined in February, but ICE remains active, and the economic and civic damage in Minneapolis continues.

The retreat matters. It suggests that public protest, documentation by witnesses, investigative reporting and political pressure forced a tactical recalibration. But it also underscores a deeper lesson for educators: Students are living through a period in which official narratives, video evidence, journalism, protest and art are colliding in real time. 

Schools cannot pretend these are merely political controversies happening somewhere else. They are contemporary case studies in how democracy works, how it fails and how citizens push back.

The arrest earlier this month of , a Nashville-based reporter for a Spanish-language news outlet, makes that lesson even harder to ignore. Rodriguez Florez had been covering immigration arrests in Tennessee. Then ICE detained her, despite her pending asylum case, valid work permit and marriage to a U.S. citizen. 

Moments like this one shed light on why protest music is produced in response to government actions to silence individuals, raising essential civic questions for students to consider: Who gets to document state power? What happens when the people telling a community’s story become vulnerable themselves? And how should a democracy respond when journalism, immigration status, and political retaliation appear to converge?

Springsteen’s song is not a lone artistic response. Recent in Rolling Stone traces a broader wave of anti-ICE protest music released in the wake of the Minneapolis operations. Billy Bragg wrote “City of Heroes.” NOFX released “Minnesota Nazis.” My Morning Jacket put out a benefit project, Peacelands, in solidarity with communities affected by ICE brutality. Bon Iver shared a live track to raise money for immigrant legal defense. Low Cut Connie and Dropkick Murphys have added their own contributions to this growing soundtrack of dissent.

Another Rolling Stone  places Springsteen’s song in a longer tradition of “instant protest songs,” linking it to works such as Woody Guthrie’s “,” written in response to a 1948 plane crash that killed 28 Mexican migrant farmworkers being deported; Nina Simone’s “” and Bob Dylan’s “,” written after the 1963 assassination of civil rights leader Medgar Evers; and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s “,” about the Ohio National Guard’s killing of four Kent State University students protesting the Vietnam War.

This history is what makes this such a consequential educational moment. Protest songs are not simply cultural accessories to political events. They are historical artifacts, rhetorical arguments and emotional archives. They help listeners name what has happened, assign meaning to it and imagine what moral response is required. In classrooms, they can help students examine competing claims about law, order, belonging and dissent without reducing complex issues to partisan slogans. 

Analyzing protest music asks students to interpret voice, perspective, evidence, omission and historical context. These are not ideological activities designed to indoctrinate youth. They are learning opportunities to build critical thinking and civic literacy skills.

The question is not whether teachers should tell students what to think about Bruce Springsteen, ICE, Kristi Noem or the Trump administration. The question is whether students should have the chance to grapple with how democracies narrate force, how communities contest official accounts, and how music, journalism, and protest shape public understanding. 

In elementary school, that might mean introducing age-appropriate examples of peaceful protest and the role of songs in movements for fairness. In middle school, it could mean comparing lyrics with speeches or media accounts and asking what each includes, emphasizes, or leaves out. In high school, it could mean examining how protest music enters political life as argument, memory, and civic witness.

The broader lesson is that protest is not alien to American history; it is one of the ways people have always argued about freedom. From abolitionist songs to civil-rights anthems to Springsteen’s Minneapolis lament, music has carried democratic conflict across generations. 

It has helped individuals feel the stakes of policies they might otherwise encounter only as abstractions. It has translated public tragedy into public argument. And that argument, however uncomfortable, is not something schools should avoid. It is something students should be prepared to enter with the skills of engaging in productive and divergent thinking on complex civic issues.

At a moment when federal officials are trying to soften the optics of immigration enforcement without abandoning its underlying machinery, and when a journalist covering immigration can herself be detained, schools should resist the temptation to retreat into silence. Young people need more opportunities, not fewer, to interpret the music, reporting, speeches and images shaping public life around them.

A democracy worthy of the next generation depends on an informed citizenry capable of productive disagreement. Protest songs do not threaten that project. They give students one of the essential ways to practice it.

The late Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes urged “not free thought for those who agree with us, but freedom for the thought that we hate.” Abraham Lincoln mused, “I don’t like that man; I must get to know him better.”

These days, many Americans not only lack respect for those with different views, but actually think they are worse people. Opinions of one’s opposing party are . A found that large majorities of both Republicans and Democrats considered members of the other party immoral, dishonest and closed-minded.

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, such dislike for and dehumanizing of people with different views has taken root among young people. According to , half of college sophomores would not room with someone who voted differently than they did, most wouldn’t date such a person, and almost two-thirds did not think they would marry one.

Saddest of all: Researcher has found that young people are as polarized as adults by , and the roots of pernicious us-and-them thinking emerge as early as .

Some observers believe increased division if anger at “the other side” drives civic participation or clarifies people’s positions. However, animosity also fuels hatred and violence, and leads some people to withdraw from shared decision-making and public conversation. At an October , a high school senior reported that many young people simply won’t voice their thoughts for fear of backlash.

How can adults ask Gen Z, Gen Alpha and those who come after them to engage thoughtfully across differences when grownups themselves do not work across divides? Here are five strategies for adult mentors:

• Give young people opportunities to explore ideas. Classrooms and school hallways have become high-risk places for disagreement. Students fear being judged in ways that cost relationships and permanently mark them on social media. But conversations may also be difficult with family members, who may be unavailable or unprepared for tough discussions. Young people need forums where they can test ideas without consequences, with trusted, well-prepared adults who won’t treat them like children. 

Youth organizations and community centers can offer those forums. Leaders — mentors, clergy, coaches and program directors — must create thoughtfully designed discussion opportunities. Afterschool or weekend programs can be especially valuable in helping socioeconomically disadvantaged young people explore ideas when family, school or social resources are less available.

• Be vigilant when airing perspectives and creating space for discussion. Even when teachers, mentors and clergy try to frame things benignly, there is almost no neutral discussion of sociopolitical issues right now. Being well-intentioned is not enough. Leaders who engage with young people must recognize the difficulty, be clear about their own biases, sharpen their own preparation to navigate difficult conversations, show courage and signal and model openness. National initiatives such as ,, and can give adult leaders their own opportunities to observe, practice and model open discussion.
• Talk to young people directly about your own changes of heart. While vulnerability takes courage, it is important for leaders and mentors to admit to young people that they were once firmly convinced of something that later seemed like the dumbest thing they ever heard. They can tell the story of how they developed opinions, checked sources and learned from others. Young people say it is daunting to approach mentors who are firm and eloquent in their convictions. Help them understand how perspectives evolve and model building confidence in a viewpoint that starts from uncertainty.
• Begin with a low-stakes topic. Start by discussing issues that are not so charged: the best candy, the coolest game, the worst TikTok challenge. If the young people are ready, move on to more complex approaches that still allow non-threatening progress — like , in which participants assess different values, needs and options rather than quickly seeking one right solution to a thorny issue. This gives them a trial run at thinking about stakeholders and perspectives. Building this muscle in a group when the stakes are low can make more complicated conversations — like discussions of climate change and politics — possible.
• Dispel zero-sum thinking. Being certain that “our” side winning is best for everyone while “their” side winning is bad for everyone is a terrible binary habit of mind to pass along. Leaders, mentors, teachers and family members who engage with young people can help them develop the “yes and” approach as opposed to the constant “but” response. This models empathy, a willingness to explore common ground and an openness to hearing varied perspectives.

It’s the leaders of today who created the situation young people are now struggling to deal with. It is the responsibility of all adults to help tomorrow’s leaders find a better path.

Unacceptably high numbers of students are testing below state standards, 50% in reading and more than 60% in math, according to state assessment data from the California Department of Education. Chronic absenteeism, while improving from pandemic peaks, remains well above pre-2020 levels in many districts. At the same time, school systems continue to teacher shortages and high early-career attrition.

Federal relief funds temporarily expanded tutoring and student support programs. But those dollars have largely expired. District leaders are now tasked with advancing academic recovery while operating in a far more constrained fiscal environment.

The question facing policymakers and superintendents is not whether students need more support. It is how to provide that support sustainably, without further overburdening teachers and budgets.

One statewide model offers an effective answer: the .

The network is a coalition of 14 AmeriCorps programs operating in more than 30 communities, from Sacramento to San Diego and Fresno to El Centro, with a presence at more than 200 schools and youth programs. The network recruits, trains and places full- and part-time student success coaches directly in K–12 public schools.

These coaches are near-peer mentors and tutors. They’re typically recent high school or college graduates between the ages of 18 and 25 exploring careers in education and youth development or simply looking for what’s next in their lives.

Applicants are recruited locally and through higher education collaborations such as California Community Colleges. They undergo screening, interviews and background checks consistent with AmeriCorps requirements. Before entering schools, they receive training in tutoring strategies, relationship-building and student engagement.

Unlike short-term volunteers, the coaches are embedded on campus to become a part of the school community, not just a periodic guest. During their time of service, typically a full school year, they provide targeted, evidence-based support aligned with school priorities directly in the classroom. That can include one-on-one and small-group tutoring,. attendance support and family communication support, academic mentoring and goal setting and social-emotional skill reinforcement.

Coaches can be directed to provide priority support to students who are identified by school staff based on academic performance, attendance patterns or other indicators.

This model is built upon a strong body of research demonstrating that high-impact tutoring and consistent mentoring relationships can improve engagement and accelerate academic gains. A landmark meta-analysis of found that tutoring is one of the “most versatile and potentially transformative educational tools” for substantial learning gains across grade levels.

Of course, coaches do not replace teachers, but they vitally extend classroom capacity, augment the learning environment and allow teachers to focus on core instruction. 

While AmeriCorps programs like this have existed for decades, the Student Success Coach Learning Network was created with intent to make a larger impact through the power of collaboration, information and resource sharing, and advocacy. The metrics support the efficacy of the efforts.

Across participating SSCLN programs in the 2023 and 2024 school years:

• 73% of students supported by Student Success Coaches improved their semester grades.
• 77% improved their grades over the full academic year.
• 95% of students served graduated from high school, compared with California’s statewide graduation rate of 87%.

Additionally, organizations within the network reported positive improvements in strengthening attendance efforts including reduced absenteeism and increased days attended, with two specific organizations showing an average 56% improvement in attendance-related measures. 

These results are consistent with national findings. A nationally representative survey of K–12 principals conducted by the at Johns Hopkins University found that schools providing people-powered, evidence-based supports such as tutoring report measurable improvements in attendance and academic engagement.

For district leaders, the takeaway is straightforward: Additional trained adults embedded daily in schools help students stay on track.

Roughly 36% of student success coaches through this network pursue careers in education following their service year. A year spent working alongside teachers, students and families provides hands-on experience, professional mentorship and a bridge into teaching with a realistic view of classroom life.

This matters in a state where teacher shortages remain particularly acute in some communities.

The workforce implications extend beyond education. Research from , analyzing millions of job postings, found that seven of the 10 most in-demand skills are “durable skills,” including communication, teamwork, empathy and adaptability. Coaches practice these competencies daily as they collaborate with educators, communicate with families, and navigate complex student needs. In that sense, the model addresses two policy priorities simultaneously: student recovery and American workforce development overall.

Because AmeriCorps members receive a living allowance and a help paying off student loans or graduate school tuition through state and federal investment, districts can expand student support capacity with modest local contributions.

This structure offers flexibility as districts add educator capacity without committing to permanent staff positions that may be difficult to sustain during budget downturns. That can extend classroom capacity for students and strengthen a pipeline of future educators.

The impact is people helping people. Young adults are choosing to serve in support of students who might have looked a lot like them just a few short years earlier. They are supporting a teacher who may just need that extra hand and energy they gain through teamwork. And students gain access to a personal mentor whose support may just change their education trajectory. 

As California looks ahead to future budget cycles and leadership transitions, the question is not whether the state can afford to invest in coordinated, people-powered student supports.

It is whether it can afford not to.

Iowa’s governor said the approval would result in less time spent on administrative duties, allowing educators to put more resources and time back into the classroom.

Other states have pointed to the of having flexible accountability and assessment systems that reflect local priorities, foster innovation and empower local decision-making, rather than adhering strictly to federal mandates. But some education leaders, such as the , worry that if states ultimately establish 50 distinct accountability and improvement models, students’ access to learning accommodations and opportunities will vary based on where they live and learn. Academic outcomes can depend on the availability of tutoring, advanced coursework and enrichment, special education services, assistive technology and other supports.

As states consider the opportunities that waivers present for greater flexibility in using federal funds, they should consider lessons from the recent past. The pandemic-era Elementary and Secondary School Emergency Relief (ESSER) funds were a lifeline for schools, but they also exposed critical gaps in states’ approaches to innovation and evaluation. While ESSER funds enabled rapid response and recovery, the program lacked robust provisions for evaluating which strategies worked and why. As a result, there is limited evidence about which interventions — such as summer school, tutoring or targeted supports — were the most effective. 

For the department and states, the lesson is clear: Rigorous evaluation and continuous improvement must be embedded in the waiver and experimentation process from the start. States should clearly show how their plans connect to better student outcomes, and the department should assist them in these efforts. With more flexible financial strategies in place, states could find new ways to combine funds to reach their goals and learn from one another as they develop innovative approaches. Most importantly, however, states should ensure their investments include research and evaluation components, so they know what works and what does not.

Even as it cedes some control, the department has an important role to play in ensuring the following elements are in place: 

1. Purposeful Experimentation: States should be empowered to innovate, but with the expectation that they will rigorously evaluate new approaches and share what they learn. This will help ensure that successful strategies can be replicated and adapted elsewhere. Existing investments can be used toward these goals. For example, the Regional Educational Laboratories, the Comprehensive Center Network and the Educational Innovation and Research program help schools build their data-using skills and provide guidance on evidence-based practices.
2. Capacity Building: Many states will need expert guidance to design and implement effective reforms. Federal investment should focus on making lasting improvements, not just short-term fixes. The comprehensive network, for example, is a government-funded organization of regional centers that help states design, test and strengthen new ideas and strategies, and guide policymakers, state education agencies and educators in building the skills needed to improve teaching and learning.
3. Collaboration Over Isolation: The government should continue to facilitate collaboration among states, ensuring that innovations and lessons learned are shared widely. This may be done by providing insight on how to launch and sustain new programs and develop continuous improvement strategies, or by strengthening ongoing cross-state work through grants, technical assistance, conferences and national networks that help align standards, share data and improve student outcomes.

States have always been constitutionally responsible for providing public education, though federal policy — since the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) was enacted in 1965 — has incentivized states to serve disadvantaged students and promoted greater consistency in educational quality nationwide. 

Now, the department is signaling a willingness to let states experiment. But to avoid repeating the missed opportunities of ESSER, federal and state leaders must prioritize evaluation, capacity building and collaboration. Only then can the flexibility presented through these waivers lead to lasting improvements in educational excellence. 

That moment carried more than joy. It carried years of waiting lists, missed explanations, language barriers and advocacy in systems that were never designed with her family in mind.

Sofía’s story is not unique. Across the country, Latino families navigating special education often encounter structural barriers that make access more complicated than federal law intends. Under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, schools are required to provide timely evaluations and ensure meaningful parent participation. Yet the lived experiences of many multilingual families suggest that implementation is uneven.

In 2022, launched , a community-based research initiative that trains Latino parents to document and analyze the realities facing families like their own. Parents are not research subjects in this model; they are the researchers. Two years later, ISLA — working within its parent-led research model, Padres Investigadores, and supported by research consultants — trained a new team of Latino parent researchers to design and conduct a statewide study examining how families in North Carolina navigate special education.

highlight important gaps in communication and access.

For many Latino families, entering special education means navigating two unfamiliar systems at once: disability services and English. Parents in our study described four stages in their journey: recognizing developmental differences, securing evaluations and diagnoses, accessing services and navigating schools, and managing communication challenges that created delays, confusion and stress.

More than half of parents were the first to notice developmental concerns in their children, not teachers or doctors. Yet many said those concerns were initially dismissed. While IDEA establishes timelines for evaluations, over 40% of families in our study reported waiting six months or longer. Nearly half identified language as their biggest barrier to accessing quality services.

In early childhood, time matters. Delays in evaluation and intervention can shape long-term educational trajectories. When families do not fully understand what services exist, what documents they are signing or what rights they hold, special education becomes harder to access equitably.

Language access is not simply a courtesy; it is essential for meaningful participation. Families described inconsistent interpretation, incomplete translations and meetings that moved forward without ensuring comprehension. One father told us, “They talked about my child’s future in a language I couldn’t speak.”

Importantly, families were not disengaged. They attended meetings. They asked questions. They took notes. What they sought was clarity and partnership.

The parents in our study consistently named three priorities: clear multilingual information, culturally responsive communication and timely access to evaluations and services with reliable interpretation. These requests align closely with on effective special education practices.

One of the most powerful findings from this work is that when parents are included as partners in research and problem-solving, trust grows. Padres Investigadores shifts the dynamic from extraction to collaboration. Parents design questions, gather stories and interpret findings within their own communities. In doing so, they reveal insights that might otherwise remain invisible.

Natalia, who once felt overwhelmed when she heard the word “autism” connected to her son, is now one of those parent researchers. She supports other Spanish-speaking families navigating the same systems she once struggled to understand. Her leadership did not emerge from policy alone; it emerged from access to information and genuine inclusion.

Sofía’s first word through a device represents possibility. But possibility should not depend on a family’s fluency in English or familiarity with educational terminology.

Equity in special education is not only about compliance. It is about ensuring that families understand the process, feel respected in it and are able to participate meaningfully in decisions affecting their children.

When language access, cultural understanding and parent partnership are treated as foundational, not supplemental, special education systems move closer to fulfilling the promise embedded in federal law.

Listening to families like Sofía’s is not an act of charity. It is a necessary step toward building systems that work as intended — for every child.