Setting Rules

I did not know what I was getting into when I ran for the SLPS school board. At this point, it’s hard to imagine what I even thought it would be. Some amalgamation of all the things people say when they run for school board, I guess—I want to give back to my city, I want to be a voice for students and teachers, I want to leave things better than I found them.

So, a few years in, when I found myself trying to simultaneously tackle the transition in governance and the persistent efforts of a specific education reform organization to infiltrate the district, I decided to set some ground rules, some standards to serve as a check against the recommendations and influence of others.

At the time, it felt super dramatic. Five years after I first scrawled them in a notebook, I’m still living by them.

1. I have to be able to say I did everything I could.

2. I have to be able to live with myself when this is all over.

So, out of all the rules I could have set, why these?

Well. Being an elected official is really scary sometimes. Especially if you’re leading during a tumultuous period of controversial or high-profile decisions. I wanted to hide under the covers most days, wishing that it was someone else’s responsibility. But, I wasn’t elected to run away. I was elected to figure it out, to persist, to do something.

Power finds its advantage in that fear, whispering lies to lure you down dark paths, away from yourself and the pure and noble reasons you entered public service. Power tempts you into thinking that you alone have the ability solve the problems, encouraging you to break protocol by suggesting it shouldn’t apply to you in the first place. Power builds your ego but, left unchecked, leads you astray. Every. Single. Time.

Rule #1 was really effective at pushing me outside my comfort zone, forcing me to do the things better suited to a more dynamic or charismatic leader. It’s the rule that got me to argue with the Editorial Board, cast the sole no vote against postponing school closures, give this speech calling for the city to support the school district to prevent additional school closures, and, later that same night, this one calling for a moratorium on new schools and asking candidates to reject money from The Opportunity Trust. None of that came naturally or easily to me, but it had to be done and there was no one else to do it.

(And, just so we’re clear, it is as important to ask, “Can I live with myself if I DON’T do this thing?” as it is to ask, “Can I live with myself if I DO do this thing?”)

It isn’t enough to just do something. You have to do it with integrity.

I wish I could link to videos and news stories of the times Rule #2 saved my ass, but all those moments come in closed door meetings, or late at night, or when I was alone. Sure, we see the evidence of what happens when people let power go to their head all the time, but there’s no evidence to prove all the times people choose to reject it.

In hindsight, I feel good about the record I left behind and about the record I’m still creating. That was the whole point of these rules in the first place—to look back on my decisions and actions one year, five years, thirty years later and feel like I exhausted all my options while still maintaining my identity and self-respect. To never have to struggle to answer my kids if they ask, “Mom, if you knew this was going on why didn’t you do something to stop it?”

Somewhere along the way I added on another rule:

3. Tell the truth in all the spaces you are in. Set the expectation that others will tell the truth too. Put out the information and let others decide for themselves.

Which, I suppose, is why we’re here on this Substack together now.

(I’ll link to a few other pieces I’ve written about why and how this newsletter came to be at the end of today’s post.)

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Truth is in short supply these days. Not only are we not getting truthful information, but we’re not getting much information at all. Not about the superintendent change or the allegations behind it. Not the investigation or its scope or its cost. We haven’t been told what’s going to happen next. Or even what the plan is to figure out what’s going to happen next.

This is but one of the major issues facing SLPS where we have been left in the dark.

Despite showing up on the board meeting agenda twice in September, the transportation updates have been anything but genuine and we have yet to hear of any measurable impact by the countless consultants trotted out before the board in the spring. Enrollment numbers were first celebrated for their remarkable rise, then backtracked only a few weeks later. And we haven’t heard anything lately about last year’s flagship (and expensive) initiative, Lit for the Lou.

There is so much unknown and unresolved. We deserve plentiful, accurate, honest information from our district leaders and we deserve for it to be delivered in a direct and timely manner. The lack of information and communication has eroded trust between SLPS and the people it serves.

I believe that trust can be rebuilt and to a level higher than before. Let’s be honest, it’s not like trust was at its peak in the year or even decade before this happened. Since the 1960s, at least, SLPS has struggled to maintain the confidence of city residents.

It may be an eternal struggle, but you have to admit that these times are unusual. Right now, it doesn’t seem like SLPS leaders are trying to regain our trust. Frankly, it doesn’t even seem like they want it.

But that’s pretty bleak, so let’s work from the assumption that they do want to earn our trust. What’s the first step toward building it back?

I’ll dig into that tomorrow. Stay tuned.

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