Enough: we are smarter than this

North High’s principal says now is the time to rethink the education system we have settled for.

Mauri Friestleben, principal of North High, has gone live from her school’s Facebook page every week day since schools closed statewide because of COVID-19. “It’s a daily way for us to stay connected,” she said during her April 7 broadcast. Photo by David Pierini

By Mauri Friestleben Contributor

Someone took their own life outside of my home on April 2. 

I live off the Mississippi River. 694 and 252 are in my backyard. The sirens were extended. Then the river rescue team. And the abandoned car on the bridge. And the car that pulled up behind it, and the person who stood by it. Maybe a loved one. 

I had to get out of the house. Just a couple hours earlier, I had felt agitated. Disturbed. Annoyed. Anxious. Unsettled. 

My husband asked me what was wrong. I didn’t know. Thought maybe this whole work thing. They don’t teach you how to be pandemic principal in principal school. 

I know now I should have stopped what I was doing and prayed. That there was something amiss. Something stirring in the atmosphere. Something that said something is not right. 

I can’t be the only one that has a sensitive spirit. That can feel, discern, intuit. 

I wonder what would happen if we led with that. Would less people jump?

How are we managing ourselves and our surroundings during this time? Are we leading with the spirit? Are we leading with our souls?  

I’m struggling as a leader right now. I was already struggling in the world of education before this international crisis. My outlook was overladen with grief. My anger was channeled into what I’ve heard deemed “righteous.” 

***

There is a story in the New Testament where Jesus goes into what was supposed to be a sacred temple only to find it turned into a market. Greed had overtaken the original spirit of the place. He got so angry that he turned the tables over and drove the profiteers from that holy ground. 

Call it a stretch, but I feel the comparison.

Education is touted as the great equalizer. As the great civil right. As a place where the most young and innocent of our time, our children, come to learn and grow.

And yet it’s a den of thieves. For profit, political, fear mongering runs rampant. Tests and companies making millions off of us each year. Consultants going from school to school and district to district like those old traveling salesmen that get out of town before you realize you’ve been had. Even educators bounce around from place to place, looking to satisfy an appetite they can’t name.

Our children are like those pennies falling off the tables while fists get pounded amidst the bartering and haggling. We settle for less because we can’t figure out how to achieve more. 

I was already turning tables over in this temple we call education. Refusing to settle for mediocre. Challenging myself, my students and my colleagues to dig deep, rise above, and go the extra mile. Reminding us who we work for. 

Refusing blood-money grants and donations for organizations looking for the “impoverished.” Turning down campaigns for the “poor” schools. Declining food shelves and clothing drives because: we have teaching to do!

Debunking the myth that kids of color, kids in poverty, can’t learn the same. Studying theories that examine all of the ways we boost and demean ourselves without even realizing it.

Hitting the pavement. Asking my teachers to visit every house. Putting gas on in my neighborhood. Asking us school employees to confront whether we’re really just neighborhood fleecers—driving in to earn our money and driving out to spend it.

Asking neighbors, alumni, and staff: why don’t you send your kids to our schools? Challenging neighbors and fellow citizens to look at the world we are creating for our children—based on skin color, economics and geography.

Challenging students to be their best selves. Refusing to settle for anything less. Following them home if I have to. Sitting with them in their living rooms if I have to. Determined to stand in the midst of this evil temple and force people to look at me. Hear me. Answer me.

Calling out lawmakers. Confronting social media fear and strife starters.

Keeping the hard questions coming. Even when I know those around me want them to stop.

***

I was ALREADY standing in the midst of this storm, keeping in the eye where my footing could remain steady. 

And along comes this: COVID-19. 

And what happens? 

It all turns upside down. It all turns inside out. 

Everybody stop what you’re doing! 

Stop! 

Go home. Take cover. Shut your doors. Stay inside.

A forced reprieve. A forced shut down. A forced break from the storm.

And what happens?

As we sit in this temple. With these tables that are empty and this change on the floor?

Rather than take this as an opportunity to rebuild, we appear more determined to sustain the status quo. We insist on replicating and duplicating our failed and faulty educational system into one that will still go on REMOTELY!

So, let’s go, everyone! Let’s take one of the most agreed upon public failings of our time and keep it going. During a pandemic.

Let’s take a system that so many political candidates agree is broken that it’s not even worth making a voting platform anymore—and keep it going.

All aboard, everyone. As we get on this public-education-as-we-know-it-train to nowhere—pandemic or no pandemic.

Rather than stopping. Just stopping. And saying “whoa.” And saying “enough.” And saying “let’s try again.”

But what will the children do?

How about they do all of the things we’ve said we’ve wanted them to do!

Home economics, woodshop, how-to-balance-a-checkbook, music, art.

But what about the parents who don’t know how to do that?

We can help with that! It’s called enrichment. We can provide guidance for that.

But what about the children whose parents won’t guide them in that?

Are we really going to convince ourselves that those very students are any better off in a sustained distance learning reality? Their parent’s disinterest or inability to support their schoolwork is a reality regardless of enrichment or critical content.

But aren’t educators still getting paid right now?

Yep.

What should they be doing to earn their pay?

Haven’t we collectively agreed that educators have been underappreciated, underpaid and overworked for years?

And even if we haven’t, couldn’t we agree that educators taking this time to stay connected with students—whether they’re doing enrichment, building mud pies, or planning for their futures—is also work? 

We could envision our best selves. Our futures. We could study odds-beaters, educational systems that are working, schedules and contents and standards and curriculums that speak to hearts and minds; not test makers and publishers.

Domestic violence calls are up, mental health needs are up, and people are jumping off bridges. Enough already. We are smarter than this. We can do this.

I’m not the only one on the inside of education who’s flipping tables over. Now is our time. Let us take it.