At the time, Susan Enfield was superintendent of the Highline Public Schools outside Seattle, close to the site of the first U.S. outbreak. Like her counterparts in neighboring districts, she was still in disbelief that sending students home was even an option. 

“I’m not sure, at the end of the day, that that was the right decision,” said Enfield, who recently shared her reflections with ����Ӱ��. “I don’t think we’ll know for a long time how that really impacted all of us.” 

As the debate over reopening that fall intensified, Enfield was outspoken about the no-win situation leaders were in as they struggled to balance the needs of students with the demands and fears of parents and employees. To her, the predicament felt like having “an enormous square peg that I’m trying to squeeze into a microscopic round hole.”

Like many families and educators over the months and years that followed, Enfield relocated, leaving Highline in 2022 for the larger Washoe County Public Schools in Nevada, which includes Reno. She described the move then as hitting the “superintendent lottery,” but ultimately, stayed just a year and a half. She to return to the Seattle area.

“I’m really happy to be home,” she said. “I’m taking this moment to breathe and figure out how I can contribute from a different vantage point.”

In an interview, she reflected on the past 48 months and how the pandemic has — and has not — transformed the nation’s education system.

The interview has been edited for length and clarity.

����Ӱ��: The Northshore School District, not far from Highline, was the first in the nation to close because of COVID. What comes to mind now as you recall those frantic early days of the pandemic?

Susan Enfield: I’m really in awe of what educators across the country were able to do under really trying circumstances. I’m proud of how we responded. If memory serves, we deployed over 13,000 devices within the first couple weeks of having to close schools. There’s a real sense of pride in how people came together in a time of serious uncertainty and stress and did what they could to take care of our kids.

For those of us that stayed closed for so long, I don’t know if that was the right thing to do. Thousands of kids were out of school for so long, and we know that’s had an impact on them.

Moving from Highline to Washoe, what differences did you see in how the districts approached the closures?

How districts approached it was tied to local politics. The Puget Sound area is the bluest of the blue, whereas Washoe is really purple, politically. Washoe kids came back a year before Highline kids. That was probably the right thing to do.

What Highline was able to do that Washoe wasn’t was device distribution. We had under 20,000 kids, but Washoe had over 60,000, so there’s a magnitude issue. Washoe is a vast geographical area, so it was a challenge for them to distribute devices. Those differences speak to how every district responded as best they could based on their local political context and just the sheer makeup of their district.

Was there anything you would have done differently?

We would all go back and probably do some things differently, but I also had to recognize what was within my control. Our governor mandated schools be closed. I didn’t know at the time that keeping schools closed would be so detrimental. But there was so much fear and uncertainty around the virus, especially for a district like Highline. We have a lot of multifamily, multigenerational homes. The fears people had were very real, very legitimate.

How did the last four years change you personally as a leader? 

It fortified my values as a leader. I’ve always been a big proponent of health and family first, but that was really amplified — not just preaching it, but modeling it. I had to make sure that I was taking care of my people. 

We have a saying out here when it’s a beautiful clear day: “Mountain’s out.” I remember one Saturday. I just tweeted out a beautiful photo of Mount Rainier and said, “The mountain’s out and it’ll be out again tomorrow.” For those of us in leadership roles, we really had to dig into who we were as people, what our values were. The pandemic had an impact, not just on our children, but our teachers and staff as well. They had to re-learn how to be in community with other people after being in isolation for so long.

What are the biggest lessons we’ve learned from the past four years?

During the pandemic, there was so much talk of “We’re not going back to normal” and I was like, “Well, I don’t want to be the voice of doom and gloom, but the muscle memory of a bureaucracy as large as the public education system in the United States is very strong.” I predicted that we would by and large go back to what we knew. 

We learned some things and continue to do some things differently, like the option for virtual meetings. Family participation in [special education] meetings is up because now parents don’t have to take time off work. On the flip side, we still have a digital divide. We still have too many kids that don’t have access to the internet. There’s been some backsliding there.

One of the key lessons is that we can’t focus on instruction without focusing on the overall well-being of our children. We have to make sure that our kids, and staff frankly, get the resources they need to be physically, emotionally and psychologically healthy. For all of the opportunities that technology brought, being in person matters — seeing that face, being hugged, having someone look you in the eye and sit down with you. 

There are various predictions about the chances of another pandemic in our lifetime. If that bears out, how do you think the system would respond? 

We’ve got some playbooks now. We are better prepared because we actually have some blueprints on the logistical part of it. I don’t think it will be the scramble that it was before. And since many of us blessedly lived through the last one, I’m hoping maybe there won’t be the same level of fear and uncertainty that existed before.

I remember doing virtual happy hours with my family in California and a lot of them were literally wiping down their groceries and they weren’t going anywhere. Those of us in school districts couldn’t do that. I don’t think I ever felt that same level of panic and fear because I just couldn’t afford to. I had to help hand out meals.

Do you think schools would close again? 

That’s a really good question. As much as I think closing schools for the length of time we did wasn’t the right thing to do, I know that officials in Washington state have pointed to the very that we had. I don’t know what the perfect answer is.

I was pretty critical of a lot of our elected leaders during that time, but in hindsight, I have more empathy and compassion. I do believe everyone was doing the best they could with what they knew.

Some, like Joshua Oh, who started sixth grade in 2019-20, never experienced a full year free from virus worry at the campus they’re now leaving. To mark the occasion, we invited a few members of ����Ӱ��’s Student Council who are graduating, including Oh, to take stock of the current moment, reflect on the highs and lows of pandemic schooling and share what they’ve learned along the way.

Joshua Oh, graduating from Crofton Middle School in Gambrills, Maryland

My views on life and school have drastically changed from the start of middle school to my graduation. I was excited about a new school and new people when I first started middle school in sixth grade. I remember being sad that there was no recess and having a completely different group of friends.

That first week is always the most nerve-racking but fun, meeting new people and fitting into groups. As the year went on, I realized how diverse the people were, unlike in elementary school. The kids were racially different and there was less teasing. I found friends that I connected more with and started to drift away from my original friend group. I met new people and got to talk to them every day until the pandemic started. 

At the time, everyone was happy getting a break from school, not knowing how long this break would be. Those two weeks increased from weeks to months until the lockdown started. I would watch the news and be scared that people I know could get COVID and die. I felt like I would be stuck inside forever and the world was falling apart. I had peers around me losing family members and it really scared me when a close friend’s uncle passed away. I was afraid the same thing could happen to the people I care about.

I was happy playing video games and doing nothing, but virtual school started a short time later. It felt like the first day of school again, but communication with everyone had stopped. The rest of the year was easy, with little teaching and easy assignments. 

The school system used summer break to fix virtual learning, and when the new school year started, we got actual work. There were no requirements for camera use during class, so nobody used them. Nobody knew what each other looked like, making it difficult to break the ice. At the time, I didn’t have much communication with my friends except through video games. I lost a couple and gained a few friends, but this was a low point in my middle school career. 

Things started to get easier when hybrid learning was introduced, although optional. I was one of the few to pick this and got to make new friends. I didn’t learn much from this year, but it is something I will never forget. Restrictions started to decrease during that summer, and I hung out with my friends more. When the new school year started, in-person learning was required, along with masks. School started to feel normal again, and masks became optional. As the year went on, COVID faded from the news. It felt like COVID was gone and as if a dark cloud was lifted from everyone’s head.

I’m now in the last month of middle school, and it feels surreal that it’s all ending. In sixth grade, I thought middle school would be fun and would last a while, but it is almost over. I have changed a lot from the start of sixth grade to the end of eighth grade. I skipped a year where many things changed, including me, and I don’t get excited about the same things. I used to be insanely happy about things like Christmas and Halloween, but COVID has made me care about other things like time with friends and family. 

I hope in high school COVID won’t cloud my thoughts and I want to spend more time having fun with friends. It feels like COVID is attached to middle school and high school will be a fresh start. COVID will affect my future challenges by helping me realize that these problems are small. I know that I have overcome a huge obstacle and am much stronger and more resilient than I was before. The pandemic has taught me how to adapt when situations like these occur and changed who I am.

Diego Camacho, graduating from Collegiate Charter High School in Los Angeles, California

There is a strange connection between journalism and physics. At their very best, both subjects seek to expose an objective, unyielding truth. That concept, the search for reality, has motivated all my academic endeavors. 

But, unfortunately, COVID limited my high school’s ability to offer avenues for exploring the two subjects I love so much.

Whatever underlying issues were present at my school were exacerbated by the pandemic. With a small campus and student body of 200, certain problems can become more prominent than in larger schools. The resignation of a teacher, for example, may mean the loss of an entire class for the remainder of the year. Course offerings one year may be very different from the previous years. 

My school once had a physics class. After talking with the school about the possibility of taking AP Physics for my junior year, I learned the school no longer offered it and only allowed two AP classes per student, per year, assigned based on grade. Thankfully, dual-enrollment at East Los Angeles Community College allowed me to take classes the school was unable to offer.

Many educators I had the pleasure of meeting my sophomore year left the following year. We lost our PE/biology teacher, an English teacher, our enrichment coordinator and a mathematics teacher, among quite a few others. For a small school, this was incredibly difficult. On top of that, our principal resigned that summer. Since then, the school has had many temporary principals. That looming, hectic uncertainty affected students’ ability to plan ahead.

Without a mathematics teacher, the school had to combine their pre-algebra and pre-calculus courses. Seniors and juniors shared a Zoom call, relying on Khan Academy’s free online courses rather than live teaching. 

With in-person learning for senior year, I asked for an exemption to my school’s two AP class policy, hoping to stuff my senior schedule full. My school counselor was unable to grant me the exemption.

Although I did not have many STEM opportunities at my high school, my passion for physics and journalism never waivered. COVID, teacher shortages, and strict policies were stepping stones to greater things. There are countless avenues for discovery, learning and growth outside of school. From dual enrollment at your local community college, to student research, to internship opportunities at the L.A. Times, genuine passions can’t be quelled. 

Currently, I am preparing for a gap year of learning, project-finishing and internship-taking before I make a college commitment. Now, with the conclusion of my senior year, I am optimistic that future graduating classes at my former school will not face the COVID-related challenges I did.

Kota Babcock, graduate of Colorado State University in Fort Collins, Colorado

After eight jam-packed semesters at CSU, I walked across the stage and received my diploma on May 13. It’s only been about a month since then, but already, leaving behind my identity as a student has been harder than I expected. 

With each exam, I found myself craving the freedom from homework, on-campus jobs and the stress of student life. As I now walk away, it’s strange to think that for the first time since I was 5  years old, I cannot call myself a student.

While in undergrad, I was deeply involved in HIV and LGBTQ activism. As the chair of All The T.E.A. (Teach, Empower, Advocate), I drove over an hour from Fort Collins to Denver to coordinate workshops, attend local community conferences and to meet with the activists who taught me everything I know. My efforts with All The T.E.A. shaped my interest in fighting antisemitism on campus and in advocating for the full inclusion of minority students at Colorado State. 

I also worked as KCSU-FM’s news director and as the Rocky Mountain Collegian’s arts and culture director, interviewing a variety of musicians, small business owners and other notable locals. 

I’m fortunate enough to have found a job right away as a general assignment reporter at a local Wyoming newspaper, the Laramie Boomerang. But striking the balance with continuing my activism work now presents a new challenge. 

I still make my way to Denver each month (sometimes virtually) to work toward the same goal All The T.E.A. has worked toward since I was in middle school: empowering people living with HIV and advocating for a better future for all people impacted by HIV. A difficulty we faced since 2020 continues to plague the organization, as COVID-19 made it nearly impossible for people to consider HIV an urgent enough public health and social justice issue to volunteer their time to. As our organization moves toward the future, we’re building partnerships to continue offering educational resources, free HIV testing, a shared community and more. 

As for life in Laramie, it’s much different than the experiences I had growing up in Denver, although somewhat similar to the college town I spent the last four years in. Shopping options are a bit scarce, as are easy-to-find LGBTQ spaces for non-students compared to any city in Colorado. Despite Wyoming not having a single gay bar, the aftermath of pushed forward intense change in the small city. When Shepard attended the University of Wyoming in Laramie in 1998, two men from the city beat Shepard and left him for dead outside of town, and Shepard later died in a Fort Collins hospital. Now, most of downtown Laramie is covered in gay or transgender pride flags, and the city recently celebrated its sixth annual pride festival. The story of Shepard haunted me in my youth, especially as my friends and I dealt with anti-gay bullies throughout middle school just over 100 miles south. His death deeply impacted the local communities in both Colorado and Wyoming, and it served as a warning to openly LGBTQ people throughout my pre-teen and teenage years. Fort Collins, it seems to me, has largely moved on while Laramie remains mournful. 

Looking back on my career as a student, I sometimes grieve what the pandemic took from me — my study abroad plans were canceled twice — but I also reflect on what I’ve learned. Student media taught me to stand up as loudly as possible for change. From my coursework to my two on-campus jobs and my work with the Hillel Jewish Center at CSU, I learned that to survive as a minority in any space that marginalizes your experiences, you must be as loud as you can be. 

While I never went into journalism with the intent of uncovering secrets or exposing corruption, I did go into it knowing that people in powerful places don’t typically want social change or transparency, and fighting back against that is my goal in everything I do. As I move into my adult life, I won’t forget this lesson and I hope that incoming college students can understand this as well.

This story was brought to you via ����Ӱ��’s Student Council initiative, an effort to boost youth voices in our reporting. America’s Promise Alliance helped in the recruiting of our diverse 11-member council and the idea was conceived as part of Asher Lehrer-Small’s Poynter-Koch Media and Journalism Fellowship.