The details vary, but one theme emerges repeatedly: Obtaining support often depends less on a child’s needs than on a parent’s ability to understand and navigate complex education laws and systems, ask the right questions and persist when answers are unclear.

Last winter, NCLD convened a focus group of Family Leadership Council members representing families across the country. Despite differences in geography and school systems, parents described remarkably similar experiences, including opaque processes, inconsistent communication and a system that left them feeling responsible for navigating special education on behalf of their children. One participant described it as “playing a game I didn’t have the rules to.”

Parents shouldn’t be required to act as case managers

Nearly every parent described being handed forms to sign with little explanation. One mother recalled sitting in meetings “with people who had language I didn’t understand so I couldn’t respond in an educated way.” Another parent spent hours building her own data presentations to prove her child wasn’t making progress — work that felt necessary to ensure someone was monitoring it. 

In special education, families cannot be true partners when they do not understand the rules, processes or terminology shaping decisions about their child’s education. Collaboration requires transparency. Families cannot participate as equal partners when they lack clear information about how and why decisions are being made.  

When schools rely on parents to push for services using sophisticated advocacy skills, that widens inequities for children whose caregivers lack time, resources or English proficiency. has consistently documented disparities in special education access and parent participation based on socioeconomic resources, language proficiency and knowledge of school systems.

Many children in the focus group had more than one disability. Yet parents repeatedly described schools treating a single diagnosis as a catch-all explanation for every challenge a child faced. One mother shared that her district insisted her son’s autism accounted for all his learning needs, despite clear signs of dyslexia. Another parent’s child was initially labeled with a “processing disorder,” only to later receive diagnoses of dyslexia, ADHD and anxiety after an outside evaluation. Their experiences reflect a broader reality: Learning disabilities with conditions such as ADHD, autism spectrum disorder and anxiety disorders — making comprehensive evaluation essential. 

Relying on a single diagnosis delays identification, intervention and learning. Meanwhile, the child continues to struggle academically, emotionally and socially.

Outside evaluations and parent advocacy shouldn’t be the only path to clarity

Five of the 14 children discussed in the focus group received outside evaluations because parents felt their concerns were not being fully heard or addressed. These evaluations were expensive, time-consuming and often the only way families could get answers. Parents described the relief of finally understanding what was going on — and the frustration that it took so much effort to get there.

When schools resist diagnoses or updating evaluations, families with resources find workarounds, while families without resources have no choice but to wait. And waiting has consequences, including widening skill gaps, increased anxiety, and a growing sense of failure in children who are trying their hardest. They are not lazy or unintelligent; they’re struggling with needs that have not yet been adequately identified or addressed. 

One of the most powerful themes was how many parents grew into advocates not just for their own children, but for others. Several now work in organizations supporting families navigating the special education system. They do this because they know “what happens when children don’t get the services they need.” They have witnessed the consequences firsthand.

But their stories raise an important question: Why should families have to become advocates simply to secure appropriate support? Parent advocacy is valuable, but it should be a safeguard when systems fail, not the force that makes them work.

What schools can do differently starting now: 

The stories parents shared point to clear, actionable steps schools can take to make early learning disability identification more transparent, equitable and respectful of families’ experiences. 

• Communicating in plain language. Parents need to understand evaluations, timelines, and their rights before making decisions.

• Evaluating the whole child. One diagnosis should not prevent further assessment when concerns remain.

• Make progress transparent. Families should receive regular, understandable updates about goals, growth and next steps.

The parents in NCLD’s focus group were persistent, resourceful and determined. Many eventually secured the services their children needed. But children should not receive different opportunities simply because one family knows how to navigate special education while another does not. 

Advocacy matters. Yet it should function as a safeguard, not a requirement. Schools cannot eliminate every obstacle families face, but they can ensure that access to services depends on student needs rather than parental advocacy skills. That’s not just good practice. It’s a matter of educational equity.

The discussion on NY Inspires, the state’s ambitious plan to overhaul secondary education, centered on the decision to decouple the state’s Regents exams as a graduation requirement, beginning in the 2027-28 school year. Students will still take the exams, administered , to meet federal accountability rules. But graduation will no longer be tied to scores.

While EdTrust-New York supports additional flexibility for graduation requirements, we are deeply concerned the state is moving forward with this change without putting an alternative system in place to measure whether students are ready for success after high school. 

Now is not the time for New York to weaken the state’s only objective measure of high school readiness. Doing so could mask the deep challenges facing our schools and students while making it even harder for parents, employers and colleges to determine whether students have the skills they need to succeed after graduation. 

State, national and international data show that New York students continue to struggle with reading and math. In 2025, the state’s graduation rate reached 85%, yet only 56% of students passed the Algebra 1 Regents Exam. And on the 2024 NAEP, only 31% of 8th graders entering high school were proficient in reading. Just this week, the that U.S. 15-year-olds scored near their lowest levels in reading and math since 2000. 

These numbers reveal a clear disconnect between the assessment data showing a math and literacy crisis, and what the New York State Education Department (NYSED) considers college and career readiness.  

Standardized assessments such as Regents exams are far from perfect. But they are not responsible for New York’s poor reading and math outcomes. Simply changing graduation requirements will not solve the underlying problem: New York is failing to prepare its students — particularly Black and Latinx students, students from low-income households, students with disabilities and multilingual learners — with the foundational skills they need for post-secondary success.  

Even more alarming than the policy itself is the poor roll out of NY Inspires. As the new school year gets underway, schools still face significant confusion and a lack of guidance about how they will measure proficiency in core high school subjects instead of Regents exams for current high school students in less than a year. 

If the state Education Department truly wants to create a new graduation standard and position New York as a national leader preparing students to become 21st Century learners, it should not eliminate Regents exams as a graduation requirement without first establishing a credible alternative. State leaders should provide schools with clear expectations, reliable measures and the resources they need before they weaken an existing statewide standard.  

When state leaders roll out poorly thought-out policies, the students most likely to suffer are those whom our school system already serves least well. New York should also learn from the experiences of states such as Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont, which attempted similar competency-based graduation reforms before scaling them back or abandoning them amid concerns about equity, inconsistent definitions of proficiency and an inadequate educator capacity and training. 

The state should pause the implementation of NY Inspires, including the elimination of Regents exams as a graduation requirement. Before moving forward, the department should make a concerted effort to provide schools with the guidance, rubrics, and statewide calibrations they need to implement NY Inspires effectively, equitably and transparently. 

New York can and should rethink how it measures student readiness. But it should not remove the measuring stick before it has built a better one.

A blank document had become intimidating, not because she had nothing to say, but because she forgot how to say it alone. 

That scene from one of our classes underscores the unique challenge our generation faces as the first to grow up with artificial intelligence being a part of everyday life. High school students across the country share the struggle of navigating education with this new technology. 

According to a , the vast majority of teens who use AI for schoolwork do so without clear guidelines from their teachers, turning generative tools into an easy shortcut rather than an educational aid simply because no one ever taught us how to use them properly. 

This isn’t the first time a young generation has grappled with new technology in everyday life. During the rise of the internet in the late 1990s, the original digital divide was a battle of infrastructure and wealth. It split our parents’ generation into those who had computers and dial-up at home, and those who were left completely offline. 

Decades later, proved that this original physical gap directly fueled a deeply polarized labor market. This divide compounded existing socioeconomic inequalities, leaving those who lacked technology access with restricted career and wage prospects. The difference between the rise of the internet and AI is that the AI divide is defined by agency — who is taught to command systems and who is left to navigate them in the dark — not access.

Some school districts have acknowledged this and have taught students how to use AI tools by practicing prompt engineering, learning to verify AI-generated facts and enhancing the skills that the workforce will demand. For instance, partnered with higher education and industry leaders to launch a district-wide AI literacy initiative. The district integrated specific frameworks into high schools to ensure students graduate with the critical thinking and ethical skills necessary to navigate an AI-driven economy.

However, in other schools, students are banned from using AI entirely and are not taught how to spot bias, talk to AI, or to use it ethically. For instance, has adopted strict frameworks that restrict major AI platforms, except Microsoft Copilot and Canva AI, across school networks — treating any unapproved use as an academic integrity violation. 

Simply warning students against using AI without teaching them how the technology works or how to question its outputs doesn’t stop them from using it. It only leaves them to use it passively, without developing critical thinking skills to optimize it. 

According to the Lumina Foundation, over half of high school students regularly use AI tools for schoolwork, even though . When policy ignores this reality, schools fail to eliminate AI use — they only succeed in eliminating AI literacy.

In addition to students, many teachers and administrators are also being left behind simply from the lack of guidance and necessary digital infrastructure. In fact, as of 2026, lack the time to develop an AI training curriculum, and 75% lack the knowledge to do so. Without a standard curriculum that simultaneously educates our teachers and students, schools risk creating a future workforce where those unfamiliar with AI tools are systematically left behind. 

Although AI currently poses challenges in schools, it can transform learning if integrated deliberately. As students from Virginia and Wisconsin, we call on state legislators and school boards to pass legislation mandating AI literacy standards tied to industry benchmarks as a graduation requirement. 

To enforce this, state boards of education must tie direct funding to AI-resilient curriculum compliance, while also allocating funds for teacher professional development so educators across all subjects — not just technology fields — are trained to teach ethical AI usage.

Educational communities do not need to start from scratch: Successful models already exist. recently implemented an initiative that involves its members working with high school teachers to develop a curriculum — based on Google’s AI Essentials online course — designed to teach high schoolers how to safely use AI.  

If we as a society don’t teach all students how to interact with AI, young people will not only be given a weaker education, they will be locked  out of the new AI-integrated economic ecosystem. Legislators, school boards and educators have a responsibility to ensure that young generations are able to use AI. 

I was an assistant principal at the time, popping into dozens of classes each month, and I remember thinking: This is both the hardest and most important part of teaching. It’s almost like watching Olympic athletes; they make their sport look easy, and great teachers do the same.

The instinct Mrs. Johnson displayed — noticing what a student needs and responding in the learning moment — is a practice called responsive teaching. It isn’t new, as teachers have always adapted on the fly. We reteach a concept when someone looks confused, pull a small group together mid-lesson, catch a student who’s uncharacteristically quiet and check in before it becomes a pattern. In short, teacher judgment is the engine behind responsive instruction. 

But that judgment is now being asked to cover more ground, with less support to draw on. If schools want to address the issues facing education today, they need to empower teachers to see and respond to every individual in real time — without adding to their workload or stress. 

Teachers face mounting, intersecting challenges

Classrooms today hold a wider range of needs than ever. from this year shows that even before the pandemic, elementary classrooms were academically diverse: In a typical fifth-grade class, only about a quarter of students were on track for grade-level proficiency. After the pandemic, that overall proficiency level hasn’t changed dramatically, but the depth of the gap has. Lower-achieving students are now further behind and need accelerated growth just to catch up by year’s end. 

Practically, that means teachers are managing abilities that are further apart than they used to be in classes that, especially in upper grades, might contain 30 or 40 students.

At the same time, teachers are being asked to cover more than academics. Kids walk in carrying social and emotional weight that shapes their ability to learn, and it’s up to the teacher to make sure they succeed. In fact, when TPT (a marketplace for classroom resources, thousands of educators this summer, meeting emotional and behavioral needs was their top concern, even above academics.

There’s no question over whether educators are capable of helping every student thrive. Teachers like Mrs. Johnson don’t need to dig through yet another data system to know their classes. But they do need the time and support to act on their judgment, for every student, all day, without sacrificing their own happiness or passion for the job.

Helping teachers scale what they’ve always done instinctively 

Enabling responsive teaching in today’s landscape doesn’t have to be complicated. 

It can start with something straightforward and often overlooked: encouraging teachers to build routines that create space for judgment to work. The best teachers I’ve seen add intentional structure into the day, to help kids stay in the learning mindset. 

I visited a public school in New York City where every student wrote a personal goal on a sticky note each morning, something like “I’m going to be kind today” or “I’ll do well on my math test,” and circled back to it before dismissal with their teachers. Another simple practice is pairing students with different classmates for a few minutes of guided conversation before class or between topics.

Neither takes more than five or 10 minutes or requires a new program. The value is in giving teachers a read on their students throughout the school day, while also giving students practice naming what they need.

Technology has a role here too, if done right. It’s important to remember data points don’t capture everything. An assessment score won’t convey that a student did poorly on a quiz because he was distracted about a field trip that afternoon, or that a tough week had more to do with what’s going on at home than the material. Teachers are able to bring those insights because they know their students.  

What technology can do when it’s thoughtfully designed is sharpen the teachers’ hunches by providing immediate insight into which skill students understand. It can flag issues even before they’re visible, then help teachers respond right away by offering personalized next steps to deepen learning for every student. In other words, tech doesn’t override judgment, but it should make exercising that judgment faster, more precise and scalable.

With any new tech, rolling it out correctly is the most important piece. I’ve seen effective tools and smart initiatives fail because teachers were trained once and left to figure out the actual usage alone. Instead, schools should build in ongoing support: a dedicated tech leader who can answer a quick question, regular time for teachers to explore resources and compare notes, and leadership that rigorously assesses what’s working and actually drops what isn’t. 

None of this is complex, but it’s not going to happen without effort. It requires administrators to protect teachers’ expertise as fiercely as they protect instructional minutes, to resist piling on disparate tools that lead to fatigue more than results, and to treat teacher judgment as the thing worth building systems around rather than a variable to be managed by those systems.

If we focus on making responsive teaching easily achievable in every classroom, we have a real opportunity to improve outcomes for our students while making life better for teachers — and that benefits everyone.

She created the program in 1995, inspired in part by her father, who could not read or write. What began as an effort to put books into the hands of children in her Tennessee community became an international program that has distributed millions of free books.

Her idea was simple: introduce youngsters to good books. But its simplicity should not obscure its significance. A book in a child’s mailbox is more than a book. It can become a conversation between parent and child, a bedtime ritual, a story read repeatedly. It can open hearts and minds and change a child’s understanding of what books and reading are for.

That distinction has shaped my life and work. As a professor at the Warner School of Education and Human Development at the University of Rochester, where I focus on reading and literacy, I have spent my career thinking about how children learn to read. Through my work with Rochester children and families — including , Project READ and other literacy initiatives — I have also learned that teaching reading is only part of the work.

Helping children grow up to love books and enjoy reading is equally important. 

I have watched reluctant readers become increasingly enthusiastic when they are given meaningful choices about what they read. I have seen confidence grow as their skills develop, and I have seen the joy that comes when children find books that reflect their own lives, questions, and experiences. Those moments remind me that motivation and joy are part of how literacy grows.

Our public conversation about reading can become overly focused on scores, reading levels and achievement gaps. Those measures matter. Children deserve excellent reading instruction, and schools must be accountable for providing it. However, a reading score cannot tell whether a child thinks of books as something they want to return to — or whether reading has become a source of curiosity rather than simply another school task. A child can learn how to read without yet knowing why reading matters. 

Literacy is foundational because it gives children access to knowledge, information and opportunities in a world increasingly saturated with text. Reading also gives children something less easily measured: language to express their experiences and access to worlds beyond their own. Books can help children recognize themselves, encounter people unlike themselves, ask better questions and imagine new possibilities.

That is why access to books is not a sentimental issue. It is an issue of opportunity.

It’s distressing that legislators in four states — Indiana, Missouri, Maine and Washington — are looking to cut public funding for Parton’s program.

For those who work in literacy, the lesson Parton imparted with her program is both simple and demanding. We need strong reading instruction, skilled teachers, accessible libraries and community programs that reach families where they are. But we also need to create the conditions in which children can discover the pleasure of reading and recognize themselves as readers. The goal is not simply to produce children who can read. It is to help children become readers. 

Parton gave millions of children a place to begin that journey. Our responsibility is to ensure every child discovers the gifts of becoming a reader.

For school districts, as in any industry, accountability can’t end when a contract is signed, it must begin there. 

That is why outcomes-based contracting has emerged as one of the most promising shifts in K–12 procurement in decades. Essentially, this approach ties a portion of an education technology provider’s payment to whether agreed-upon student outcomes are achieved when educators implement the program as recommended. Rather than paying solely for products or services, outcomes-based contracting aligns districts and providers around a shared goal: improving student outcomes. Done well, it transforms the relationship from a traditional vendor agreement into a true partnership centered on student success.

Early evidence suggests the model has real promise. A from WestEd found that districts implementing outcomes-based contracts saw positive impacts on student performance. Further, it improved implementation through more frequent communication between districts and technology providers, and led to better leveraging of data to help improve outcomes.

The has helped establish a national framework and brought together districts and providers committed to rethink how educational services are purchased and evaluated. Since 2024, my organization, Curriculum Associates, has grown its partnership with the center, and most recently engaged with its Provider Learning Series in the spring. 

But as more districts move this model from theory to implementation, we’re learning something important: The conversation is no longer just whether to adopt outcomes-based contracting, it’s how to implement it well. Based on our experience, there are several principles that can help make outcomes-based contracting more meaningful, practical, and ultimately, more beneficial for students.

First, districts and providers need to measure outcomes in ways that are both ambitious and realistic. Student growth depends on many factors, and accountability should reflect the portion of the instructional experience a provider can reasonably influence. Rather than expecting every enrolled student to achieve the same outcome, districts and providers should consider overall class or school-level growth, such as the median percentage of progress toward each growth target. This approach reflects the holistic picture of how much each student progresses, rather than reducing outcomes to a simple and incomplete yes/no of whether a student met a target.

Second, accountability is bolstered by robust discussions about implementation. One of our earliest partnerships with Fresno Unified School District reinforced this lesson. The strongest outcomes did not come from payment terms. They came from regular governance meetings, shared data reviews and continuous course correction throughout the school year. The contract created accountability, but the partnership created improvement.

Third, professional learning should be viewed as essential, not optional. Every district begins from a different place, with different priorities, staffing models, and levels of readiness. Successful implementation requires more than purchasing the product. It requires ongoing coaching, customized support, and a shared understanding of how instructional practices connect to student outcomes. Meeting the unique needs of a district is not something that can be baked into a one-sized fits all model. 

We have seen, first-hand, the benefits of this strategy. In Fresno, implementation extended well beyond the product itself to include professional learning, implementation support and alignment with the district’s broader literacy strategy. Like any major decision, the district leaders in Fresno thought through how to best apply these tools and work them into the district’s broader strategy before application.

Fourth, incentives should strengthen partnerships, not simply reward or punish performance. Outcomes-based contracting works best when both sides have something to gain from student success. Districts should have meaningful protections if agreed-upon outcomes are not achieved. At the same time, when partnerships exceed expectations, providers should look for ways to reinvest that success, whether through additional professional learning, implementation support, or future service credits. Accountability should encourage continuous improvement, not create winners and losers.

Finally, educators should evaluate instructional systems, not just software. Student outcomes are the product of multiple factors. They reflect the use of the tool, as well as systems and structures that ensure all resources work together.

Perhaps the most valuable lesson from Fresno was that the partnership improved both organizations. The district strengthened its approach to accountability, while as partners we new insights into what drives successful implementation in real classrooms. The results were significant. According to district data, 70% of Fresno Unified’s kindergarteners achieved mastery in foundational literacy skills, exceeding the 62.5% target the district set for June 2026. That’s exactly what a strong partnership should do: create learning on both sides all in service of students.

Outcomes-based contracting is still evolving, and that’s a good thing. As more districts gain implementation experience, the education community has an opportunity to refine what works, share best practices and build on the strong foundation the Center for Outcomes Based Contracting has established.

The future of education procurement shouldn’t be about shifting risk from one party to another. It should be about aligning everyone around the same goal: helping students succeed.

When districts and providers share responsibility, invest in implementation and continuously learn from one another, everyone benefits. Districts gain stronger partners, providers become more accountable, and most importantly, students receive the support they deserve.

But what if our students didn’t have to choose between the two? Imagine a student who excels in AP English discovering, through an internship at a tech company, how their passion for the written word can lead to a lucrative career in technical writing. Or a student earning a welding certification who enrolls in business classes that challenge them to think beyond employment to entrepreneurship.

As district leaders, we have to ask ourselves: Despite our best intentions, have we unknowingly limited students’ potential by creating rigid pathways that separate academic achievement from career exploration? 

For , it’s a question we needed to answer for our own students. What we discovered in talking with other innovative schools across the country changed our entire approach to career-connected learning . Today, DPS is considered by members of the a model to be studied on a national level; and as its superintendent, I have been named to the to speak on the district’s approach to career-connected learning.

Today, have CTE programs, and each looks completely different. In some cases, CTE is designed as , giving struggling students an “out” from college preparation. In others, tech-focused, dual-credit courses are reserved for top-performing students.

As home to Connecticut’s largest high school, DPS understood this divide all too well. The district offered a CTE program, including a successful Certified Nursing Assistant pathway. Despite overwhelming interest, only 60 students could be accepted each year, closing opportunities for many qualified and motivated students. 

Meanwhile, graduation rates and student engagement were on a downward spiral. Recognizing that career  opportunities aligned with students’ interests for the future, DPS sought to create an equitable learning experience for all students, not just high achievers.

Building on best practices from National Career Academy Coalition nationwide, DPS launched , the Northeast’s first wall-to-wall career academy model. With eight academies — including Clean Energy, Green Design, Information Technology and Cybersecurity — students can explore 21 career pathways.

The academies are challenging the misconception that career pathways are only for those students heading directly to work after high school. Durable skills built through real-world, hands-on experiences — like critical thinking, adaptability and conflict management — are at every level of industry. Employers report that many young workers, including, are missing the critical skills essential for professional success. By equipping students with workplace competencies now, we can give them a meaningful advantage whenever they enter the job market.

Unlike traditional career programs that layer electives into a traditional classroom structure, the new generation of public school academies are built around exploration. There’s no “general track” here – every student follows a career-connected pathway that allows for job shadowing, project-based learning, certifications and internships. The model ensures opportunities once reserved for a select group of students are available to everyone, including those who thrive in areas often overlooked by CTE programs, such as the arts and humanities.

Just as important, students are not sorted into pathways by a transcript or test score. They are empowered to discover their own path. In Danbury, freshmen are embedded in a year-long exploration of their interests, career goals and available opportunities. Through a variety of activities, including career fairs and industry field trips, they gain the insights needed to rank the pathways they plan to pursue in grades 10 to 12 based on their passions instead of their GPA. That freedom gives students a sense of ownership over their education, which becomes a powerful catalyst for engagement.

Finally, career exploration should open doors, not lock students into a single pathway. Educators must work with students to switch pathways if needed and adjust electives to meet their evolving interests. 

For example, a student pursuing a CNA certification may discover a hospital setting is not the right fit for them. However, through their Academy pathway, they may uncover aligned opportunities in fields such as social work or biomedical research. By adjusting their plans in high school, students avoid costly major changes in college and the debt that comes with them.

One of the most significant deterrents to building a robust CTE program is the . Investing in advanced instructional technologies, hiring additional staff and retrofitting existing buildings is often out of bounds for districts on tight budgets. 

Ensuring that a highly-trained workforce is ready to solve the requires businesses and trade associations to play a bigger role in preparing tomorrow’s talent. That includes opening their doors to students and offering mentorships, internships and hands-on learning that bring high school lessons to life.

At the same time, federal and state leaders must invest in the programs that prepare students for the jobs of tomorrow. Despite being one of the lowest-funded districts in Connecticut, DPS has scaled our program with intention, securing grant funding that has enabled us to invest in a new cybersecurity lab, advanced CAD equipment and drafting tables.

Since the launch of The Academies of Danbury High School in 2024, the district is already seeing its impact firsthand. While it will be four years before DPS has a complete picture of graduation trends, the early results are promising. The overall graduation rate rose 6.4 percentage points in one year, from 76.6% in 2024 to 83% in 2025. Among English learners, the increase was even greater: 17.9 percentage points, from 52.8% to 70.7%.

Rates increased by 10.2 percentage points among Hispanic students and male students, 7.1 points among high-needs students, 5.9 points among Black students and 5.4 points among Asian students. These results, alongside improved attendance and engagement, reflect students’ stronger connection to school and greater investment in their learning. Student focus groups also report high satisfaction with opportunities to choose and complete meaningful, hands-on work that builds toward a potential career.

As districts across the country grapple with student disengagement and declining test scores, we have to realize no superhero is coming to save the day. We have to put on our own capes — to be bold enough to reimagine the traditional learning model as a system that centers on every student’s career aspiration and unlimited potential. When learning is connected to purpose, students don’t just perform better; they become empowered to thrive in both the classroom and their future careers.

But unlike most 10-year-olds, a year ago this child left her family and her home, walking for days with little to eat. To protect her from the violence against women that is pervasive in rural Guatemala, and with the hope that she could have a better life, her mother sent her to the United States. Abiding by our immigration policy at the time, the young girl crossed the border and presented herself to immigration authorities to request asylum here. Yet now, due to policy changes, she is considered to be undocumented, part of a group that is being targeted politically. 

As a bilingual social worker, I have spent the past six years working closely with immigrants in southeast Tennessee. I’ve heard many variations of this story. I’m not using names in this story to protect the immigrants I know. So many children and families have endured trauma in their country of origin and come here abiding by our rules; they work hard and contribute by supporting our schools, boosting local economies, and paying taxes to fund our government. 

And yet, common misconceptions persist and drive our immigration policy. Misconceptions like being undocumented means that an immigrant broke the law when they arrived, or that somehow simultaneously new arrivals are coming here to live off the government while also stealing American jobs. As someone who works daily with immigrants, I can assure you that those I know give much more to our country and to our communities than they could ever take. Their contributions are enormous — cultural, educational, economic and more.

For instance, a father immigrated from Venezuela through legal pathways years ago. When his children began attending school, he was shocked to see school staff members volunteering their free time to maintain and improve the campus. In the father’s home country, this was something parents did. He organized a parent committee to take the burden off of teachers, a contribution that has increased family engagement and improved teacher morale. And yet this father— who has given so much to his community — is now considered undocumented due to policy reversals and is at risk of being targeted by immigration enforcement. 

Anti-immigrant politicians often portray immigrants as criminals who drain public resources and weaken American communities. And yet, the experiences of families I encounter tell a different story. The truth is that many undocumented immigrants have not violated the law, that immigrants contribute more to our economy than they receive in public benefits, and that they strengthen the communities they join through service, hard work and civic engagement. 

As an undocumented immigrant, the 10-year-old girl is not eligible for any public assistance: not food stamps, nor Medicaid, and she does not qualify for any type of subsidized housing. If she wants to attend college some day, to fulfill her dream of becoming a police officer and keeping others safe, she would not be eligible for any type of government grants or student loans. The only government support she receives is a free, public school education, a benefit she takes full advantage of every morning when she wakes herself up, makes her breakfast, dresses and eagerly waits for the school bus to arrive. 

However, even this benefit has been threatened. In both the 2025 and 2026 legislative sessions, Tennessee lawmakers sponsored bills that would deny undocumented students the right to a free public education. This legislation, a direct challenge to the United States Supreme Court’s 1982 decision in Plyler v. Doe, could make it harder, or impossible, for many immigrant students to go to public school. Although the young girl followed our immigration policy and continues to attend her check-ins and court dates, she remains among those who many lawmakers believe are undeserving of the basic right to education. 

When attempting to deny a free public education to undocumented students, Tennessee state legislators have pointed to the high cost of educating undocumented children. While the economic burden of immigrants is often cited by those opposing immigration, a 30-year published by the Cato Institute, a libertarian think tank, found that immigrants pay more in taxes than they consume in public services. Over the course of the study, there was a net positive contribution of more than $14.5 trillion. These are tax dollars that help reduce our national deficit. 

Immigrants also contribute by sustaining our population growth amid declining birth rates. Recent Congressional revealed that the Social Security program is now projected to be depleted in 2032, a year earlier than the estimate given in 2025, due in part to declining immigration. 

Many immigrants have not broken any laws, yet remain undocumented and legally vulnerable. They are portrayed as a drain on society, yet they help sustain programs like Social Security through their tax contributions, even though many will never receive those benefits. 

As we watch our neighbors being detained and deported, we see that we are not losing the “worst of the worst,” but people who embody some of the best American ideals: hard work, selfless contribution, and a desire to build a better future for their families and communities. 

Adults design policies for her future — the classes she takes, the programs available in her neighborhood, the career training offered at her school — but very few of us have ever asked her what she actually needs.

In New Orleans, we asked. And what we heard changed the way we design support for young people. Your city should, too.

For the past seven years, the Education Research Alliance for New Orleans at Tulane University has led the — a collaborative effort with a steering committee of community organizations, government agencies and school leaders to ask students directly about their lives inside and outside of school. Our , conducted with about 2,000 sixth through 11th graders across 16 public schools last spring, added new questions about mental health. The findings are hard to sit with.

About one in three New Orleans youth is struggling with their mental health. About 41% report feeling sad or hopeless almost every day. These are not just New Orleans numbers. show similar rates of adolescent depression and anxiety. 

What is distinctive about New Orleans is that we asked why they are not getting needed help. Twenty-six percent of students said they needed counseling at some point in the past year but didn’t get it. And more than half — 55% — have avoided seeking mental health help at some point because of what others might think. Among Black youth, the numbers are starker: Nearly twice as many reported needing counseling and not receiving it compared to white youth.

Perhaps most telling is whom young people turn to when they’re struggling. The majority said they’d reach out to a friend. Fewer than one in 10 would go to a school counselor. Almost one in five said they wouldn’t reach out to anyone. New Orleans youth told us why they are struggling. And knowing changes things.

When we released earlier surveys showing that students were leaving home before dawn to catch school buses, the district changed its busing policy. When a charter management organization noticed that its students’ sense of belonging lagged that of similar schools, they redesigned their social-emotional learning approach. When community leaders learned that New Orleans middle schoolers had far fewer career-preparation opportunities than students nationwide, local workforce organizations began rethinking what support looks like before high school. 

None of those changes would have happened if adults had continued making decisions based on assumptions about what young people need.

The mental health findings from this year are already moving conversations. At our public release event, a high school student who helped design the survey described watching classmates struggle in silence — afraid to ask for help, unsure where to turn, not trusting that anyone would understand. She was describing data she had helped collect from students who looked like her. 

The superintendent of New Orleans Public Schools, Fateama Fulmore, said “This report provides encouragement and a sober reminder of the responsibilities we carry as a school system and as a city for our children.” Meshawn Siddiq, deputy director of the city’s Department of Health, echoed, “As a system, I feel like in order for it all to work, every aspect of it needs to work together.” That is the point of this work.

Other cities can do this. The model is not complicated, but it requires intentionality: a commitment to collaborating with local stakeholders to know what information they need, to asking young people real questions, to sharing what you hear even when it’s uncomfortable, and to letting their answers actually drive decisions.

Our students are not getting the mental health support they need. They told us that because we asked. The least we can do is listen.

Education finance could learn a thing or two.

Policymakers intent on providing high-quality schools for everyone typically face a familiar problem: Variability in property taxes allows wealthier communities to send much more money to their local schools than those in poorer communities. That extra investment translates into opportunities that lower-wealth schools simply cannot afford. Education leaders across the country have tried to fix this by filling holes with state dollars. But they are faced with a common challenge: If local spending on education in high-wealth communities keeps rising, the bar for state contributions to poorer communities moves with it.

Many professional sports leagues grappling with similar issues of inequality have found a solution in salary caps that curb wealth hoarding and reward competitiveness. In the National Basketball Association, the salary cap is a set dollar amount that all teams must stay under to avoid a financial penalty. If my beloved Atlanta Hawks spent $100,000 above the threshold, for instance, they would pay an additional $100,000 as a luxury tax. These extra dollars would then be distributed to teams that have not spent as much, helping to level the playing field.

What could this policy look like in education? Vermont already has one in place. 

Like many states, Vermont calculates and guarantees a baseline amount of funding required to educate a standard student (which is adjusted by increasing funding for disadvantaged kids). But beginning in 1997, Vermont lawmakers adopted an additional process called the excess spending adjustment. If a town votes to spend more than the baseline per-pupil funding amount, it triggers the state’s version of the NBA’s luxury tax. Wealthy towns can still raise more money for their schools, but are then required to pay higher rates created in the funding formula. In Fiscal Year 2026, exceeded the $15,926 spending threshold.

The additional tax revenue raised by property-rich towns is distributed to property-poor, rural school districts to ensure their students get a more equitable education. Three years into implementation, that legislative provisions including the excess spending adjustment had significantly reduced the relationship among property wealth, student resources and taxpayer burden. 

What stops other states from following in Vermont’s footsteps? Policies like this do not come easily, and may require a shock to the status quo. The NBA salary cap and luxury tax were the result of difficult negotiations between the league and players. Vermont’s school funding mechanism was passed in response to a state Supreme Court ruling that the state’s previous education finance law was unconstitutional. Many wealthier residents expressed outrage at the new law — one going so far as to buy a car previously owned by one of the bill’s chief sponsors, bringing it to the state capitol and urging passers-by to to vent their frustration with the new law.

Interestingly, several of the financially affected by the excess spending threshold are not eligible to vote in Vermont: Many of its property-rich communities are ski resorts filled with second homes of out-of-state residents. This politically advantageous fact, paired with provisions that provided 229 of the state’s school districts with additional funding and only 23 districts with less, might help explain why the pushback was not strong enough to undo the law’s sweeping changes. Howard Dean, the incumbent governor, faced an opponent who tried to center the law as her chief campaign issue. Dean handily won reelection.

Vermont is not alone in structurally tackling this issue. Texas has , a state policy that requires wealthy school districts to send a portion of their local property tax revenue back to the state. In the 2024-25 school year, nearly was returned to the state under the program.

Policy advocates interested in finance equity policies should study these two states, and consider how private giving might circumvent any progress. 

In my work for , housed in the Southern Education Foundation, I regularly meet with education stakeholders across the country to imagine school funding and enrollment policies that undo the harm of intense segregation, specifically between districts. Income segregation leaves students in high-poverty schools with and few resources to meet them. Some state leaders treat the school district lines as impenetrable, for both students and dollars, leaving kids to the education provided by local property tax wealth. But every American has an affirmative right to public education, written into the state constitutions. Like the NBA power brokers of the 1980s and the Vermont lawmakers of the late 1990s, state legislators can work across lines of difference to devise a system where wealth hoarding is challenged. The ball is in their court.

Yet too many students lack the guidance they need to benefit from these growing opportunities. remain persistently severe, while career navigation is often a back-burner priority. High schools remain wedded to “college for all,” despite in alternative pathways. Consequently, too many young people are unaware of the careers they could pursue, the availability of jobs locally, and the skills required. A 2024 found that 66% of young adults ages 16 to 24 “do not know exactly what career they want to pursue.”

This lack of guidance hinders students’ economic prospects and undermines employers’ efforts to get the workforce they need. But new approaches to career navigation could narrow this gap. 

As we found in researching a new FutureEd , innovations in curriculum design, service delivery and technology could broaden access to high-quality career guidance for students, and without massive staff hiring sprees few districts can afford.

One such emerging strategy is to integrate career navigation into curriculum. In California’s Cajon Valley Union School District, for instance, career exploration is part of the classwork, not shunted off to counselors. As part of the district’s “” , students participate in “deep career exposure” with hands-on activities and real-life experiences. 

Students start learning about various careers as early as kindergarten, and by high school, they spend up to 40% of their time in job experiences or internships.

Enlisting teachers reduces the burden on counselors and encourages educators to develop academic content relevant to students’ postsecondary lives. Instead of learning about geometry in the abstract, for example, students apply geometric concepts to a construction project, making schoolwork more relevant and engaging.

Real-world career exposure especially benefits students without adequate guidance at home or in their communities. In Cajon Valley’s public schools, about 20 miles outside San Diego, nearly of students are economically disadvantaged. Research shows that low-income households and communities have less access than their wealthier counterparts to the professional networks and that enable upward mobility. 

A second emerging strategy leverages nonprofit intermediaries specializing in college and career navigation. A growing cohort of organizations — including Jobs for the Future’s and grantees of Strada Education’s initiative — are helping to expand schools’ counseling capacity by providing coaching, advising and access to work-based learning.

In Chicago Public Schools, for example, the nonprofit trains teachers as advisers to work with student “fellows” at 36 high-poverty high schools who receive college and career guidance for three years, including one year after graduation. Beyond job exploration, this includes social-emotional skills development, test prep, college admissions, financial aid applications and, in their final year, emergency financial aid, if needed. The University of Chicago’s Inclusive Economy Lab found that OneGoal fellows were more likely to graduate from high school than nonparticipants, and with higher GPAs. 

While administrators say Chicago public schools have made enormous progress in hiring more counselors, the average ratio still exceeds the recommended proportion of 250 to 1. Intermediaries like OneGoal compensate for that gap.

A third innovation broadening access to career navigation is the use of artificial intelligence-powered tools and platforms. Multiple platforms have recently come on the market, as ed tech entrepreneurs seek to address the demand for career navigation and credentialing. While some platforms offer little more than a chatbot, others provide useful, up-to-date information that could complement a human counselor’s guidance. 

One such promising platform is , developed by Diane Tavenner, former CEO of charter school provider Summit Public Schools. Its database features more than 800 careers that offer a living wage, half of which don’t require a four-year degree. The site also provides details about the day-to-day tasks involved in various jobs, along with data on expected pay and required credentials — information that counselors may not otherwise have readily available.

Of course, none of these new approaches is a cure for the overall crisis in postsecondary navigation. No career navigation curriculum, regardless of how well designed, can compensate for a lack of reliable data on credentials of value or on careers that can insulate young workers from the coming impacts of AI. Even with the aid of nonprofit intermediaries, many districts won’t have the resources to reach every student who could benefit from guidance. And while technological solutions can serve as powerful tools for career navigation, they cannot fully substitute for human counselors.

Nevertheless, the consequences of inadequate guidance are dire. Many high school graduates are toiling in jobs that do not lead to economic advancement, especially if they opt out of college. Less than of young employees without college degrees work in what one study called launchpad jobs, which have a clear trajectory for career growth. Meanwhile, nearly of recent college graduates are stuck in jobs that underutilize their credentials. Worse still, as many as young people ages 16 to 24 — more than 1 in 10 — are “disconnected” from both work and school.

Leaders of K-12 schools may prefer to focus on academics and college prep, even as they increase the availability of career and technical education and encourage early college access through strategies like dual enrollment. Yet the realities of today’s economy and the rising cost of college demand that quality postsecondary navigation become central to K-12’s mission. The stakes couldn’t be higher. 

To put these results in perspective, four years ago, the third grade ELA proficiency rate was 40% – nearly 30 points below its pre-pandemic highs. Moreover, according to a Universal Reading Screener, our kindergarten to second grade students were demonstrating mastery at levels far below prior cohorts. 

As executive director of the charter school, I recognized that the problem was not a lack of effort. When our staff observed classrooms, we saw teachers and leaders working incredibly hard. However, we also saw many ineffective practices, especially in our youngest grades: centers where students colored without purpose or attention, letter sounds introduced without sufficient practice, and Youtube videos replacing the joy of books read-aloud. It was no surprise so many third and fourth grade students struggled to read fluently, write complete sentences or access complex texts. 

Over the next four years, we changed almost everything about our K-5 literacy program. Today, our Title I school ranks in the state’s top 3% for 3rd Grade ELA achievement, outscoring every district in the state of Tennessee, including districts with far less diversity and far greater resources. While these results are extraordinary, the work we did was anything but. In fact, I am confident it can be replicated by any school or district. 

Here are six practices that moved the needle most. 

The Science of Reading is the tip of the iceberg. Starting in 2022, Tennessee began to implement training and curricula rooted in the Science of Reading, which we embraced and incorporated. Along the way, we learned that this evidence-based approach rests upon a broader foundation of cognitive and social science. This research has not reached most American teachers and school districts. Over the past two years — thanks to organizations like , , and — we explored the science of learning. 

Based on what we learned, we overhauled our approach to coaching and development. Today, every teacher at Nashville Classical is trained on basic concepts like the importance of securing and harnessing attention, the difference between working and long-term memory, the importance of background knowledge and the need to support encoding and retrieval. If you walk into a third grade classroom today, you might see students with a knowledge organizer on ancient Rome, quietly self-quizzing themselves on terms like patricians and plebeians. These simple daily practices are supported by science, but implementing them is not rocket science. Very few schools or districts have shared these practices with their teachers, which is a tragedy because anyone can learn them and every teacher deserves to know them. 

Don’t teach skills — build knowledge. features a listening comprehension strand, which we use to build background knowledge. In younger grades, we reinforce key terms, timelines and vocabulary through daily oral drills, content-focused songs and frequent opportunities to repeat ideas through “turn and talks.” As students move into tested grades, they practice reading short passages and answering multiple choice questions. But we avoid teaching test tricks like “crossing out wrong answers” or lessons on “how to find the main idea.” Instead, our teachers ask themselves “What background knowledge or vocabulary might prevent students from understanding this passage?” and “How can I build their knowledge to increase their comprehension?.” By eliminating time spent trying to teach abstract “critical thinking,” we have more time to build knowledge and vocabulary, which are the actual building blocks of comprehension.

Fluency — in all its forms — unlocks growth. Our benchmark assessment system measures fluency across grade levels, including for letter sounds, word reading, oral reading and silent reading. Our team took time to deeply understand the importance of each of these domains and unpacked what a fluent reader could think and do at each stage of their development, from kindergarten to middle school. Unfortunately, , prioritizing sound or word reading fluency at the expense of fluent reading in context. Our team worked to align vision of reading excellence across grades, which meant teachers were working toward a shared picture of what proficient young readers and successful adults readers can do down to the tiniest details of exactly how many words per minute a third grader should be able to read silently and what sorts of affixes, word roots, and phrases made passages appropriate for each grade. This level of granular detail meant teachers could identify students at risk early and clearly, intervening to provide the right support to the right students. 

Writing is thinking. We invested significant time in teaching students to write, starting in kindergarten. Our approach is rooted in with a focus on three areas. First, students write about complex topics directly connected to the knowledge and content they are reading about. So, our kindergarteners learn to speak in complete sentences while explaining what happens in nursery rhymes, our first graders learn to write sentences about Aesop’s Fables, and our second graders learn to write their first paragraphs about Greek myths. Next, our teaching focuses on sentence-level activities. By third grade, students have learned to expand, distill and express their ideas in complex and complete sentences. Finally, we teach students to revise. Teachers frequently display student work on document cameras, analyze it and then prompt students to apply concepts to their own work. 

Books belong in classrooms. Across the country, and many curricula emphasize short passages or excerpts. We believe books belong in classrooms and have selected curricula — Core Knowledge, Fishtank and Reading Reconsidered — built on this belief. Great books expose children to beautiful stories that have or will stand the test of time. When a classroom of second graders reaches the end of Charlotte’s Web, there is not a dry eye in sight and they are joining a cultural conversation that stretches across grades and generations. We’ve found that the experience of reading great literature has grown our children’s attention and shaped their identity in the best way possible. There is a tradition of literacy and reading at our school, which we hope students carry with them long after they graduate. 

Play the long game. We are fortunate to have an incredible team of teachers and leaders who work with our elementary students. They deserve all of the credit for these achievements and many of them stayed at our schools through a period of significant change, where we implemented new curricula, changed schedules and raised expectations. We made many mistakes along the way, but always tried to balance the pain of changing too fast with the cost of changing too slowly. While we knew that we would not see gains happen overnight, we always believed positive habits would compound each day. For our curriculum and coaching to make a difference, we needed to stop implementation of any number of distracting, shiny objects: digital tutors, complex intervention programs, AI-everything, etc. We learned that investments in the practice and delivery of instruction may not pay off the fastest, but they take you the farthest. 

Today, I’m not just the leader of our school:  I’m a parent. And something else happened around the same time our third graders took their state test – my son, a kindergartener, learned to read. This summer, while I spent a late night hunched over a laptop to analyze results, he was upstairs reading Dog Man under his covers. 

Every kid deserves the type of teaching my son got in kindergarten and will get in the years to come. The only way to make that happen is for more schools to implement the ordinary practices that create extraordinary classrooms and outcomes. 

Youth mental health is no exception. As parents and former elected officials, we know there is no silver bullet to solve the mental health challenges young people experience today. What they’re facing is complex and shaped by a range of influences, including family dynamics, school environments, economic security, social isolation, overuse of devices and so much more.

Many Americans understand that the complexity of this challenge requires balanced solutions that meet families and children where they are. New polling from the , where we both serve on the board of directors, found that roughly three-quarters of voters and parents favor comprehensive approaches to youth mental health over narrow ones, such as technology bans. 

Seven-in-10 voters and three-quarters of parents also believe sweeping restrictions on phones and social media can create unintended negative consequences while failing to address the underlying drivers of mental health challenges.

Take a look at how restrictions are currently unfolding in Australia. Its nationwide social media ban was intended to help young people navigate the online world more safely. Instead, early evidence suggests that these restrictions may be producing outcomes very different from those policymakers intended. 

Research conducted in April 2026 by the found that many teenagers simply shifted their online activity elsewhere. Forty-three percent reported spending more time on gaming platforms, while 39% increased their use of messaging applications that fell outside the ban’s scope. One in five said they turned more frequently to unregulated social media platforms. Rather than disappearing, online activity became harder for parents to see and guide.

Encouragingly, Americans are pointing toward a more constructive path. In our survey, parents and voters overwhelmingly support equipping young people with the skills to navigate today’s digital world instead of isolating them from it. The vast majority of voters and parents believe young people should be taught digital literacy skills, including how to use artificial intelligence safely, and that parents also need those same tools. They also strongly support media literacy education in classrooms, digital wellness resources for families and professional training that equips educators to teach responsible technology use.

Examples of this work are already emerging across the country. In Washington state’s , each school has a full-time teacher librarian who provides media literacy lessons and helps students develop the skills to assess information and navigate online spaces responsibly. 

In Miami-Dade County, The Children’s Trust, a nonprofit dedicated to improving the lives of children and families in the county, launched a “” offering free, countywide workshops that give families practical support on issues affecting their children, including strategies for building healthy digital habits. 

The goal should not be to raise a generation sheltered from technology until adulthood. Technology is woven into nearly every aspect of modern life, and young people will need the skills and judgment to navigate it successfully. Our focus should be on helping them use technology wisely, critically and responsibly while addressing the broader factors that shape their mental health and wellbeing.

New research from the shows scientists agree. Noting that social media is a piece of a larger interconnected societal system, researchers warn “restrictions may not simply remove harms; they may also shift, reshape or redistribute them.” Specifically, they warn against young people moving to harder-to-monitor spaces that bring new risks of “emotional dependence, manipulation, commercial exploitation or reduced adult oversight,” just as early Australian evidence suggests. 

Solutions work best when they prepare people for the world as it is, not the world we wish existed. The United States can learn from Australia’s well-intentioned but misguided efforts and the concerns of leading scientists. The lesson is not that we should stop searching for solutions, but that we should be wary of solutions that promise more than they can deliver. 

A more promising path lies in comprehensive approaches that bring together parents, educators, healthcare providers and communities while expanding digital literacy, mentoring, family support and access to mental health care. 

For example, the American Academy of Pediatrics’ “” gives pediatricians and parents a practical framework for discussing screens and healthy habits in the context of a child’s development and overall wellbeing. , a member of the Coalition to Empower our Future, is also helping K-12 health educators access evidence-based, classroom-ready resources on digital wellness, online safety, self-regulation and media literacy. 

These strategies are already being put in place and help build resilience, address underlying challenges and better equip young people to thrive in both the digital and offline worlds. If we truly want to improve outcomes for the next generation, we must focus less on policies that simply signal action and more on those that prepare young people and their parents with the support they need and are asking for.

The intention is good. But it’s not good enough.

A strong state policy can create urgency, define expectations and keep attention on what matters. But policies typically don’t recommend new schedules, establish guidelines for community partnerships, incentivize effective teacher training or help organize limited resources to achieve results.

That work happens in districts and in schools. And if we ignore that work, even the strongest policy will produce uneven results.

from Louisiana shows that states can improve outcomes at scale when they provide clear direction, aligned incentives and sustained attention over time. In other words, states can’t simply pass better rules and wait for results. States must also provide districts with the nuts and bolts that translate policy into day-to-day practice.

If districts would just “do the thing,” so the logic goes, results would follow. My decades of experience helping districts implement ambitious change suggest a different reality: District leaders want more meaningful pathways to college and career. But they lack a workable blueprint to make these changes feasible.

Consider literacy. A state can adopt strong standards aligned with the science of reading, a high-quality curriculum and early screening. But a district still has hard questions to answer: Where will uninterrupted literacy time fit in the day? How will schools know which students need extra help, and when will they get it? Who provides intervention and how will reading specialists, tutors and classroom teachers work together instead of operating in isolation? What professional learning is essential? And — perhaps most challenging — what current work has to stop so that teachers aren’t buried under one more add-on initiative?

Those questions may sound mundane. But they are the difference between a reading policy that changes lives and one that produces new paperwork.

The same challenge is even more visible in high school, where states are increasingly promoting stronger college and career pathways. They’re asking for industry credentials, work-based learning and dual enrollment. These ideas have real promise. But they’re as complicated as literacy programs — maybe even more complicated — to design well.

In one district my nonprofit organization worked with, scheduling logistics meant that some students couldn’t participate in a pathway without sacrificing graduation requirements. In another district, the schools were simply too small and too remote to offer the range of pathways their students wanted. In another, it turned out that students’ lack of proficiency in reading, writing and math was preventing them from succeeding in career pathways. And in many districts, students must choose between a focus on academics and technical learning.

If states want these reforms to reach more students, especially students who have historically been furthest from opportunity, they need to treat implementation as a design challenge, not a compliance exercise. They must go beyond setting direction to enabling transformation.

That means doing a few things differently.

• State guidance should include frameworks that explicitly address the district-level choices that matter the most. For literacy, there are tough decisions around scheduling, staffing, curriculum, teacher training and progress monitoring. For career pathways, district leaders have to consider course sequences, scheduling, partnerships, transportation, staffing, labor market alignment and an equal focus on strengthening foundational skills.

• States should collect and share work being done in districts that are making progress. Leaders need to see the schedules, staffing models, course sequences, funding strategies and partnership agreements that prove it’s possible and that can be adapted to each leader’s unique context.

• States should invest real dollars to support districts in redesigning existing systems — rather than layering a new initiative on top of old structures. They should provide technical assistance, tools or incentives that reward coherence rather than mere adoption.

• States and districts need a clearer division of labor. States should focus on coherence and establishing guardrails. Districts should take the lead on making it work for their students, their teachers, and their local context.

Researchers have made progress in identifying what works. They know that when high school connects academic learning to life after graduation. They know that a focus on reading, writing and math proficiency in ninth grade . They know that simple credentialing requirements . And we know there’s still more to learn.

But the next challenge is not just discovering what works. It’s making what works feasible at scale.

If states and districts want career-pathway investments to change students’ lives, they have to pay as much attention to the machinery of implementation as they do to the promise of policy. That machinery may not make for a flashy press conference. But that’s where reform either becomes real for students—or doesn’t.

With the state of Michigan enacting a that restricts students from using their phones during instructional time, lawmakers have left it up to school districts to create their own policies on how to enforce this ban.

A team of University of Michigan researchers parsed through and compiled nearly 800 schools across the state, some of them already in place, to examine the different approaches they are taking to enforce this statewide ban. While many schools have enacted their own approaches to limiting cellphone use in recent years, the data reveals that schools believe there are a number of different ways to keep students off their phones after the bell rings.

In fact, U-M’s research collected on policies enacted as of the 2025-26 school year reveal an even 50-50 split on when these bans are put in place. Half of the state’s schools have implemented “bell-to-bell” restrictions that don’t allow students to use their phones at any point during the day, while the other half have “schedule-based” restrictions that allow them to use their phones at designated times, including during lunch and between class periods.

U-M Education Policy Professor Brian Jacob said the research is intended to provide guidance on the trade-offs of different approaches as the state law goes into place this fall.

“We want to make sure state leaders and district leaders were cognizant of this as they were imposing mandates on their individual schools because I have a feeling restricting cellphone use in schools is going to be a nuanced, challenging, multi-year process,” Jacob said. “This is one big genie that is out of the bottle, and figuring out the best way to get it back in the bottle and stay in the bottle, I think, is going to take a little practice and iteration on the part of schools.”

Two years ago, Novi Community School District took a nuanced approach to putting its cellphone restrictions in place. 

In grades K-4, students aren’t allowed to have them in the building. In fifth through eighth grades, students can bring their phones to school, but they are locked up in at the beginning of the day and kept there until school lets out.  Phones are placed in pouches by staff and sealed shut, with a designated magnetic device used to unlock them when appropriate. While high school students also are issued their own pouches, the phones are locked up during instructional time, with students being able to unlock and access them between classes and during lunch.

Superintendent Ben Mainka said the different approaches are intended to give high school students more autonomy that mirrors how they might experience using a cellphone in the workplace.

“As students go through school, they’re learning and they’re maturing, and so we know that as they grow and mature, we want to be able to open up more freedom and responsibilities,” he said. “The other part is, as they get to high school, we’re really helping them understand what it is like in a workplace, and we know that they’re going to have their phones on them, but they also need to know how to manage that. So, basically, giving them the autonomy to know that there are certain times that the phone needs to be off limits and put away, and then there are times when you can check it.”

U-M’s research found that just 2% of schools in the state have taken this approach. The most common type of enforcement of cellphone restriction is described as “no-show,” with 62% of schools requiring students to keep their phones in their backpacks or pockets. 

Another 17% of schools allow students to bring cellphones to school, but keep them in their lockers throughout the day, while 9% of schools collect students’ phones and keep them in a designated place. Some schools (8%) have taken the approach of keeping cellphones out of schools completely, while another 3% have a centralized collection of phones with an administrator when they enter the building.

The research also showed that the type of school and its location impacted the type of policy the school enacted, with charter (79%) and urban schools (76%) substantially more likely to require bell-to-bell policies than suburban (49%) and rural (41%). 

Jacob said charters and urban schools might be more attracted to having complete control over when students can have access to their phones with options like centralized collection or lockable pouches, he said, because they might believe phones are more “problematic” in schools than suburban or rural schools do.

“Now, whether they actually are, I think many suburban schools might be fooling themselves by thinking, ‘Oh, the phones aren’t really much of a problem,’” Jacob said. “But I think there’s a perception in urban school districts where there might be more chaos and more distraction that there’s something attractive about these more restrictive policies.”

While Pellston Public Schools in Northern Michigan only enrolls around 500 students, the district has taken a more restrictive approach to enforcing its cellphone policy, which was enacted at the suggestion of middle and high school Principal Chris Schlappi in 2024.

Superintendent Stephen Seelye had initial concerns that Schlappi’s suggestion to have students lock their cellphones in Yondr pouches would be met with opposition from parents who were concerned about being able to contact their children in the event of an emergency. 

With several other avenues for students to contact their parents, Seelye said it made sense for the school to spend $15,000 to purchase the pouches for students in grades 6 to 12, with a complete cellphone ban in place at the elementary level.

Students aren’t able to access their cellphones throughout the day after locking them in their pouches and leaving them with their home room teacher; Seelye said enforcement of the policy has gone better than he ever could have expected.

“I really think it’s one of the best decisions, if not the best decision I’ve made in education,” Seelye said.

Rather than relying on teachers to keep an eye on whether students are taking phones out of their backpacks or pockets as “no show” policies do, locking cellphones into pouches has greatly reduced the burden on teachers to enforce the ban, he said, with the occasional “bad actors” quickly being discovered.

“Teachers have got a lot of things to juggle and they’ve been given their time back,” he said. “They no longer have to worry about if (a) kid has their cellphone and is seeking it. I would say I probably have 5% of my kids on a daily basis that are trying to hide their cellphones, and we catch most of them.

“Before, when every kid had a cellphone and there were seven of them out in class and one might buzz or beep, it was hard for my teachers to figure out where that came from, but now it’s not hard. Now everybody else has their phone locked up, and you know they can pinpoint who it was.”

U-M’s research lays out three considerations for districts still working through enacting policies: Phone policies present difficult trade-offs for educators and policymakers; establishing and communicating a clear cellphone policy likely enhances adherence; and unintended consequences may occur in classrooms and broader school settings.

While no-show policies remain popular among Michigan schools, Jacob said teachers told him that the most effective approaches take them out of the role of being the “bad guy.”

“I think there’s a lot of pressure among teachers in that regard,” he said. “Teachers that I’ve talked to really do like school-wide policies where some of the burden of enforcement is taken off of their shoulders.”

The physical school environment is usually treated as an operational concern: square footage, maintenance, compliance, safety and cost. Those matters are real. But they are incomplete.

A school building is also an instructional system.

In my rural Midwestern school district, we drew on research in learning environments and early literacy development to create a new 108,000-square-foot elementary school that serves 900 pupils across 932 square miles.

We used the Framework, which connects physical design to instructional capacity, student experience, measurable outcomes, and equity impact.

Designed by CMBA Architects, our new campus serves many students facing poverty, geographic isolation and limited preschool access that has affected their readiness for school. 

Since opening our new campus in 2024, we have seen mixed results, but the strongest gains appeared among students most likely to benefit, especially those from low-socioeconomic households and groups affected by access gaps.

Architecture alone doesn’t drive these achievement gains. Instead, the findings suggest a stronger and more defensible claim: Intentional school design can improve the daily conditions that shape instruction, intervention, belonging, regulation, enrichment and student opportunity.

Students enter school with unequal early-learning access. In rural communities with limited or distant preschool options, many begin kindergarten without the vocabulary, routines, stamina, executive-function practice, and early-literacy exposure some peers already have. 

For low-income students, these gaps can be deeper. Poverty does not define potential, but it can limit enrichment, health care, transportation, routines, academic language, and early childhood access.

Schools designed for access, flexibility, belonging, movement, regulation and intervention can reduce barriers, save time, and make the building part of the learning infrastructure.

In our former four-story building, kindergarten transitions to recess, special events, services, and other activities required going up and down stairs multiple times a day. The daily minutes lost were small but cumulative. After the move, kindergarten teachers reported gaining two or more weeks of instructional time because students no longer navigated multiple stairways each day. 

This illustrates design as an instructional variable: Removing a physical barrier increased instructional time without changing curriculum or assessment. For early literacy, recovered minutes matter because repetition, oral language, small-group support, and predictable routines create opportunity.

Classrooms and shared spaces included mobile furniture, flexible seating, and layouts that let students sit, stand, move, collaborate, and reconfigure spaces with little disruption. The goal was not novelty, but access.

Because students learn differently across tasks and developmental stages, adaptable rooms allow instruction to shift quickly — from direct teaching to small groups, collaboration, independent practice or intervention — without the space becoming a barrier.

Flexible seating and movement-friendly spaces align with research linking classroom movement to attention and engagement. For students who need support with regulation, stamina, or focus, appropriate movement is not a luxury; it is part of access.

The facility includes murals that incorporate South Dakota history, geography, wildlife, agriculture, and phrases in the Dakota language. In a district serving a significant Native American student population, this decision matters.

Cultural representation in the physical environment signals that students are not merely accommodated, they are recognized.

When students see local language, landscapes, and identity embedded into the school, the building communicates belonging before a single lesson begins.

Murals and visual learning elements also expand background knowledge. They turn hallways into instructional spaces. A student walking past a mural of the Missouri River, the Black Hills, bison, prairie animals, crops, or Dakota vocabulary is repeatedly exposed to content, language, and place.

In that sense, the school becomes an environmental text. Students read the building long before they read the day’s lesson.

The results from the first two years in the new building include improved benchmark rates on the K–2 Dynamic Indicators of Basic Early Literacy Skills or DIBELS, a smaller gap for low-income students and fewer of them scoring Well Below Benchmark. The share At or Above Benchmark rose from 61.8% before the new facility to 67.9%. Scores for other students remained relatively stable, increasing from 70.7% to 71.2%.

Grades 3–5 Smarter Balanced results showed similar equity-aligned gains, particularly for students eligible for free and reduced price meals and American Indian/Alaskan Native students in English language arts.

In other words, the largest movement occurred among students from low-socioeconomic households.

The district’s K-2 DIBELS data adds an important early-literacy lens to the Opportunity-by-Design Framework, since it provides multiple checkpoints within the year. The Smarter Balanced Assessment measures achievement at the end of the school year.

The data alone does not prove that a building, by itself, caused the achievement to rise. It does not show that every grade, every subject and every student group improved. The data does not erase the importance of the curriculum, teachers, intervention systems, leadership, attendance, family engagement, or student mobility. But it does suggest that intentional school design can positively impact students and educators and, in turn, produce better educational outcomes.

Yet one of the most consequential variables receives far less attention: what parents expect from their children and what happens when those expectations weaken.

The issue is not whether parents attend every school function or sit beside their children for every homework assignment. The research suggests that a more powerful form of involvement is often less visible: communicating that school matters, establishing expectations for effort and achievement, monitoring whether those expectations are being met and connecting present academic work to future goals.

That distinction matters because schools do not operate apart from families. When parents consistently reinforce academic and behavioral standards, schools have an ally in maintaining them. When families increasingly expect schools to accommodate failure rather than correct it, the pressure can gradually shift from helping students meet a standard to changing the standard students are required to meet.

Research on parental involvement is remarkably consistent on this point. A found that parental aspirations and expectations showed the strongest relationship with student achievement among the forms of involvement they examined. A of middle-school students similarly found that “academic socialization” — communicating expectations, discussing goals, and linking schoolwork to future plans — was especially strongly associated with achievement, while direct homework help was not consistently beneficial. 

A 2024 has likewise found positive relationships between parental involvement, expectations, and academic outcomes across racial, socioeconomic and other demographic groups.

The conclusion should not be overstated. Parental expectations do not erase poverty, disability, family instability or differences in school quality. But the research does show that expectations remain consequential across those differences. Risk is not destiny, and disadvantage does not make standards irrelevant.

A single parent working long hours may have fewer opportunities to volunteer at school than an affluent parent with a flexible schedule. Yet  both parents can still communicate that homework must be completed, that a poor grade requires a response, that effort is expected, that teachers deserve respect and that education is connected to the child’s future. Those messages cost little financially, but they create a powerful psychological framework for how a child understands school.

Children learn what adults consider normal. They learn whether a C is a signal to improve or something simply accepted. They learn whether unfinished work has consequences. They learn whether a teacher’s criticism should first provoke self-examination or an angry call from a parent. 

A family that responds to a poor grade by asking, “What went wrong, and how are we going to fix it?” communicates something fundamentally different from one whose first response is, “What did the teacher do wrong?” One response reinforces accountability; the other can unintentionally teach that standards are negotiable whenever they create discomfort.

The consequences do not remain inside the home. They eventually shape schools. Teachers operate in an environment influenced by families as well as administrators. When failing a student routinely produces complaints, demands for extra credit, repeated retesting, deadline extensions, or pressure to change grades, the cost of enforcing a standard rises. When discipline is treated primarily as evidence that the school mishandled the child rather than as a response to the child’s conduct, behavioral expectations become harder to sustain.

None of these practices is inherently wrong. Retesting can be educationally useful. Extensions may be appropriate. Accommodations are essential for some students. The problem begins when individualized supports become the default response to ordinary failure. Institutions respond to incentives. 

Teachers learn that failing grades create conflict. Administrators learn that retention and low graduation rates attract scrutiny. Students learn that deadlines and standards are flexible. Over time, the system can become more concerned with preventing the appearance of failure than with correcting the learning deficit that produced it.

The national achievement data make this harder to ignore. In 2024, 45% of American 12th graders performed below NAEP Basic in mathematics and 32% fell below Basic in reading — sobering evidence that large numbers of students are reaching the end of high school without demonstrating even basic levels of academic mastery.

Those results cannot be attributed to parental involvement alone, but they should sharpen the discussion about expectations. One of the most damaging mistakes in education is confusing an explanation for poor performance with a justification for lower standards. Poverty creates real obstacles. Students with disabilities need appropriate accommodations. Children dealing with family instability may require flexibility and support. But support and standards are not opposites.

The distinction is simple. Compassion says: “You are struggling, so we are going to give you more help.” Lowered expectations say: “You are struggling, so we are going to require less.” The first approach treats the student as capable of growth. The second can quietly turn a temporary disadvantage into a permanent ceiling.

Parents therefore have a role that schools cannot replace. They need not become teachers or supervise every assignment. Their more important responsibility is cultural: to establish what is expected, to reinforce effort, to support reasonable academic and behavioral standards and to resist the impulse to remove every consequence when a child falls short.

Parents should also demand honesty from schools. If grades indicate success while objective measures show serious weakness, parents should ask why. If a student is being promoted without prerequisite skills, parents should insist on remediation. Accountability should run in both directions.

America will continue debating curriculum, funding, testing, technology, school choice and federal policy. Those debates matter. But decades of research on parental involvement point toward a more basic truth: Children tend to do better when the adults raising them communicate that education matters and expect them to meet a meaningful standard.

Schools cannot indefinitely substitute for standards that are no longer reinforced at home. Restoring academic achievement therefore requires more than asking what schools should do differently. It also requires asking what parents should once again expect.

Before I understood federal funding, program performance standards or the complicated systems that make Head Start possible, I understood what it meant to be a Head Start child.

Years later, I returned, first as a center director and later as a regional director of a Head Start program in Fort Worth, Texas. I have experienced Head Start from both sides: as a child who benefited from the program and as a leader responsible for ensuring other children and families received the same opportunity.

So, when the current administration says its proposed reforms will strengthen Head Start’s core mission by giving local communities greater flexibility, I have a perspective that is both deeply personal and professional. Let me tell you why I know I’m opposed to the changes outlined .

Head Start’s core mission has never simply been about putting more children in classrooms. The program was built on the understanding that a child’s ability to learn is connected to everything happening in that child’s life. That is why Head Start has always been more than early education.

Head Start recognizes that supporting a child often means supporting the entire family so the program offers a number of wraparound services to support families in helping their children thrive. From connecting parents with healthcare, dental care and mental health resources when needed, to providing nutritious meals for children, it’s about working alongside parents in partnership. 

The would dramatically reduce the federal standards that have helped define what families can expect from a Head Start program. 

For decades, Head Start has operated with clear expectations around the comprehensive needs of children. Under this proposal, many of those expectations would no longer be spelled out in the performance standards. Programs would have significantly fewer federal requirements governing how they address healthcare and developmental needs. 

As someone who attended Head Start, I have some of my earliest memories of being cared for in a safe environment by trusted educators and receiving healthy meals each day. For some families with limited resources, knowing their children would receive two nutritious meals and a snack helps ease the burden of choosing between keeping the lights on and providing healthy meals. Head Start also gives parents the opportunity to work while knowing their children are safe, cared for and learning. For my family, Head Start was not simply a place for me to go during the day. It was a support for our entire family.

As someone who has led a Head Start program, I know what these actions look like in practice. It looks like a teacher noticing something about a child and knowing there is a system for responding to the issue. It looks like a family services worker helping a parent navigate resources they may not have known existed. It looks like identifying a concern early enough to intervene. It looks like following up instead of simply handing a parent a referral and hoping for the best. 

Sometimes, Head Start is the first system that truly sees a family. That visibility and acknowledgment can change the trajectory of a child or a family’s life.

The proposed rule would also move away from many of Head Start’s existing expectations for curriculum, teacher development, coaching, classroom size and teacher-child ratios, to rely more heavily on state childcare requirements. 

I have managed Head Start centers and also worked as a preschool teacher. I know what happens when you increase the number of children in a classroom without increasing the number of adults responsible for their care. Someone pays the price. It may be a decrease in the individual attention a child receives, a delay in the teacher’s recognition of a developmental concern or less time available to build relationships with families. Removing any of these standards will have a domino effect. 

I struggle to understand how we can say we are giving communities more power while simultaneously weakening one of the clearest structures through which quality early education exists. 

Children growing up in low-income families do not deserve a lesser standard of early childhood education because it is cheaper to administer. They deserve high-quality classrooms. They deserve teachers who have the capacity to see them. They deserve safe environments. They deserve access to support when they need it. Their parents deserve a voice, and their families deserve to be treated as partners. That is what makes Head Start so successful. That is what contributed to my success. 

For generations, Head Start has represented creating opportunity by investing in the whole child and strengthening the entire family, and we cannot strengthen that mission by stripping away the very things that made it powerful.

I am a product of Head Start, and Head Start did not change my life by doing less.

On the second day, one of the teens was fed up. Gemini was broken, she told me. It kept asking her questions instead of answering them. She was adamant that ChatGPT was a better tool, and that we should use it instead. 

What she didn’t know was that I had told Gemini to behave that way, to question her about her daily reading instead of just handing her answers. Then she scrolled up and read the instructions I had written into the prompt, and her annoyance turned to understanding. She wasn’t fighting a broken tool; she was being forced to pause and think.

The next day, she scored 100% on a quiz covering the prior day’s reading. She started leaning into our daily lessons, taking the time to answer questions thoughtfully instead of rushing through them. During our final session, she was one of the last students to turn in her quiz, making her mom wait a few extra minutes while she finished. Unheard of, especially over summer break.

That moment showed what’s possible when AI tools are built to make students actively think rather than think for them.

Over the course of a week, I gave the students a series of short readings about how their own brains work, and each day they used AI in a different way to deepen their understanding. Some days, I had the tool summarize the reading and told them to simply use that summary to build their understanding of the material. Other days, the tool had them engage in a Socratic Q&A. And some days it made them write their own question first, letting their own curiosity lead the process.

Then I quizzed them on what they remembered, both after their study session that same day and again a day later.

The results were fascinating. On the same-day quiz, students performed about the same, regardless of whether the AI tool had summarized the reading or questioned them. But a day later, the students who had engaged in the Socratic Q&A remembered more, scoring, on average, 83% on a quiz about the material they had reasoned through, versus 67% on the material the AI had summarized for them. More than two-thirds of the students said the version of AI that questioned them helped them learn more than the one that just summarized their readings.

Throughout the week, the students’ perception of their own skill in using AI as a study partner rose sharply. But when I lined those ratings up against what they could actually remember, the two had almost nothing to do with each other. How much students’ confidence in using AI grew had almost nothing to do with how much they had retained. Feeling like you have learned is not the same as actually learning.

This should worry anyone who cares about education. AI is everywhere. Students carry these tools in their pockets. School districts are slated to spend in the coming years, without a clear idea of what they should be evaluating those contracts on. My week-long pilot program taught me that AI tools cannot be judged by student engagement or satisfaction alone. Success cannot be gauged by whether students finish a problem set, or whether they enjoy a particular lesson. It must be measured by what a student retains after the tool disappears.

My students told me one more thing worth highlighting. They want to learn to use AI as a thinking partner, but no one has taught them how. When they play around with AI to get answers, they often can’t obtain explanations at their own grade and language level. They told me it is sometimes harder to get what they need from these tools than to study on their own. The students who could benefit most from personalized learning get the least usable output, perpetuating the very inequity these tools are supposed to close. 

That is why AI literacy must be taught in schools. Kids with tech-savvy parents are already learning to use AI well; the rest are typing in prompts and hoping for the best. School is the one place that can close that gap.

My son Harry is twice exceptional, a term often used for children who are both gifted and learn differently. Like many kids who think intensely, he did not always fit neatly into the usual categories adults tend to understand. He was curious, capable and full of potential, but the places where children are often expected to find confidence did not always feel like the right fit.

Then chess entered the picture.

At first, it looked like a game. A board, some pieces, rules to learn, moves to remember. But the more I watched Harry play, the more I realized that chess was giving him something deeper than an activity. It was giving him an arena.

For children who think or learn differently, that word matters. An arena is not just a place to perform. It is a place to practice. It has structure, boundaries, feedback, challenge and room to improve. For some kids, the right arena can make the difference between feeling constantly measured and finally feeling capable.

Not every child finds confidence on a field, a stage or a basketball court. Not every child feels successful following the same classroom routines or social settings that seem to work for others. Some children need a different kind of place to discover that their mind is not a problem to solve, but a strength to develop.

Chess has a way of making thinking visible. A child makes a move and sees what happens. The feedback is immediate, but it does not have to be humiliating. A lost piece is not a ruined day. A mistake is not a permanent label. It is information.

That may sound simple, but for a child who struggles with frustration, impulsivity, perfectionism or self-doubt it can be powerful.

In school, mistakes can feel public and heavy. A wrong answer on a test, a confusing assignment, a social misstep,or a moment of lost focus can quickly become part of how a child sees himself. Chess gives kids a smaller and safer place to practice the same emotional muscles they need everywhere else.

Pausing before acting, noticing the whole board, considering what might happen next, making a choice, living with the result, learning from it and trying another move are not only chess skills. They are life skills. They are school skills. They are friendship skills. They are the skills children need when something is hard and they want to quit.

This is especially important for neurodivergent children, gifted children, ADHD kids, autistic kids, twice-exceptional kids and children who may be bright but easily overwhelmed.

In chess, a child who rushes may learn to pause. A child who hates losing may learn that losing a piece is not the end of the game. A child who struggles to plan ahead may begin to see that one choice can affect the next three. A child who feels clumsy or out of place in other activities may discover a world where patience, curiosity, pattern recognition and imagination matter.

The goal is not to turn every child into a tournament player, which is where adults can easily get it wrong. Chess loses much of its value when it becomes another pressure system that sorts children into winners and losers.

The gift of chess is not just competition. It is practice.

A child can benefit from chess without trophies, rankings, private coaching or long tournaments. Playing a short game, moving only a few pieces and talking through one decision can matter. The point is not perfect play. The point is giving a child a place to slow down, think and experience progress.

There is also something deeply encouraging about visible improvement. In chess, a child can look back and see growth. A move that seemed impossible last month suddenly makes sense. A mistake that used to happen every game starts to disappear. A child begins to notice, “I am getting better at this.”

For kids who think differently, that realization can be profound. Confidence is not built only by praise, it is built by evidence. Chess gives children evidence that effort can become skill.

This matters in education because schools not only teach content, they shape how children understand themselves as learners. A student who repeatedly feels unsuccessful may begin to believe that effort does not help. But a child who finds even one arena where effort leads to progress may carry that lesson back into the classroom.

That does not mean chess is a cure, a therapy or a universal answer. It is not right for every child. Some will love it and some will not. Some will need a gentle introduction, short sessions, simplified rules or a patient adult sitting nearby. That is okay.

But chess deserves a place in the conversation about how to support kids who do not fit the mold. It is inexpensive and portable. It can be played in classrooms, libraries, afterschool programs, community centers and homes. It can be social or quiet, competitive or casual, simple or endlessly complex.

In writing “Decoding Genius,” I became fascinated by the long history of chess and the extraordinary minds shaped by the game. But the most important lesson for me remains the one I first saw through my son: Chess can help a child feel capable.

For a child who thinks differently, that can be everything.

Solving this predicament is one rationale for the strong political support and attention shown to work-based learning and high school career and technical education programs. But leaders running these programs report a quandary of their own: They can’t find enough employers willing to host interested high school students in meaningful roles, or sometimes enough students to fill available spots.

The usual explanation, that one side or the other isn’t trying hard enough, misses what’s really going on. The problem isn’t effort. It’s infrastructure.

That’s the central finding of our new profiling six work-based learning programs: a network of CTE charter schools in South Bend, Indiana; an industry-themed school network in San Antonio; a multi-district rural collaborative in Colorado; a Purdue University-affiliated early college network in Indianapolis and South Bend; a rural alliance of districts in Randolph County, Indiana; and a Philadelphia earn-and-learn training program built around real wage progression.

Six different design choices. Six different communities. But all suggest that rather than treating work-based learning as another elective or an item on a “college and career readiness” menu, work-based learning requires intentionally designed infrastructure linking schools, employers, postsecondary institutions and community organizations.

After interviewing the leaders of these programs, we identified six conditions that enabled each program to move from a pilot to a permanent part of a redesigned high school experience.

First, school-based programs benefited when their state allowed work-based learning hours to count toward graduation requirements and higher scores for career and technical education on state school accountability ratings. Colorado and Indiana stood out by allowing students to satisfy graduation requirements or earn a distinction on their diploma by completing a capstone project or a career course pathway with relevant work hours. Program officials told us this recognition meant they no longer felt torn between what was best for students and what state policy required. Instead, they could spend the time and resources to create and sustain high-quality work experiences with employers.

Second, these programs relied on government funding as the core of their budgets, including state career-technical education money, state and local workforce development funds and school innovation dollars. For example, the Fremont Multidistrict Initiative, serving rural Colorado, turned a state P-Tech designation into federal P-Tech dollars — up to two additional years of per-pupil support after graduation. These were layered on top of a state Opportunity Now workforce grant as well as ordinary state and local school funding. By combining sources in this way, all the programs reduced their reliance on philanthropy, which also increased the sustainability of their work. Still, the leaders told us that none of these funding streams fully covered the true cost of their learn-and-earn programs, so philanthropy continued to fill important gaps.

Third, program leaders reported that flexibility in teacher licensure allowing industry-qualified professionals to teach relevant coursework in the classroom and supervise students in the workplace significantly eased staffing challenges. In many states, students can’t earn course credit for either unless the educator or supervisor holds a full license as a K-12 teacher, in addition to whatever certification their industry requires. Indiana’s “workplace specialist” certification for qualified industry professionals eased some of this challenge for programs in that state. But programs across states pointed to licensure itself as an obstacle, and to allowing flexibility as a key action policymakers could take to support their work.

Fourth, fundamental to high-quality work-based learning is the ability to offer students meaningful experiences in their field of choice through employer partnerships. These must be structured to be mutually beneficial, which is best achieved through detailed partnership agreements. Program staff reported that the best partnerships were built on long-term relationships. Many had anchor partnerships with founding employers who helped design the pathway to a specific work experience. This ensured a core number of students could participate, while employers felt more confident that students would be prepared before their work placements.

Fifth, each program had dedicated full-time staffers for recruiting students and employers. The leaders consider these coordinators so essential that funding their positions is a budget line alongside teachers, supplies and transportation. To reach the scale needed to support one or more full-time coordinators, half the programs in our sample pooled school districts across rural counties or a metro area. Program leaders recommended that states earmark funding for these  coordinators and make it easier for school districts to formally collaborate and share resources.

Sixth, transportation plans helping students get to their jobs improved access, especially in low-income or rural areas. Programs solved this challenge in different ways. CAST Schools Network in San Antonio used its partner districts’ school buses. RAZ32 in rural Randolph County, Indiana, leveraged county workforce dollars for transportation. Launchpad Philly gave students tickets for riding public buses. But not all programs could afford to offer transportation, leaving students to find their own way.

All these programs had a final element in common: entrepreneurial leadership willing to work through challenges. But repeatedly, we saw how the underlying infrastructure enabled programs to create life-changing opportunities for students. Participants in Launchpad Philly‘s post-high-school LiftOff track, for example, averaged roughly $15,000 in annualized earnings six months after graduation, moving to nearly $30,000 by nine months and a $50,000 living-wage benchmark at the one-year mark. That’s against a baseline of about $12,500 a year for a young Philadelphian with only a high school diploma. For students planning to pursue a bachelor’s degree, the program shows them what jobs in a field are really like, which helps them choose the right educational path.

As long as work-based learning is filed under “initiative,” it will depend on the allure of a particular principal or the persistence of a particular grant officer. But by filing work-based learning under “core experience,” the integration that makes it work starts to look like something a state or a region is responsible for building, the way it’s responsible for roads or broadband.

Infrastructure and initiatives get treated very differently by the people who fund and govern them. Initiatives get pilot grants, three-year evaluation, and press releases. Infrastructure gets appropriations lines, dedicated staff positions and long-term institutional ownership.

The six programs in our report prove work-based learning can succeed in rural and urban settings alike, using very different designs. The remaining question is whether the country will treat the infrastructure behind them as seriously as it treats the problem itself.

This is the crux of the curriculum implementation gap. It’s not a teacher problem. It’s not a curriculum problem. It’s a leadership problem, and it’s one most districts don’t see until they’ve already spent millions and fallen behind.

As a former middle school principal who has spent my career developing the leaders schools and districts need, I have seen how critical it is that principals are an integral part of instructional improvements. They are the connective tissue between curriculum intent and classroom reality. They as much influence, if not more, on student learning as teachers do. Without including them, districts navigating will never get their money’s worth out of new research-based literacy or math curriculums, or curriculum-focused professional learning for teachers.

There is much that can be done at the state and local , from improving principal preparation programs to increasing funding for school leader professional development. In the meantime, districts can make a few immediate changes to better position principals to lead their schools in getting the most out of their investment in high-quality curriculum.

First, meaningfully involve school leaders in choosing the right curriculum for their district. In most cases, district leaders drive the curriculum selection process, according to . Principals have a unique perspective on students’ learning needs and the kinds of professional development teachers have already received, making them an essential part of the conversations about which instructional materials are right for the school. They should be included in meetings with curriculum developers, so they can ask the hard questions about how those particular instructional materials will suit their teachers and their students, and given a say in deciding what will work for their schools. 

Second, give principals real time to learn the materials themselves. While teachers increasingly get learning opportunities grounded in their new curriculum, principals rarely have the chance to meaningfully grapple with the instructional materials, such as by studying and annotating complex texts and co-planning lessons. But they need to become experts in the materials so they can help their teachers get better at using and adapting the curriculum to meet the students’ needs. My organization has seen a real difference in schools when principals regularly participate in professional learning communities, coaching conversations and discussions with educators about what is and isn’t working, and why.

District leaders can ensure principals have dedicated time for this deep, hands-on work by reducing their administrative burdens, such as by having central office staff handle compliance tasks that don’t require the principal’s attention, and establishing predictable and consistent communications with school leaders, such as a weekly email. They should set clear expectations that principals spend significant time in classrooms working alongside teachers to strengthen instruction. And rather than holding district-led meetings where system leaders provide updates, they should use those times together to refine classroom observation and feedback practices and examine how principals are using data to monitor how changes to instruction affect student learning.

Third, shift the focus of classroom observation from compliance to quality. Teachers make real changes to their practice when they get meaningful, real time feedback. As principals develop a deep understanding of the instructional materials, they must also shift from using classroom observations as a compliance exercise — making the minimum required number of visits during the year with a checklist of basic expectations — to regularly stopping into classrooms to examine the quality of instruction. That means assessing how students are using the materials sitting on their desks and whether they are pushing real learning. How is the teacher tailoring the content to provide multiple ways for kids with different learning styles to engage? Are students discussing the material and challenging one anothers’ thinking? Whether through classroom walkthroughs and coaching with district instructional leaders or professional learning communities, principals must build the skills to truly understand surface level versus impactful use of curriculum. It’s one of the most important, and least expensive, investments a district can make.  

Fourth: make feedback specific and anchored to student learning. Classroom observations are only as useful as the feedback that follows. By knowing the curriculum intimately, principals can clearly and directly connect what they saw in the classroom — from the questions teachers asked students to the classwork they engaged in and their discussions — to the relevant pieces of the instructional materials. This kind of feedback can happen in one-on-one coaching conversations as well as in meetings to which teachers bring student work. The discussion should focus on where instruction broke down. What did and didn’t work? Where and how should the curriculum be adjusted? 

Fifth, get everyone speaking the same language. To ensure there is exceptional teaching in every classroom, everyone in the district and the school — from operations and instructional teams to schedule developers and recess aides — need to understand how student learning intersects with their work. How can business managers keep instructional goals top of mind when making budgetary decisions? Do schedulers understand instructional priorities well enough to use them to inform their efforts? The principal is central to ensuring that all the adults in the building knows how student learning goals can shape their work.

As districts prepare for the next school year with lingering questions about funding, it’s critical that they get their money’s worth from the investments they’ve made. Putting principals at the center of efforts to adopt new and better curriculum is an essential step toward getting the most out of the millions already spent. Principals are key to marrying vision with reality on the ground. They should be treated as such.

But numbers can only tell part of the story. They never capture the child behind the score — the effort behind mastering a difficult concept, the pride of discovering their passion for history through a hands-on project, or the confidence that grows with every hard-earned breakthrough. We risk devaluing individual learning every time we celebrate a rise in collective scores.

While standardized assessments remain a traditional foundational measure of progress, achievement can no longer be dictated by these metrics alone. Over and over, research shows that high-stakes testing students and teachers and down to math and reading scores.

But we hold on to them because familiar systems are easier to defend than reinvent.

Thankfully, the tide is turning. As the framework gains momentum across the U.S., schools are primed to completely reimagine how we measure learning in a way that is authentic to the human experience and to select tools that support, rather than complicate, the work of capturing future-ready skills. 

One of the most harmful effects of schools’ over-reliance on standardized testing is that students leave unprepared for life after graduation. 

Instead of empowering students with the skills to navigate a complex world, educators are forced to “teach to the test,” prioritizing performance on a single test over deep learning to satisfy accountability measures for policymakers and legislators.

Our students’ future success depends on more than reversing in reading and math. According to America Succeeds, most requested skills by employers are durable skills, such as effective communication, creativity and critical thinking developed through real-world, authentic learning experiences. 

However, the found that 84% of hiring managers say most high school graduates are not prepared for the workforce, and 80% believe they are less prepared than previous generations.

As educators, we have a moral obligation to ensure we are preparing students for the future. That means looking beyond a single standardized score as proof of readiness, toward multiple measures that capture the whole child. Traditional measures still have a place, but they can’t be the only way to assess a student. 

Districts that implement a Portrait of a Graduate initiative define the competencies they value and want every student to leave with — qualities like emotional intelligence, adaptability, collaboration and resilience. However, many struggle to put operations in place that turn aspirations from a poster on the wall into a fully functional system that monitors student progress and success. 

The result is predictable: 160 schools deliver 160 different experiences. This lack of systemic cohesion ensures that access to transformative opportunities remains uneven, directly impacting student outcomes.

When its accountability framework this past spring, districts gained the structural flexibility to look beyond rigid standardized ratings. By introducing local indicators of quality alongside state metrics, the state is empowering schools to demonstrate student growth through capstone projects, performance-based defenses and real-world learning aligned with the Portrait of a Learner framework adopted in 2022.

into this opportunity early through a simple, yet transformative shift: engaging community stakeholders from day one to co-create implementation playbooks, establish shared guidelines, define common rubrics, and run pilot programs that validate these authentic assessments of learning.

This collaborative approach helped school leaders ensure consistent experiences in all classrooms while still empowering teachers with the freedom to tailor instruction to students’ needs. Most importantly, the values became embedded in each district’s culture, from the district office down to each and every student.

For districts leading the work, technology that supports tracking and reporting on student skills is critical. They can no longer adopt one-size-fits-all tools when the goal is communicating highly personalized progress that reveals a student’s true capabilities. It’s more important than ever to evaluate every tool line by line against district initiatives and ensure a match.

The most effective empower teachers and students to collect and showcase meaningful artifacts of learning through the educational journey, including capstone projects, student reflections, work samples and project portfolios. At the same time, they must offer robust rubric assessments so that teachers can clearly identify when a student falls short of a benchmark — and where extra support may be needed to help strengthen durable skills needed for the real world. 

With these insights, schools no longer hold students accountable to a single, high-stakes measure of learning. Instead, they create multiple opportunities for growth. 

Society champions second chances as stepping stones: Drivers-to-be can retake their driving test, law school graduates can sit for the bar exam multiple times. Yet, we often tell a 15-year-old that their years of learning can be distilled into one test score. Students should be given opportunities to learn from their setbacks, to revise and resubmit work and to re-demonstrate mastery of content without judgement.

When we finally shift our focus from proving learning to nurturing it, we create spaces where every child has the chance to thrive.

As educators, we know when learning happens — we don’t need numbers to tell us. We know it when the shy student steps confidently in front of the class to deliver a presentation. We know it when a group of students tackle a complex, real-world problem together. But too often, these moments of learning are invisible to accountability systems that prioritize hard numbers over growth.

By measuring student progress through multiple forms of evidence — capturing not only academic achievement but also future-ready competencies — we honor students not just for what they know but for who they are becoming.

Dr. Terra Greenwell is an Educational Leadership and Systems Advisor, and former Chief Academic Officer for Jefferson County Public Schools.

At the same time, about 200 miles away, in Shinnston, West Virginia, I was an elementary student studying the weekly school lunch menu with my mom to decide which days I would rather bring food from home. Rarely did I select the school-provided meals, preferring a sandwich from Mom over the cardboard pizza, soggy tater tots and slimy fruit cocktail that defined school meals for many students of my generation. 

School lunches have long been the subject of jokes in cafeterias across the country. But in West Virginia and elsewhere, there’s an emerging commitment among leaders of both political parties to improving the quality of food schools serve their students. This trend has major implications for children’s health, academic success and long-term well-being — especially for the many low-income students who lack access to healthy, affordable food and for whom school cafeterias are the most dependable source of meals.

consistently shows that students perform better when they are well nourished. Unhealthy or unappetizing school meals can contribute to obesity, diabetes, fatigue and other chronic health issues that affect students’ energy, attention and ability to engage in the classroom. But children who have reliable access to healthy meals concentrate harder, behave better, fall sick less often, have and earn higher grades.  

Policymakers on both sides of the political aisle have long recognized that connection. The , administered by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, has provided federally supported school meals since 1946. The of 2010, championed by then-First Lady Michelle Obama, strengthened nutrition standards by requiring schools to serve more fruits, vegetables, whole grains and low-fat milk while reducing starch, sodium and trans fats.

While well-intentioned, the Obama initiative didn’t seem to change much in my West Virginia school cafeteria. I still remember the jokes students made at lunch during that era — usually some variation of “thanks, Michelle Obama” while staring at the stale nachos and watery green beans that technically met the updated standards. For many students, there was little perceptible difference in how the food tasted and made them feel. 

Now, the Trump administration’s movement, spearheaded by Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., is putting school nutrition back on the national agenda, with bipartisan backing. Calls to reduce ultra-processed foods and artificial additives and to strengthen farm-to-school programs have in both Republican- and Democratic-led states. West Virginia is in the vanguard of the renewed national movement to improve school nutrition. 

In 2025, Gov. Patrick Morrisey signed banning several artificial dyes from school meals, making West Virginia one of the first states to impose such restrictions statewide. Earlier this year, the West Virginia legislature the Healthy Lifestyles Program, which includes a farm-to-school initiative that helps cafeterias serve locally grown produce. And other initiatives are on the legislative drawing board, including proposals to bolster and establish around sugar, sodium, fiber and foods. 

But my experiences in school cafeterias suggests that whether the momentum in West Virginia and elsewhere translates into meaningful improvements in student nutrition ultimately rests on state and local leaders’ ability to put on local lunch trays healthy food that students want to eat. West Virginia points to the magnitude of that task. More than 15 years after Oliver attempted to “revolutionize” Huntington’s school cafeterias, West Virginia near the bottom nationally in child well-being, educational outcomes and economic mobility. It also struggles with high rates of food insecurity and poverty — all conditions deeply intertwined with how students learn and develop. 

Still, after decades of school lunches serving as cultural punchlines, the renewed focus on student nutrition is encouraging. Children cannot learn effectively if they are hungry, fatigued or experiencing preventable health issues tied to poor nutrition. What is happening in West Virginia reflects a growing recognition that supporting students academically also requires supporting them physically — that improving educational outcomes begins, in part, with ensuring that students are properly nourished.

To be sure, the (pre-COVID) decline that set in during the mid-2010s had many causes, including smartphones, the aftermath of the 2008 recession and a steep drop in time spent reading long-form writing. But few serious scholars treat the link between rigorous accountability and student progress as a coincidence. Most see its rise and fall as a major driver of both the era of steady improvement and its disheartening retreat.

As a former superintendent of Newark’s public schools, deputy chancellor in New York City and New Jersey’s commissioner of education (and, as importantly, as an AP U.S. History Teacher for four years), I have seen firsthand that the value of meaningful accountability is profound. Is there any other domain in American life that doesn’t operate on the principle that “what gets measured gets done” or that sets high-performance standards but then eschews objectively measuring whether they are met?

Anyone who says you can have high standards for students and then never measure whether they have been achieved has never spent a minute in a classroom. Isn’t there also a message in the fact that the handful of states, notably Mississippi and Louisiana, that have bucked the current education recession have dug in on accountability (improving upon the NCLB playbook)? 

I have seen accountability’s profound benefits but am well aware of its flaws: narrowing curriculum at the expense of untested subjects like art, emphasizing the anti-educational practice of teaching test-taking skills, over-indexing the relevance of test performance to the exclusion of other indicators of learning and more. I have also seen how powerful political forces work relentlessly to undermine state- or federally imposed accountability measures: diluting standards, eliminating high school exit exams, scamming parents by reducing passing scores to artificially boost proficiency rates and substituting a laughably inflated grading system for objective evidence of learning.   

Only rarely do opponents challenge accountability’s core purposes of shedding light on and advancing learning in schools, districts or populations that are underperforming. Accountability came under pressure less on the merits than because it drew resistance — from teachers unions wary of being judged by student results, from a generalized hostility to any that compromises local authority, from that recoiled at testing as a matter of personal philosophy or due to NCLB’s emphasis on proficiency (whether a student cleared a fixed bar) over growth (the rate of progress toward that bar).

As Aldeman persuasively argues, the answer is not to abandon accountability but to support its evolution in a manner that preserves its strengths and mitigates its flaws. Assessments will never be perfect, but they can be and are being improved. Louisiana’s work in partnership with Johns Hopkins is a prime example. Other states and districts should follow the lead of the many schools that have proven that art and non-tested activities actually improve performance in reading and math — or that teaching the skills and knowledge embodied in high standards rather than test-taking skills is not teaching to the test but the very essence of sound educational practice.

None of these salutary practices, however, addresses the core problem inherent in the vagaries of politics — the recurring pattern of yielding to political pressures to weaken accountability. I have lived this in both New York and New Jersey: a tough, accountability-centered body of reforms yields broad achievement gains, which then retreat when a subsequent administration abandons them in response to political opposition. Energized by the understandable, if often injurious, human tendency to replace hard expectations with more comfortable ones, opposition to serious educational accountability has proven an enduring feature of the policy landscape.    

The replacement of NCLB with the Every Student Succeeds Act in 2015 reflected precisely this phenomenon at the federal level. The hard truth is that gains driven by accountability are especially fragile — vulnerable to reversal every time political winds shift or a new administration takes office.

A promising path to resisting this regressive tendency is to embed accountability in a place far less vulnerable to political revision and changing administrations. Working alongside local, federal-compliant performance standards, accountability should be situated in the purchasing decisions states and districts make every year. 

Outcomes-based contracting, like state or federal accountability mandates, measures results and attaches real consequences — aligning the district’s and the provider’s interests squarely with explicit learning objectives from the outset. Providers are compensated based on whether students demonstrate measurable learning gains, not on what materials they deliver. For children from under-resourced communities, a contract that ends when materials ship is not a neutral arrangement — it is a guarantee that no one answers when the work fails.

A provider with a genuine stake in the outcome builds responsive interventions — adjusting, coaching, reteaching — until gains are achieved. That is a fundamentally different accountability relationship than education has ever demanded of its vendors. 

The infrastructure to change this is beginning to take shape. The Center for Outcomes-Based Contracting, working with more than 70 districts as well as leading providers, is building shared standards and cross-district learning that enable both sides to enter these agreements with confidence.

Harvard’s Center for Education Policy Research is the impact of outcomes-based contracting on Indiana’s literacy strategy for grades 6 to 8. The state is also among several that are restructuring how they contract for literacy outcomes, focusing on middle grades where targeted, high-impact supports can make a meaningful difference. Nationwide, intervention for students above third grade has historically lagged.

 The lesson of the last quarter-century of school reform is not that accountability was misguided. But it can and should be reinforced by aligning vendor incentives with explicit student learning goals — putting accountability close enough to the classroom that there is no waiver to request, no reauthorization to wait for, no administration change to hide behind. 

Accountability at the contract level ultimately says to every provider what historic performance expectations have been saying to every district and school for decades: You will be judged by how much children are learning — and accept the consequences when they are not.