Here’s what you can do: Join our sit-in at the upcoming committee meeting on Monday, October 3rd at 1:30 pm. We will WEAR RED in support of pay raises for educators around the state. Let’s pack the committee room so legislators cannot ignore us! If you wish to join the committee meeting sit-in, please email Gwen Faulkenberry at gfaulkenberry@hotmail.com. 

You can also email members of the Education Committee and ask them, “What recommendations are you presenting to education committee chairs based on the adequacy study and what you know about Arkansas teacher salaries?” (If your personal legislators are on the education committee, please let them know you are their constituent. Remember to keep the email short, professional, and polite.) We’ve provided sample wording for you below. Committee members’ names and emails are also below.

See you on October 3rd!

Sample Wording:

I am a ____ year educator and parent of a child(ren) who is/was educated in (city). I understand that the Senate and House Education Committees will discuss teacher pay raises at the October meeting. What recommendations are you planning on presenting based on what you’ve seen from the adequacy study and what you know about Arkansas teacher salaries?

Here’s the email list of the Education Committee Members. Encourage colleagues to contact their legislators and the committee members:

The post Wear Red for Ed appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

They invited our director, Gwen Ford Faulkenberry, to sit down and have a conversation about the work we do at Arkansas Strong. In these two podcasts, Gwen answers questions about her experiences as a teacher and writer in rural Arkansas, and how the heartbreak of her doomed political campaign led her to find her voice at Arkansas Strong and as a newspaper columnist for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.

On the Other Hand, Episode 9:

On the Other Hand co-hosts Glen White and April Chatham-Carpenter interview Gwen Faulkenberry, a teacher and author who has a blend of political views but ran unsuccessfully as a Democrat for the state legislature in her rural district.  Learn how her faith and family inform her political views and her community activities, as well as some disturbing responses she got when she chose to run as a Democrat. This is part 1 of our interview with Gwen.

On the Other Hand, Episode 10:

On the Other Hand co-hosts Glen White and April Chatham-Carpenter interview Gwen Faulkenberry, a teacher and author who has a blend of political views but ran unsuccessfully as a Democrat for the state legislature in her rural district.  Learn more about Gwen’s political views and her involvement with a new organization, Arkansas Strong. This is part 2 of our interview with Gwen.

The post Listen: Braver Angels appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

The post On Hope’s Clarity appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

“We can disagree about something and still move on together. Still be a family. This is my dream for Arkansas and our country.”

Gwen Faulkenberry

Whether it’s the classroom or the virtual space, Gwen Faulkenberry, Arkansas Strong’s curator and featured writer, knows a thing or two about bringing people together. Where Gwen’s gift shines brightest? It’s at FFF Ranch, named for her family, where her Ozark kinfolk share life.

In a piece for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Gwen ponders Arkansas’s familial makeup, complete with family spats and disagreements (Thanksgiving dinner, anyone?) that can lead to full knock-down dragouts, as she puts it.

“Families are messy and boisterous and disagree,” she writes. “Our best chance for a healthy, prosperous state is to trust each other.”

Read “We really are one big family” here.

The post Arkansas Family Ties That Bind appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Arkansas Strong in the making

When I was floating my plans for Arkansas Strong, a friend told me, “You need to meet Rex Nelson.” Astonished that I didn’t recognize the name, my friend went on: “Rex is famous in the state of Arkansas. He writes for the Democrat-Gazette and does about a hundred other things. He’s only the nicest guy you will ever meet. You guys have so much in common…Rex loves Arkansas. He goes all over the state writing about the good things that are happening, especially in small towns.” This friend had a vision Rex and I might end up on the road together and do a show called “On the Road with Rex and Gwen.” He introduced us in an email, certain we would be peas in a pod.

---

What he wants from state leaders now is not allegiance to a party, but a return to serving people. Meeting practical needs. He wants Arkansas to be kind, prosperous, and safe, guided by common sense.
Click To Tweet

---

He was right. I met Rex one morning in Little Rock at the Capitol Hotel for breakfast. By this time I had done my own research and understood that Rex was a big deal—Washington Bureau Chief for the paper during the time of Senator Dale Bumpers; Director of Communications for Governor Mike Huckabee, and appointed to the Delta Regional Authority by President George Bush. Also a husband, father, sports radio commentator, and author. I felt like a moron for not knowing who he was before; it was a huge honor he agreed to meet with me.

 

Listen, learn, and leave with a changed perspective

 

I sat waiting for our meeting, sipping coffee all nervous and fidgety. That lasted till the moment Rex walked through the doors of the Capitol lobby, instantly spotted me, and smiled like a long-lost friend. As we walked together into the restaurant Rex greeted everyone he knew, which was everyone. When we finally made it to our table and ordered, Rex pulled out a yellow tablet. “Just thought I would ask you a few questions.”

I had planned to interview him, but ended up telling him my life’s story. It was a lesson in journalism  watching him work. He took complete charge of the conversation, asked brilliant, probing questions, listened with rapt attention, led me from one subject to the next. In other words, all of the things I usually try to do when I interview people—and had planned to do with him. But there’s no managing Rex Nelson. I usually think I’m not the easiest person to lead or guide, but Rex puts you under a spell. He’s like the favorite uncle you wish you had, the one you can trust with anything.

---

What Rex does is remind us of the best that is in us—the good we have been, and can be again.
Click To Tweet

---

 

Our hope for Arkansas

 

Since that day Rex has been a mentor. Someone I want to emulate. He’s a lifelong Republican with many friends on both sides of the aisle. He’s sad about the meanness he sees coming from Christian people and feels somewhat disoriented, as I do, in places that used to feel like a spiritual home. What he wants from state leaders now is not allegiance to a party, but a return to serving people. Meeting practical needs. He wants Arkansas to be kind, prosperous, and safe, guided by common sense. And while his work occasionally finds him bravely touching on the subject of politics, mostly what Rex does is remind us of the best that is in us—the good we have been, and can be again.

He does this by seeing us and celebrating our successes. One day he’s in the Delta, writing about how well we grow rice. The next week he may be in Northwest Arkansas, pointing out our business acumen, philanthropy, and artistic success. He’s especially fond of restaurants that serve world-class food in rural areas. The places in Dumas and Lonoke and Hazen where people know your name when you come through the door.

---

There may be anger and unrest and fear on Facebook and stormy weather on the nightly news. But Rex, without sugar-coating, gently lifts our eyes to the good. The true.
Click To Tweet

---

 

• 

• 

• 

He likes to find us doing new things in creative ways, making a difference in the world whether it’s a museum in McGehee or casino in Pine Bluff. Rex is there whether it’s a ballgame or a ballet. He is there for all things Arkansas.Like the Southern food he samples around the state, Rex comforts us. Things may look bad in our legislature. Covid may ravage those we love.

There may be anger and unrest and fear on Facebook and stormy weather on the nightly news. But Rex, without sugar-coating, gently lifts our eyes to the good. The true. He shifts our focus to the excellent things that are worthy of praise. Week after week he amplifies voices of everyday Arkansans who are out there in every region, doing good work. And in sharing their stories, he brings light and hope to the state we’re in.

 

The post The Man Who Comforts Arkansas appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I’ve always believed this. Plus, I love geography. Perhaps that’s why, whenever I’m around rocks at one of my parents’ quarries or find myself stacking stones beside a river, my eyes are drawn to the ones shaped like Arkansas. My sister-in-law looks for the ones shaped like hearts. So between ourselves and our kids we end up with a lot of these treasures. I like to stick them around in my flower beds.

I have a little stack of different sized Arkansas rocks right by my door. When my nine-year-old presented me with a tiny gravel heart she found in the driveway, I decided to give her a little geography lesson. I took down my best Arkansas rock and placed the heart in Franklin County. “This is home, where we live.” Being the child of an English teacher, the symbolism was not lost on her. “It’s where our heart is, Mommy!”

Home. Where our heart is.

The other night there was a storm and it rained. Early the next morning I sat on my steps as I always do, trying to put on my running shoes with about five dogs jumping around vying with each other to lick my face. I glanced over at our little heart of Arkansas creation and noticed, to my dismay, that the heart had washed/blown off. Only Arkansas was left, stark grey against the sepia background. It took a minute for me to spot the heart. Upside down and cast aside, it didn’t really look like a heart. It just looked like a rock. I picked it up and set it back on top of Arkansas, this time more centered so that maybe it would have a better chance to hold.

I’ve been obsessed with unity lately, although I guess it’s always been an important theme in my life. My friend list has never been homogenous. I tend to favor more of a hodge-podge of people. In high school this looked like playing in the band as well as being a cheerleader; heading up the library club along with being president of my class. I was the nerd elected “Most Likely to Succeed” who also won the beauty pageant. While on the surface those things may seem like contradictions, to me they made sense. Why pigeon hole oneself into a single category? Walt Whitman said he contained multitudes. Don’t we all?

Running for office in 2020 afforded me many learning experiences; some lovely and some brutal. It may be that having no previous political aspirations shielded me somewhat from the reality of our partisan divide. Whatever it was, I never expected people to be so polarized at the local level. Washington–yes, I get it. We all see that madness and mayhem on TV. But not here; not in Arkansas; not in our little country communities where we go to work, and church, and ballgames together. Not where your kids are my kids, we give each other wedding showers, we visit one another when someone is sick. Heck, we even share our okra and tomatoes!

One of the first things I did as a candidate was contact every county political committee regardless of party and ask them to let me speak. I told them party was not a big deal to me, that I wanted to represent everyone. When I talked to John Brummett about this he said something like, “I don’t know whether to think that’s weird or wonderful.” I told him then what I’m telling everyone else now: it’s not an either/or situation. It’s the choice of the people what kind of culture we allow.

Some news stations, some churches, and a great many politicians owned by special interest groups would have us believe it is a civil war. We must be Democrat or Republican. Left or right. Vaccinated or anti-vaccine; good or evil. It is Us versus Them; there is no possible in-between. No co-mingling of the tribes. It’s a fight to the death.

And yet–is this really the truth? Have we the people decided to hold these truths as self-evident? Is this the way to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? If I believed that I would have given up on Arkansas after being defeated.

But I am not giving up. This is my home. Hear me from the rooftop shouting through my Ozark Hillbilly golf team fundraiser mask: No. It is not the truth. It is not the way to life, liberty, or happiness. It is not who we are as Arkansans and Americans. And church people, it is not even Christian. It is not Us versus Them. No, it is not.

I don’t know all of the answers and so I try to approach others in humility, but I believe in bold, clear action. And the action that is needed for such a time as this moment in our state and nation is reconciliation. Determined, intelligent, deliberate, difficult, messy reconciliation. It is not touchy feely. It’s not excusing, or saying everything is okay, or that we even agree. It is doing the hard work of restoring a relationship that is broken because whether we agree on everything or not we recognize we need each other; we are in this together. There is middle ground whether we acknowledge it or not.

Let us be the ones who decide to be different from the crowd. Let us be the movers and shakers–the leaders–who show the rest of America how it’s done.
Click To Tweet

But let’s be people who seek it. Who recognize that place is sacred. It’s where we heal. I’m so thankful for those who are working to build bridges in our communities. Those fighting forward, registering voters, keeping watch, informing us, showing us the way back to each other, back to the common good. We need more leaders who will rise up to put people over politics and reunite us–not just in words but in deeds.

It can start here in Arkansas. Let us be the ones who decide to be different from the crowd. Let us be the movers and shakers–the leaders–who show the rest of America how it’s done. Let us reject the narrative that it has to be either/or. Arkansans are known for our independent spirit. Let us be weird and different from the whole world if that’s what it takes to also be wonderful. We can find the courage in our hearts to lock arms and stand together. Some might say I’m naive, but I know we can do it. Let this be the place where reconciliation begins!

The post Arkansas Rocks appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

It was the best of times for Grace. She was born into a loving family where both parents have graduate degrees and well-paying jobs. They’ve been married to each other for 26 years, live in a beautiful home on several acres, and have lots of books on their shelves. They even have a grand piano. Grace takes lessons.

Grace’s mom takes her shopping for all of the latest styles and lets her pick out school supplies. Her dad helps with math homework. They have plenty of healthy food and most nights the family sits around the table together and talks about their day. At night, after a nice bubble bath, Grace’s parents read her a Bible story and tuck her into bed. She gets a good night’s sleep. In the mornings Grace’s dad makes a hot breakfast, mom packs her lunch, and she rides to school with her aunt, a teacher who lives next door.

Grace’s parents go to conferences with her teachers. They hold her to high standards. Grace works hard and takes advantage of all of the great things her public school offers, and graduates as Valedictorian with 30 hours of concurrent college credit. She becomes a National Merit Finalist, gets the Governor’s Scholarship, and goes to the University of Arkansas on a full ride. Her long-term goal is to attend law school and move back to her small town to raise a family and practice law.

The Worst of Times for Justin

The other student we’ll call Justin. He’s the same age as Grace but it’s the worst of times for him.

Justin doesn’t know his dad and his mom, who had him at 16, is on drugs. He lives with his two younger siblings way out in the mountains in an old shack with his disabled grandmother. Their yard is full of trash—old cars, rusty appliances, and broken toys. Two skinny dogs languish on chains.

Justin sleeps on the couch. He squirrel hunts so the family has something to eat for supper. His grandma doesn’t get her check for a few more days. There are three potatoes on the floor and an onion in the fridge; old grease for frying the squirrels. That is all. If it weren’t for free breakfast and lunch at school the kids would be starving. Some church in town sends them home with backpacks of snacks over the weekend.

Justin’s pants are too short and his shirt is stained. His shoes have holes. He doesn’t own a coat to wear in winter. But every morning a big yellow bus rumbles down his dirt road, stops to pick him up, and takes him to school. School is warm in winter and cool when it’s hot outside. Justin feels safe there. Although he goes to bed hungry, doesn’t sleep well, and Grandma has never read him a story, every morning Justin walks through the same door to the same classroom as Grace. He sits at the same table with the same books. All day they both interact with the same highly trained certified teachers. Because Justin was screened for dyslexia when a teacher noticed difficulty reading, Justin gets explicit, direct instruction from a dyslexia specialist. Justin’s favorite class is shop, where he’s discovered he has a knack for welding. Justin is good with his hands.

Justin eats a hot lunch, goes to Math lab for extra help with Geometry, and plays football where he’s part of a team. His coach is a good man who encourages him to do well in school and checks his grades every week. Because Justin works hard and takes advantage of the great things his public school offers, Justin graduates and receives his high school diploma. The school counselor helped him fill out a FASFA, so he gets financial aid to attend the local community college where he plans to become a welder. He’ll have a good job waiting as soon as he’s certified. Justin’s long-term goal is to get a place of his own and help his siblings make it through school. 

Public School: the Great Equalizer

This story may sound outlandish to non-rural readers, maybe even rural non-public school teachers and staff. But these students are not fictional. They are actual people. The people our schools serve every day. Grace’s name has not been changed—she’s my daughter—and Justin, whose name is not Justin, was a player on my husband’s football team. Both are Ozark Hillbillies, though they could be from any school in rural Arkansas, which is to say the vast majority of schools in Arkansas. 

In a rural state where over 66% of kids qualify for free and reduced school lunches, there are a great many more Justins than Graces. It’s the public school system more than anything else that brings them together and offers equity. It’s the one place they are guaranteed to stand on common ground. Justin didn’t choose to be born into poverty any more than Grace chose the middle class. But because of school—miraculous, generous, beautiful, American public school—Justin can get out. Public school is his ticket to the American Dream.

Why Funding Public School Matters

Bills circulating in our legislature right now would void that ticket for the most vulnerable children among us—those in poverty, those with special needs, those with learning and physical disabilities—all of whom public schools are required by law to accommodate, whatever extra space, staff, and equipment are required. While voucher pushers promote their bills as supporting low income families and those with special needs, that’s a smoke screen for the real reason: corporate greed. Recently a bill was debated in the Arkansas House and marketed as a “scholarship” program to benefit underprivileged kids, although the income cutoff is higher than the average family income in Arkansas. Lobbyists paraded parents of children with disabilities—a total of two–lucky enough to receive one of these “scholarships,” to testify how their children benefited from private school experience. My heart goes out to them. But their sincere anecdotal experience fails to negate the fact that hundreds of thousands of rural students are harmed in states that funnel public tax money to vouchers. We don’t need that rip-off in Arkansas. Yet the bills are such wolves in sheep’s clothing most voters have trouble understanding the consequences.

To be plain, the way the scam works is that rich people receive tax credit for every dollar they put toward the fund to pay for private school vouchers. This means they can choose to pay tax only to support private school vouchers. It would be like if I passed a bill that set up a fund to pave my mile-long dirt driveway. Regular taxpayers—the ones who fund our shared public highways–would credit me dollar-for-dollar even though I’d never let anyone use the private road but my family and friends. Sticking with this comparison, I’d argue the legislature should do it because it would really help my family—we can’t otherwise afford a paved driveway–and it’s such a tiny amount of money no one would miss it. Of course, the most recent school voucher bill allows the fund cap to rise 25% per year. So in 10 years we go from that insignificant amount to 37 million. And in 25 years it rings up at over a billion dollars siphoned away from public schools.

The American Dream of Public Education

If this happens, the Graces of the world might have to move to an urban area, but they’ll likely be okay. They have networks of support to help them. The biggest losers are the least of these—rural children who have no transportation or parental support or ability to navigate the system that makes private school in a larger town an option. There are no real options for them but the public school. And as it loses more and more funding, the quality goes down. Less money means less teachers, bigger classes, run-down facilities, old technology, and fewer supplies. Instead of the great democratic space that convenes diverse community, schools become segregated into rich and private, public and poor. Special interest groups grow fat like dog ticks sucking the public revenue dry. Rural districts ultimately don’t survive, and the 66% of students who are Justins fall through the cracks, likely perpetuating the cycle of poverty.

It doesn’t have to happen—not here. But it’s time for patriotic Arkansans, we who believe in the American Dream, to stand together and stand strong for Arkansas children. Which means we stand up and fight for our public schools.

The post A Tale of Two Students: The Gift of Public School appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Teacher Gwen Faulkenberry spoke to the House Education Committee on behalf of rural children, who make up the vast majority of school kids in Arkansas. She hoped to educate lawmakers on what education means to regular folks, but instead they taught her a painful lesson.

I’m nobody, really. I had a brief moment in the sun over a year ago when I was plucked from obscurity and recruited to run for State Representative in District 82. Faithful readers of the Democrat-Gazette might remember from John Brummett’s column. He wrote a story about a little dust-up I had when I made friends with Madison County Republicans. Being an Independent at heart, I didn’t know that was against the rules. I’ve learned quite a bit since then.

You might think getting slaughtered 70-30 in my own hometown by folks who branded me a far left-wing radical who wanted to kill babies and confiscate guns (even though I’m a Southern Baptist school teacher and mother of four with a concealed carry license) would have taught me all I needed to know about politics. But apparently there are endless epiphanies that await an outsider who chooses to engage with the Arkansas legislature.

“Like all of the rural voters who elected these people and trust them, it’s not what I say or what our community needs that matters. They work for someone else.“

A Teacher Driven to Speak for Rural Children

Last Tuesday I got up at 5 AM and drove to Little Rock for a meeting of the House Education Committee. I sat in a room with others waiting to speak. We members of the public were informed our time was limited to 2 minutes each, which I found a little odd. Especially since by my turn I’d been listening for 2½ hours as elected officials spoke amongst themselves. But I was still hopeful. After all, went my logic, these surely were good people doing their best to help Arkansans. With all of the things that demand their attention this 29-page bill could have slipped through the cracks. They couldn’t possibly know the kind of damage a private school voucher bill would wreak on public schools, how big corporations are promoting these things all over the country so they can make money from education, and how every state that implements vouchers excludes and alienates children. Especially rural children. They could not know that, otherwise they’d never consider HB 1371. 

I’m a teacher. It’s my job to know how to research a complicated topic and explain it so people can understand. That’s why I was there—to help the committee understand the real consequences for real people. The real people of rural Arkansas, who make up the vast majority of folks they were elected to serve.

To Fund or Not to Fund: These are the Questions

I’d been told by a legislator that others were allowed to pass out printed material. So I planned to begin with a quiz compiled with my brother, a school superintendent. The “quiz” was really just a condensed list of things to consider before voting on any bill that diverts public tax money away from public schools and sends it to charters and private schools. It included 20 questions like this: Does the school have to accept any student who shows up at the door at any time? Are they audited by the state? Do their teachers have to be certified? Are they governed by a locally elected board? Do they provide transportation? Do they serve free and reduced meals to needy students? Are they required to take the ASPIRE and show progress? Are their schools assigned letter grades? All of these things—and about a thousand more—are how public schools in Arkansas are held accountable for the tax dollars they receive. The answer to all of those, by the way, for private schools and charters, is “no.”

When it was my turn to speak, the chair told me I was not allowed to pass out anything, and to state my name and who I was with. I was taken aback. But I did as I was told.

A Teacher Vouching for Rural Schools

I could feel splotches of embarrassment coupled with red hot fury popping out all over my neck. Only a couple committee members made eye contact with me. Charlene Fite, the representative from a district right next to mine, turned away from me to look at her phone.  I felt like I was in a parody of a meeting, a sketch to demonstrate how to not listen, how to make a speaker feel ignored. Yet I persisted. I said my name was Gwen Faulkenberry and I was a teacher, the daughter and sister of public educators, wife of a coach, and mother of four public school children, as well as a product of public school myself. I had a story to tell them—a tale of two students—but had to ditch it because of time. Instead I said I believe everyone here wants to do what’s right for children, and I am sympathetic to problems with urban school districts. “But I am here to speak for rural children, who make up the majority of children in public schools all over this state.” 

I tried to reason with them about how we are not even funding one school system adequately, so why this attempt to fund two? I asked them to pour all they could into fixing our public schools. Maybe even reduce regulations on them. That’s when I was cut off. 

“Time’s up.” 

All of my research, preparation, good faith effort to get there and go through the proper channels to lend my voice as a citizen, professional, mother, and rural constituent—for two minutes. No questions. I was directed out the door and the next person was called.

I hurried as fast as I could to my car in a metered spot near the capitol. There was a $15 parking ticket on my windshield. I got into my car, put my head onto the steering wheel, and cried. Eventually I went home.

A Lousy Lesson Learned

The thing I learned when it was my turn to speak is that—with the exception of a few good men and women—our legislators aren’t listening. The problem was not that they didn’t understand how vouchers hurt public schools. It was that a majority of the committee didn’t care. Their minds were already made up long before it was my turn to speak. I was not seen; I was not heard. Like all of the rural voters who elected these people and trust them, it’s not what I say or what our community needs that matters. They work for someone else.

---

Gwen Ford Faulkenberry is a teacher, farmer, writer, and mother of four nearly perfect children. She lives in the mountains near her home town of Ozark, Arkansas. She loves the natural beauty of Arkansas and its people, and believes the best in them always. Her vision is to see Arkansas #1 in education, health care, jobs, and quality of life. Her mission is to help make that happen through Arkansas Strong.

 

The post My Turn to Speak: A Rural Teacher Lends Her Voice to the School Voucher Debate appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

ABOUT US

We Celebrate The Strength of Arkansas

Arkansas Strong is here to tell the stories of our people— those who believe in our shared values and those fighting for a stronger Arkansas. We talk about issues we’re facing in our communities and our state, whether it’s the worries that keep us up at night or the futures we dream for our children. We elevate the stories of everyday Arkansas heroes and celebrate the values that make our state special. We are more alike as Arkansans than we are different. Arkansas Strong is here to champion our state, our people, and our values.

What We Do

• Inform Arkansans on issues that impact their lives
• Celebrate the stories of all our people
• Empower Arkansans to band together and fight for a stronger state
• Amplify the messages of partner organizations working to advance a better Arkansas

At Our Core, Arkansans Are Tough

We’re resourceful. Whether we’re raising up educators, entrepreneurs, nurses, farmers, or other leaders, we find a way to make something out of nothing. In Arkansas, we dream big. 

We’re headstrong and independent. You might say we’re spirited and sure do know our own minds. But we’re also conscientious of our neighbors, and we go out of our way to lend a hand when we can. We’re stubborn, but we always leave room for growth. 

We’re fighters, and we know what’s right. We believe in the American values of fairness, justice, and opportunity for all. And when issues or individuals stand in the way of what’s right, Arkansans speak up. 

 

Return Home

The post About Us appeared first on Arkansas Strong.