In his heartbreakingly simple song “Speed Trap Town,” contemporary southern sage and roots rock troubadour Jason Isbell sings of the small-town high school football effect: “It’s a boy’s last dream and man’s first loss.” To be young and perpetually hopeful only to eventually come face to face with defeat — this is the coming of age sports story we embrace here in Arkansas.

But what is a Friday autumn night without the bright lights of a football field beckoning us to remember those last dreams and first losses?

Early this spring, Chris Goering asked this very question on a social media post:

I started on the defensive line for three years at little Medicine Lodge, Kansas, and we improved each year, from 3-6 to 7-2 to an undefeated regular season my senior year, 9-0, before running into the private school bullies from Wichita: Wichita Collegiate. (Although they played in the same class as us, they could recruit from the huge city of Wichita and had at least 5 seniors on that team play major Division One football.) We played only with the players living in our small town and public school district. Though it was 27 years ago, this story still stings and it currently reverberates on the high school football field and education landscape of Arkansas.

Medicine Lodge is 100 miles from Anywhere, USA, that most Americans could point to on map. It’s a small agriculture-centered town that has largely stayed in the game all these years because there happened to be a large gypsum deposit nearby, which enables the town’s industry to make and ship wallboard all over the region from there. I love my hometown, and I feel just as connected to it when I return to visit my parents. The people of that town still have my back all these years later. Like most towns in Arkansas, it is a small town a long ways away from any bigger towns.

While I’d love to recount more stories from high school football, what I owe my hometown is to make sure that your kids will continue to be able to form productive identities in small town sports and extracurricular activities, to feel an entire community’s support at their backs in basketball gyms, at the softball diamond, and on the football field. Your kids deserve a chance to host a state playoff game where they cannot see past the people standing around the field and filling both sets of bleachers.

As a former high school (and college) football player turned teacher I believe that Governor Sanders’ new education plan poses a deep threat to all rural schools across the state. I want to preserve important opportunities for our kids and protect the small towns of America.

What the Governor is up to is pretty simple. She deeply wants to open school choice up to the state by adding vouchers for private schools now and create a free-for-all of charter schools later. The problem, as most of you who live in rural areas know, your towns don’t have access to private schools or charter schools, and losing even a few members of your schools to this competition could have disastrous effects.

Charters and private schools don’t outperform public schools, and they don’t often offer comprehensive extracurriculars or sports like football (typically), pathways for young people to be as connected to and as proud as I am of Medicine Lodge, Kansas, all these years later. These schools are not an improvement; they are a means of destroying your towns by taking the schools out at the knees, just as Wichita Collegiate did to us those years ago. They open up public school tax dollars that you and I pay to be wasted, as incidents around the country prove over and over.

With the LEARNS act, Governor Sanders is a 5-star athlete playing quarterback for Wichita Collegiate in 1995. She has all the power and all the advantages in the world on the football field, and she’s coming to your town to not only dash your dreams of holding your communities together but to beat you 42-7. The problem is that with the LEARNS act, not only will the things you love about your town be different, the foundation that the public school provides will be significantly compromised or reduced to rubble.

-Chris Goering, #73

The post a boys last dream and a man’s first loss: saving high school football appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I am often asked what drives me to fight so hard for public schools. The people who ask me this are usually introspective types who read books like Finding Your Why by Simon Sinek, or perhaps Pastor Rick Warren’s Purpose Driven Life. I recommend both of those books as well as a fair amount of introspection. And I love people who ask me honest questions. But I am never asked that question by public school teachers; they already know. Because every public school teacher knows a James.

James grew up in an old clapboard house his father inherited from his father, on land they did not own but were allowed to farm. He was the oldest of 4 children. His mother was a homemaker and his father a driller for the gas company. His few clothes were patched and his hair was often greasy. He slept with his siblings in a cold, drafty room with a high ceiling under a pile of quilts.

For a child in poverty, James was pretty well-fed. His father grew a huge garden, and they raised their own beef and hogs. They gathered eggs from hardworking hens. James had a BB gun by the time he was 4 and hunted squirrels with his uncle. His mother fried them up just like chicken to eat with mashed potatoes and gravy.

James also scoured the Ozark Mountains for rabbits and quail that the family ate. He fished in the Arkansas River for their supper. A few years later he would hunt deer and learn to dress it himself.

On his first day of school, James wore a shirt his mother made him. She dropped him off at the Cecil schoolhouse, which had 2 classrooms. James was with grades 1 though 4, and the class next door had 5th-7th. Between the 2 classes there were 97 students. 97 for 2 teachers.

James cried all day. He didn’t know anyone. He didn’t even know how to tie his shoes. He did know the alphabet because his mother taught him.

James says his 1st grade teacher was nice, but it’s the teacher next door, Mrs. Lyla Crawford, who made a bigger difference in his life. I guess she had bus duty because when the last bell rang, Mrs. Crawford noticed how sad and scared he was while waiting for the bus. So she took his little hand in hers and walked onto that bus with him and sat down. She patted the seat for him to sit beside her. And as mile after country mile passed James snuggled up next to Mrs. Crawford. He even laughed a little bit while they talked. And when he got off the bus, James told his mother he loved school.

James went on to County Line for high school, and then to Arkansas Tech, the only one in his family ever to go to college. After that he earned his master’s degree at the University of Arkansas. The world opened up to him and he became a history teacher, bus driver, junior high principal, then an assistant superintendent. I guess he really did love school because he gave 40 years of his life to educating children in public schools in Arkansas.

But that’s not all he did.

James is my dad. I am living proof of how public school — and specifically the teachers a child encounters there — can change the trajectory of a person’s life. And it is never just that one person. In our case, my dad’s education changed what my brother’s and my life would have been and is still changing the lives of his seven grandchildren.

Every public school teacher has taught a James. And I say public school teacher because public schools are the ones who serve the children in poverty all over this state. At the end of the day, James is why we fight for teacher raises to recruit and retain people fleeing our profession. He is why we fought the LEARNS Act. We know that vouchers won’t fix education because vouchers don’t fix poverty — they just exacerbate it. And when public schools are hurt, James gets hurt. James, and all of the children like him, as well as all of the other lives their lives touch for better or worse in the future. 

I fight for public schools because it is personal to me. Our state government holds in its hands the power to change the lives of children like James every day, which in turn changes the lives of their families for generations. It is a sacred privilege and responsibility. But instead of addressing the poverty that plagues our schools and communities, our lawmakers deliberately choose to leave children like James behind, for their own personal gain.

This is not okay.

We are the ones who stand between a corrupted government and our children. We are the Lyla Crawfords, the ones who see them and refuse to leave them behind. And we are not going away.

Elections are in 2024. And actions have consequences. Just like when we give out report cards and a student has failed to do what we asked—they fail the class. Arkansas Strong is keeping track of the legislators who ignore their teachers. They are failing our state.

There are 30,000 teachers in this state and every one of us has a sphere of influence. Families, students, and parents who support us; communities that depend on us to lead. If we stick together and vote, we can decide who represents us, ousting the ones who have failed Arkansas.

This is a long game. And we are in it to win it — for the sake of our kids, and for generations to come.

The post On What Drives Me appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

In Matthew 10, Jesus warns his disciples of the hostility that lies ahead of their commissioned work. In verse 16, Jesus says,

“I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves; therefore be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves.”

Wolves are ferocious, violent creatures that prey on sheep. Jesus knew his disciples needed galvanizing and specific instruction to be on guard — sharp and clever like snakes. But He also knew to instruct His twelve to remain steadfast in their purity of heart. What seems like a contradiction, snakes vs doves, is Jesus guiding His followers to be savvy of the traps laid before them but exhorting them to never forget their true purpose.

Like many of Arkansas Strong’s followers, I’m an educator. That fierce love for Arkansas kids is our purpose, and we must be awake and attentive to the traps laid before us as public school advocates. Vouchers are wolves in sheep’s clothing; proponents of voucher programs masquerade their snake oil as the savior of education. But we know it’s a scheme, a trap set for hundreds of thousands of rural students to be harmed by a policy that’s not made for them. Instead, these voucher programs undeniably funnel public tax money to families that can already afford a choice for their kids. We do not need this rip-off here in Arkansas.

It’s time for patriotic Arkansans, we who believe in the American Dream, to stand together and stand strong for Arkansas children. We will be shrewd like serpents and innocent like doves. We will stand up and fight for our public schools, and we will do this because we are rooted in faith, hope, and love for all Arkansas kids.

Arkansas Strong in Education is a resource for public school advocates to become shrewd like serpents in public education policy. Please use these materials to educate and equip yourself and others who believe in standing up for public schools.

Arkansas Strong also has several pieces on first-person experiences from public educators. We recommend taking time to read through these poignant stories and hope you will find empathy and shared community with these authors. May we suggest beginning with “My turn to speak: a rural teacher lends her voice to the voucher debate.“

The post The wolf in sheep’s clothing appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

• Our government only survives with an informed electorate.

We have to be informed citizens.  We have to pay attention to current events, political activity, issues, candidates.  We have to be discerning in our news intake.  We have to recognize propaganda.   We have to constantly think, “Who is telling us this information, and what do they want us to think/do/feel?”  We have to engage our brains.  We have to also remember that it’s not always about ME but about US, and we need to think from not only our perspective but from others’ perspectives.  

• Government is a SOCIAL CONTRACT, not a BUSINESS.

Government is not meant to make a profit.  It is not meant to squirrel away money.  It’s not meant to squander it, either.  Government officials MUST think of ALL their citizens, not only their party.  They must allocate tax revenue to use for the best of their society, not for the most privileged or the most powerful.  Creating a surplus from federal funds meant to improve lives of all citizens during a pandemic and then handing it to the richest of its citizens isn’t good governance, as an example.  It doesn’t benefit the majority or the most in need.  We have to think collectively.  We have to think of each other, not just those who benefit us financially or politically.  We must remember that the opposite of governance is anarchy.  

• Our elected officials must EARN our VOTE.  They must be ACCOUNTABLE to ALL our citizens, not just their party.

We have the responsibility to vote in officials who will work to benefit all our citizens, not just hold a spot for the majority of the party.  Celebrity does not equate to good candidacy.  Just because you recognize the candidate does not qualify him/her as a deserving candidate.  We must listen to his/her words, actions, history.  We need to elect citizens who actually live among us, live in our state, interact with our citizens.  We must elect officials who are concerned with the issues of the majority of our citizens, not just the most powerful and the wealthiest, the lobbyists with the most influence.  We must pay attention to the words and actions of candidates, not just the designated letter behind their names.  Who will represent us the best?  Who has spent the most time among the citizens of the state?  Who seems the most engaged with issues which impact our daily lives?  Whose ads seem the most genuine, positive, issue-oriented?  Campaigning for education which impacts all our students and then advocating vouchers which benefits 8% of the students in the state isn’t best representing the citizens of one’s district.  Not living in the state in which you’re campaigning and holding no public appearances or town hall meetings in the years of your term does not best benefit your constituents.  It benefits you.  Not showing up for a sponsored debate in the state is lazy.  It’s entitled.  It doesn’t speak well for us, the voters, who let a candidate get by with such action.  We should demand accountability.  We should demand a platform.  We should demand and pay attention to debate.  We as informed voters need to pay attention to the words and actions of our elected officials.  We need to vote for the people who best represent all of us.  

• We Are A Democracy.

It’s been said on some media that we are a constitutional republic as a rebuke when someone states that we are a democracy.  These two terms are not mutually exclusive.  A constitutional republic, which we are, is a TYPE of DEMOCRACY, which we also are.  A democratic government relies on its citizens to dictate policy through elections.  We must be an informed electorate.  We must recognize these terms and the fact that we are being manipulated by people trying to divide us with misinformation according to these terms.  Reference the first bullet.

• One of the tenets of our democracy is egalitarianism:  One person, one vote.

In order for our government to function effectively, we must vote.  We must allow every citizen to vote.  We must make it easy to vote.  We must not limit voting.  Everyone’s vote must count and count equally.  Manipulating the vote is un-American; laws which limit voting in minority areas are un-American.  The current Arkansas proposal #2 limiting the access to citizens’ initiatives on the ballot is essentially un-American.   In voting for it, we are ceding our power as voting citizens.

• Another tenet of our democracy is Majority Rule.

The opinions of the majority should dictate the law.  Gerrymandering congressional districts to limit minority votes is un-American.  Using the filibuster to limit the proposal of laws that the majority of the country wants enacted is un-American.  Holding open judicial seats until one’s party can control appointments is un-American.  The Hastert Rule in Congress of not proposing laws unless the majority of the majority will vote for them led to not proposing law unless the President will sign it.  Both ideas go against the American ideal that each branch of government is equal and independent, and that the Founders created a system of checks and balances in our government so that no one branch gained an undo amount of power over another.  Ballot initiative #1, which would give the state legislature the ability to call themselves into session, goes against this tenet and is essentially un-American.  We need to vote for leaders who are concerned with the majority of the citizenry, not leaders who have tried to manipulate the system to gain power.  

No democracy can exist without an informed electorate, said Thomas Jefferson.  The less we understand about our government, the more power we cede to those intent on steering us away from a democracy.  We have a job to do.  Use your power to vote accordingly.  

The post <strong>It’s Your Job!</strong> appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I knew in 8^th grade that I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. My US History teacher, Marie McNeal, was a tiny, delightful, powerhouse of a woman with a New York accent who exuded kindness. She radiated compassion and accepted nothing less than your 100% best effort, even on your lowest day when teenage angst was coursing through your veins. She validated the angst, gave you a giant hug, and said, “Now, let’s get to work!”

My teachers at Hall High sealed the deal. They showed me what absolute perfection in educating students looked like. They were all masters of their craft. They were experts in their content area. There were many times I cried in their offices or on their living room couches. They handed me tissue and listened. Didn’t judge. Didn’t lecture. They waited for me to arrive at the solution. Whether I was vexed by a physics problem or was processing other personal trauma, they stayed by my side. 

They did this for years. Quite often, the cars in the student parking lot were far newer and more expensive than the ones driven by the teachers. They endured the insult of going on a Saturday to take a test to prove they were capable teachers. They kept right on teaching. 

My entry into the profession was a little rocky. But when I finally got my own classroom I was in heaven. 

My first year, there were 7 periods in the school day. I taught 5 different subjects in grades 7-12. I took Friday nights off and spent the weekends lesson planning. 

There were no frameworks then and we didn’t even have to turn in lesson plans. I definitely loved my students. My students loved me. I can say that with assurance because I still hear that from them today, more than 20 years later. I can also say with assurance that I was a good teacher, having earned a spot as a finalist for Arkansas Teacher of the Year. 

During my career, I taught various subjects and every grade K-12. I lost sleep over students, spent thousands of dollars on school supplies, food, even Christmas gifts for students and their families who would otherwise have had very sparse holidays. I broke up fights. I got hit in the head with a cafeteria tray. I held a 1^st grader while he trembled and sobbed through an active shooter drill. I sheltered students who ran into the building during recess to escape gunfire in the neighborhood. Luckily, I avoided having to participate in the Stop The Bleed training sessions. Current teachers report extreme anxiety and even trauma resulting from those PDs.

 I’ve been to a few class reunions, college graduations, even some weddings. From time to time, I still offer advice when former students reach out through social media. Some I haven’t heard from in years. When they reach out, I’m transported back to our time in the classroom together. I can remember their young face, sometimes even their handwriting. Just this week, I’ve received Snapchats, Facebook messages, texts, and phone calls from kids I taught more than 18 years ago.  I’m so lucky I got to be their teacher. That they still look to me for occasional support or advice helps me cope with the serious guilt and disappointment I face as an early retiree. 

I taught without the internet or email or smart boards in my first years as a teacher. The influx of technology certainly made some parts of the job vastly easier, faster, more entertaining and exciting, and more challenging.

I taught through the advent of high stakes standardized testing. I administered the ACTAAP, then the PARCC. A few other iterations have rolled in and now students must sacrifice their daily routine and instruction several times a year to wade through the ACT Aspire, used only by Arkansas. No other state in the Union uses it. Entire school days and school schedules are re-arranged so that certified staff can assist with proctoring the exams. Almost all decisions are based on how the testing schedule or test scores will be impacted. 

Critics claim teachers are afraid of accountability so the teachers soldier on, administering more standardized tests, more frequently. They even tolerate an absurd new assessment model for themselves. TESS. Short for Teacher Excellence and Support System. Designed by Charlotte Danielson, it’s a labor-intensive, near constant process of teacher evaluation. Even Danielson herself has issues with the way the system is implemented. 

I sheltered students who ran into the building during recess to escape gunfire in the neighborhood.
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Rigor, grit, fidelity. Say those words around a teacher and watch their eyes. Every 2-3 years, new curriculum will be rolled out with promises to raise achievement, to save our failing schools. The programs will require grit from students. The lessons will include rigor and schools must implement them with complete fidelity. 

But, there’s a pandemic, you say. 

No matter. 

Students will be held accountable for attendance, for completing all lessons, for demonstrating grit. 

Because the school report cards are what matter now. If people can see how low the test scores are, they will be convinced our schools are failing our children. If parents lose faith in public education, then they will support charters and vouchers. This is all part of the design to privatize education.

Teachers were heroes long before the pandemic. They go to work everyday knowing their heart will be broken. They get up and they go anyway. They are certainly carrying more than fair share of the pandemic load now. More than 40 Arkansas teachers have died from Covid over the last year. 

[Teachers] go to work everyday knowing their heart will be broken. They get up and they go anyway.
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Many, like me, have resigned or retired early. We were willing to risk our own safety when the threat came from active shooters, but we were unwilling to endanger the lives of our families when the threat came from Covid. Many may be lured back, but only if there are some serious changes. 

So, if you’re one of those people who think public schools are full of bloat, that the practically non-existent teachers’ union is up to no good, and parents should have vouchers to choose where their education tax dollars are spent, congratulations. The plan to destroy public education is gaining steam at an alarming rate.

On the other hand, if you believe in the power of a free and public education for ALL students, I will invite you to study candidates in upcoming elections–for every position from school board on up through state and federal offices. 

The future for lots of amazing kids depends on it. 

The post Teaching, interrupted. 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.

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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.

 

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