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.

One of the Star City teachers who spoke directly to lawmakers gave a beautiful and moving speech. I couldn’t help but think of this teacher as a patriot for sharing his truth with our elected officials.

During the meeting Senator Breanne Davis, the sponsor of SB 294, became angry as people raised concerns about LEARNS and its negative impact on children and communities. She said there were people spreading disinformation about the bill and declared “superintendents are misleading the public at best, and at worst, they are lying.”

Allison, a parent of two children with disabilities, was also there to speak against the bill. Her primary problem with LEARNS is that private schools don’t have to accept special needs kids like hers. She is worried about the students with disabilities who are already underserved because of lack of funding in their public schools, and how that problem will worsen as public tax dollars flow to other sources. She met the teachers from Star City and it inspired her to find out their superintendent supported their attendance and involvement in the legislative process. Later that evening, she tweeted something to this effect.

Senator Breanne Davis saw Allison’s tweet and used it to attack Star City. She tweeted an accusation that Mr. Frizzell violated policy in allowing teachers to miss school to attend the legislative meeting. Her tweet even went so far as to suggest the situation be investigated. Senator Davis’ reaction was not patriotism.

A school law attorney then jumped on Twitter to sort things out. She pointed out the Senator’s interpretation of policy was bogus, and corrected her mistake in judgment. She then outlined the paper trail that proved Frizzell nor the teachers did anything wrong. Thank God this woman spoke up when she saw this intimidating unfolding on social media.

On the same day Judd Deere, deputy chief of staff for Governor Sarah Sanders, referenced Allison’s tweet with one of his own, chiming in, “Nothing says I care about students like skipping out on those students for political advocacy.”

Teachers have already been labeled as far-left indoctrinators and lazy. This happened throughout the governor’s campaign and it continues today. Such blatant and direct attacks on public educators as these tweets are a further abuse of power and are the opposite of patriotism.

And these tweets come on the heels of our conversation with Senator Bart Hester, in which he told a group of teachers “Superintendents are my enemy.” This happened on “Take Your Teacher to the Legislature Day” and was said to a large group of us who stood out in the hall after being kicked out of the Senate Ed Committee Meeting for lack of space. Members of our coalition who were not asked to leave later told us that Senator Breanne Davis derided superintendents in that meeting as well. It is a narrative voucher peddlers push in order to divide us.

As public outcry against LEARNS has intensified, however, so has the viciousness of the narrative, especially the propaganda that paints educators as leftist enemies of that state. Nothing could be further from the truth. Members of our coalition are fiercely committed to defending their public schools and motivated by protecting the future of their students. These educators are patriots. Not political pawns.

We have heard from several admin and teachers who are being intimidated both directly and indirectly. One wrote this week—confidentially of course—that “the targeting teachers and administrators are receiving from the AG, Governor’s office, and distance are barriers for us [to be able to come to the Capitol Tuesday].”

This is not okay. Our leaders, the people that work for us who have sworn oaths to uphold the Constitution and to do right by Arkansans, are attacking the free speech of public employees. This is not patriotism. Instead, standing up for public schools in the face of political attacks from the highest levels of state government is patriotism.

The abuse of power is unacceptable and it is wrong. If this is happening to you, we want know so we can help support you. If you have shared concerns about The LEARNS Act but have been silenced or bullied by elected leaders, please message on Twitter or Facebook. Or email us at info@arstrong.org.

The post Abuse of Power is not Patriotism appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

In New Brief, Teach Plus Arkansas Policy Fellows Address Mental Health Needs of Students

Teachers’ recommendations focus on providing mental health services for students and relevant professional development for educators

The need to support students socially and emotionally, as well as cognitively, has become evident as the result of the COVID pandemic. Lack of such support leaves students unprepared for school and life and contributes to the higher burnout rates of teachers. In their new brief, Strategically Addressing Student Mental Health in Our Schools: Recommendations from Teach Plus Arkansas Policy Fellows, Teach Plus teacher leaders set forth a series of recommendations for state leaders on closing the gaps of social, emotional, and mental health education and support in the state.

“Investing in mental health services for students and ensuring that teachers have the training and the time to thoughtfully implement SEL is good for teachers, directly benefits students, and can help alleviate Arkansas’s critical teacher shortage by ensuring that more teachers remain in our classrooms,” said Teach Plus Arkansas Executive Director Stacey McAdoo. “With these solutions from Teach Plus teacher leaders, we can improve conditions in our public schools to make certain that we are educating the whole child and alleviating barriers so that more teachers want and can remain in our classrooms.”

“Our students cannot learn if they are in fight or flight mode. If we expect teachers to help students learn, we must give educators the tools to help students be in the right mindset in the first place,” said Perla Andrade, a teacher in Little Rock and one of the authors of the brief.

To better understand Arkansas teachers’ experience with SEL, Teach Plus teacher leaders surveyed 247 Arkansas teachers about how their schools are supporting students’ social and emotional needs. They found that schools and educators are committed to their students’ social-emotional learning. Educators try their best to embed some form of SEL strategies into the daily academic day, but they need support in the form of professional development focused on mental health, trauma-informed instruction and the social-emotional learning of students. They also need to have protected time in their day to implement SEL.

Teach Plus teacher leaders’ recommendations are:

1. Create school-specific mental health services, such as a coordinator/student success coach, in order to provide in-school support for students and professional development for teachers.
2. Protect teacher time to have SEL lessons and conversations with students and participate in relevant training.
3. Engage teachers in relevant training, such as Mental Health First Aid training, on how to authentically serve the SEL needs of students.

“The only way we can truly provide an equitable educational experience to our students is to understand the whole child and provide resources to take care of their social, emotional, and mental health needs,” said Christhian Saavedra, Student Success Coach in Rogers and one of the authors of the brief.

About Teach Plus

The mission of Teach Plus is to empower excellent, experienced, and diverse teachers to take leadership over key policy and practice issues that affect their students’ success. Since 2009, Teach Plus has developed thousands of teacher leaders across the country to exercise their leadership in shaping education policy and improving teaching and learning, to create an education system driven by access and excellence for all. Teachplus.org

The post Teach Plus Policy Fellows Address Mental Health Needs of Students appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

You see, I thought I was special.

 My resume is solid, I’d never had trouble landing teaching jobs, and I enjoyed a fair amount of success fulfilling my life’s calling. In 2008, I was named Second Runner-Up to the Arkansas Teacher of the Year. 

None of that really mattered though. What mattered were the little moments in teaching: The hugs, the smiles, the adorable notes. The time Isiah gave me his Halloween candy—Fun Dip, his favorite. The Dollar Store Christmas gift with a card addressed in a first-grader’s scrawl to “Mrs. Wallets.”  Once, during the Book Fair, a student’s mother had neglected to give her money to buy a book, so the student created her own—illustrated in full color. She was able to buy a few books and even got change back. 

What mattered was the aching feet and heart at the end of practically every day. Watching tiny people trying to persist while processing trauma: homelessness, abuse, the deaths of their parents by murder-suicide. 

What matters still are the texts, Snapchats, and Facebook messages I get from former students. Sometimes the sentiment is, “I watched Sgt. York the other day and it reminded me of you and your history class.” Once, a doctor in residency messaged to let me know about a patient from Djibouti. None of the other medical professionals on the floor believed that was a real place. She was the only one who had heard of the country and could find it on a map. (See—even doctors need geography. Everyone does.)

What matters are watching those former students grow, graduate, start families and careers. What matters was the recent request for guidance on how best to communicate with elected officials to improve our mental health care system and help for prison employees especially. Safe to say, he and I are polar opposites politically, but he saw a desperate need and wanted to get active in finding solutions. 

What matters are their phone calls asking for advice on managing care for their aging parents or decisions about delaying graduate school. 

They are even willing to tackle my assignments more than 20 years later. I posed the following questions: What do you remember about our time together? Do you carry any of that experience with you today in a way you value? Do you think you were indoctrinated?

Here are some of the responses:

“I enjoyed honest, relevant, safe conversations in your classroom where we could all share our opinions on culture and beliefs and learn from each other, not just a textbook.”

“You placed equal value on each country and each civilization or perspective being discussed. You initiated deep curiosity in me to know more about the experiences of others. I remember feeling like every person and their culture mattered in our world. I still carry that feeling in my heart and mind today.”

“You shared knowledge without condescending.”

“I feel like people were eager to learn from you due to the fact that you were genuinely open and accepting to all who entered.”

“You encouraged us to learn more than facts and dates. You encouraged us to do projects that hit close to home, like the integration of our own school system.”

“Wokeism wasn’t a thing in the 90s or at least it seemed that way. I do remember you going above and beyond to help me out. You spent considerable time with me and my homework for other classes that weren’t even yours.”

It’s almost as if teachers are actually taught how to manage discussions involving opposing viewpoints or controversial topics. They are trained to keep bias at bay when teaching critical thinking. 

Those comments from former students are certainly rewarding. They sustain me through my struggles with immense feelings of guilt for leaving the classroom. 

Those same sentiments can be spoken of almost every single other educator with whom I ever worked. I didn’t learn those skills in a vacuum. Colleagues offered living examples of how to teach, guide, and build strong foundations for students to support them through life.

What I truly treasure is how those former students are still teaching me. Any teacher will tell you they likely learn more from their students than vice versa. As deeper conversations develop in our culture about racism, patriotism, and the rights of women, among other topics, I have reached out to former students with questions. They share information, personal experiences, and even resources to learn more. 

Years after we worked together in a public-school classroom, we are still learning and growing. Together. 

The post Teaching, Learning, Growing—Together appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

It was her ability to teach combined with her love for us that made learning in her class so much fun. She inspired me to want to learn more.  

The year was 1973. I was about to start the second grade at England Public Elementary School. That year, I was blessed to be assigned to the classroom of Mrs. Helen Bess Braswell.

Mrs. Braswell had as great an impact on me and my education than just about any other teacher I have ever had before or since. It is hard to put into words how special she was to me and what she means to me still.

Mrs. Braswell was incredibly intelligent. We hope all our teachers are, but she was truly at the top. But it wasn’t just her special knowledge that made her special; it was her gift for teaching that knowledge to children that set her apart from most. She taught me how to write in cursive. She taught me phonics. I could go on and on. So many of the foundational blocks of my entire education I received from her. I can’t thank her enough.

I think I was drawn to her because Mrs. Braswell was always such a happy, positive person. Children can pick up on who is kind, who cares about them. That Mrs. Braswell loved her students was never in doubt. She had a cute smile and always a twinkle in her eye. She always had a hug for us when we needed it and encouraging words when we needed them.

It was her ability to teach combined with her love for us that made learning in her class so much fun. She inspired me to want to learn more.  I have been fortunate to have many wonderful teachers, but Mrs. Helen Bess Braswell will always be at the top for me. Mrs. Braswell is the definition of what a teacher should be.

This picture is from the 1973-74 England yearbook when I had her as a teacher.

The post What a Teacher Should Be: Celebrating the Life of Mrs. Braswell 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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