“You can just do things” is one of those memes floating around the internet, plus the name of two recent books, including one by lawyer-turned-professional poker player-turned-biotech entrepreneur Cate Hall. Another word for it is “agency.” Nike would say “Just do it.” Or as opinion columnist Matt Yglesias argues, don’t just admire a problem, do something to fix it.
It’s on my mind because of the current enthusiasm for muscular state action around teaching and learning. For decades, many of us in education policy (and ed reform) thought these topics were taboo for state lawmakers and state ed department bureaucrats, thanks to America’s well-entrenched tradition of local control. Then a few (mostly Southern) states decided otherwise. They decided to just do things.
That’s the story of the Mississippi Marathon in a nutshell, although, as Rachel Canter explains, of course it was much more complicated. First, in the 2000s and early 2010s, state lawmakers laid a solid foundation, with higher standards, stronger assessments, a transparent A–F school accountability system, a third-grade retention policy, and investments in pre-K and literacy. Then, in 2013, Carey Wright arrived and worked to drive improvements in the core functions of schooling from her perch as state superintendent. And it worked!
She didn’t respect the timid traditional role of states versus districts—for example, just providing small grants to a few local education agencies to pilot stronger approaches to teaching reading, or merely using her bully pulpit to encourage local educators to do the right thing. No, she acted like she ran the schools and used every lever she could find to push a coherent vision of teaching and learning (especially around early reading) from the state capital to the classroom. That included directly hiring reading coaches and placing them where she thought they needed to go, designing professional learning experiences at the state level, forcing ed schools to change their ways, and leaning hard on local curricular decisions.
Other states in the South—especially Tennessee, Alabama, Louisiana, and more recently Texas—have also used parts of this playbook. It’s similar to what our cousins across the pond in England are up to, as well. And long, long ago, Massachusetts used it to “miraculous” effect, too.
So why aren’t more states doing it?
So far, in America at least, we’re not seeing this approach spread far and wide (or north, east, and west). To be sure, lots of states have adopted “science of reading” laws, and a growing number are enacting bills related to math. But most are half measures. Maybe they require the state to publish a list of high-quality instructional materials, but they don’t make local districts use those materials. Or the lists have dozens of entries, meaning (almost) anything goes. Or investments in professional learning are too limited to reach all (or even most) schools in the state. Or teacher preparation is ignored.
In blue states, pushback often comes from (where else?) the teachers unions under the banner of “professional autonomy.” That is mostly (yet another) indication of who has power within the unions—the older, more senior teachers who don’t want states restricting their instructional practices, versus the newer teachers who would benefit the most from clear guidance.
But there’s resistance in red states, too, as I’ve seen firsthand in Fordham’s home state of Ohio, and in conversations with center-right policy wonks nationwide. Many are still wedded to the “tight-loose” frame first popularized by my colleague Checker Finn. That’s the precept that states should be “tight” about the results to be achieved (articulated by state academic standards) but “loose” as to how schools and districts get there. It’s akin to the autonomy-in-return-for-accountability bargain at the heart of charter schooling. States should evaluate the finished meal, so to speak, not dictate the recipe or cooking methods.
I get it and spent much of my career arguing for it, but now I can’t help but wonder if the Southern Surge states have found a better way. Just do things. Just try to improve teaching and learning. Rather than rely on what can feel like “bank-shot” strategies, using various carrots and sticks to cajole and prod and nudge, why not just go straight to the heart of the matter and give educators clear guidance and direction?
Well, there is a “why not?” Actually, two of them.
First, states might get it wrong. In the long history of American education, countless fads and fashions have whipped through our field, and state education agencies and their leaders have hardly been immune. What if states feel empowered to tell schools what to do—and then give marching orders that are misguided or worse?
Second, people don’t like being bossed around, especially those who call themselves professionals and those engaged in knowledge work. Stripping frontline staff of decision-making authority can demoralize and alienate them. We don’t want teachers acting like automatons. They aren’t robots, at least not yet!
So if states are going to follow Mississippi’s lead, they had better:
- Get it right.
- Focus on the areas where the evidence is strongest.
- Embrace some degree of local input and variation, so as to keep educators doing their best work (and allow for some experimentation and innovation).
States would also be smart to allow for real escape hatches—waiver policies that let schools or districts opt out, carve-outs for schools of choice, plus mechanisms to get honest feedback from frontline educators about how it’s going.
And that’s on top of laying a strong foundation as Mississippi did, especially with aggressive accountability. (See here and here for my thoughts on rules states might follow whenever they are considering mandates on any topic.)
So there are risks, but that’s true of all pursuits. It’s time for more state education agencies to get serious about agency and just do things.
