Upon receiving my first high school teaching placement, I carefully studied my district’s teacher salary schedule, anticipating what I would make each year. As you likely know, most American school districts pay teachers based on a “schedule,” or a table with “steps” (rows) for each year of experience and “lanes” (columns) for education level attained. As a first-year teacher with an arguably excessive graduate education, I knew I’d earn the amount listed at the intersection of the first step and the last lane. I noted that the district also made regular cost-of-living adjustments (COLA). The reliable salary schedule, I felt, was a real benefit of teaching. Nothing about my workday was predictable, but I was heartened by a predictable, guaranteed income. And that was exactly my experience at first.
Four years into my teaching career, I moved states but was pleased that my years of experience transferred easily onto my new district salary schedule. So imagine my shock upon learning, at the end of my first year there, that I would not advance to the next step. Due to a districtwide pay freeze, I would be paid again in my sixth year as if I were still in my fifth. And had I stayed in that district, I would’ve been subjected to yet another freeze, meaning that I would’ve been paid in my seventh year as if I were in my fifth.
Other districts might differ, but in mine, I would have remained two years “behind” for the rest of my career. Elsewhere—such as Flint, Michigan—teachers have been “behind” on pay since the early 2010s. That effectively penalizes teachers for longevity in the district!
It’s discouraging stuff, or at least it was to me. But it hasn’t gotten much attention in either the mainstream media or in education research. Rigorous studies explore the effects of teacher performance pay, teacher benefits, and much else, but I couldn’t find a single study of pay freezes. Researchers, look into this, please!
Such freezes are hardly unusual. They can take a few different forms, whether they block advancement to the next step (as happened to me), deny COLA, or introduce “phantom steps” (in which teachers technically advance to the next step, but the salary for that step isn’t any higher; for a jaw-dropping ten years of these, see this North Carolina schedule).
As one might guess, freezes are especially common during times of economic hardship and budgetary stress. In the aftermath of the 2008 recession, for example, 80 percent of the large districts in a National Council on Teacher Quality study adopted pay freezes or cuts. During the height of COVID, districts such as Fairfax County—the country’s ninth-largest, with 13,000 teachers—froze salaries.
Plenty of other jobs don’t offer consistent raises, but the stability of salary schedules was supposed to be a draw for teachers, both in terms of annual earnings and their outdated but oft-touted pensions. A district freezing salaries is going to be less attractive, especially if a teacher is deciding between neighboring districts, where one isn’t as inclined to freeze as the other.
Speaking to my own experience, the hit to my pay wasn’t what ended my teaching career (although a substantially larger paycheck might have offset at least some of my burnout). But even if I’d been inclined to stay in the classroom, I absolutely would have applied to nearby districts that weren’t so quick to freeze. And while many critics and policy analysts denounce the traditional salary schedule, they’re typically arguing for policies that reward performance or fill hard-to-staff positions, not for across-the-board penalties that make teaching less appealing.
Today, what with the end of COVID relief funding and the precariousness of federal support, we’re probably nearing another moment when salary freezes will arise in many districts. (Layoffs are likely, too, but those already receive a good deal of attention.)
As a former teacher, I wish the answer were as easy as “don’t freeze salaries.” In practice, I know that budgets are limited, and difficult choices must happen.
All the more reason for researchers to investigate the effects of freezes. Anecdotally, I can confirm that mine was an unpleasant surprise, and my colleagues’ reactions ranged from annoyed to outraged. And to this day, salary freezes are clearly a source of frustration on teachers’ social media. But we need real data, too. It seems reasonable to hypothesize that freezes would negatively impact teacher morale, engagement, and retention, but so far no rigorous research has analyzed their effects.
The policy implications are real. As districts evaluate their budgets and make those tough decisions, it would be valuable to know: Does a salary freeze risk driving out teachers? Might teachers in harder-to-staff positions, like special education or Title I settings, be at greater risk of leaving? Does a step freeze have a different impact than the imposition of phantom steps? Does a freeze decrease teacher morale, in turn perhaps impacting their attendance, effectiveness, or other outcomes? Having such data would equip district leaders to make better-informed decisions when it comes to allocating limited resources.
My step freeze didn’t drive me out of teaching, but it was another reason to leave. I don’t know whether it had a similar effect on others, but we could certainly find out.
