With more than 40 states having passed science-of-reading legislation, what comes next? What will make such laws succeed? Last month, we gathered a team of literacy and implementation experts to get their take. Here’s some of what we learned.
2025 was another banner year for science of reading (SOR) policy advocates. States including California, Georgia, Idaho, Massachusetts, Missouri, Nevada, New York, and Pennsylvania passed legislation around evidence-based literacy instruction. South Dakota revised state standards in alignment with SOR principles.
Statewide laws and policies provide crucial groundwork, but the real action takes place in the classroom. That’s why we at the Thomas B. Fordham Institute want to know: With more than 40 states having passed SOR legislation, what comes next? What will make science of reading laws succeed? Last month, we gathered a team of literacy and implementation experts to get their take. Here’s some of what we learned (check out the whole recording for more).
1. It’s not just “plug and play” from here.
Above all, the experts agree: Education leaders have miles to go before they sleep when it comes to SOR implementation. For states newer to SOR work, “Mississippi Marathon” leader Kymyona Burk cautions against attempts to “plug and play” from another state. Although states can certainly learn from one another, Burk emphasizes the need for each state to examine its own student and teacher data to identify “breakdowns” in understanding and implementation. From there, state leaders can tailor policies to meet the needs of their unique populations.
Even in more seasoned states, however, Instruction Partners co-founder Emily Freitag fears that many policymakers incorrectly “think they did the big work” already. The reality, she says, is that implementation is more complex than scaling practices. How can education leaders figure out what it is they don’t know about implementation? According to Freitag, establishing challenging goals (e.g., 80 percent of kids will read on grade level, with no achievement gaps, within five years) will force more authentic inquiry into how to make SOR ambitions into reality.
Once education leaders have established goals, where should they go next?
2. “Start with teachers.”
Burk suggests that the next move for implementation is to “start with teachers.” That includes training and professional development, of course, but it’s in no small part a matter of building buy-in. When educators have dedicated their careers to teaching a certain way—having been trained that way, truly believing in that way—an isolated training or even a new curriculum is unlikely to change their practice.
To advance SOR, one of the important mindset shifts is around the role of knowledge in reading instruction. For years, the emphasis around reading instruction has been on abstract skills over content. That’s partly because, a decade and a half ago, education leaders wanted to persuade as many states as possible to sign onto the Common Core Standards. In reading, prescribing specific content seemed like a bridge too far—no state wanted to sacrifice so much autonomy—so the compromise was to design Common Core reading standards around skills (e.g., “compare and contrast,” “describe characters, settings, and major events”). An unintended consequence of designing standards (and their aligned assessments) around skills, however, was an overemphasis on abstract “skills” as the goal of instruction. As Freitag said, the message was delivered to a generation of educators: “My job as a teacher or leader is to teach the standards, and one by one I’m going to move through them.”
How can the message be delivered that reading instruction shouldn’t be centered on skills-of-the week?
3. Assessment may help shift this mindset.
Especially amidst a federal emphasis on “returning education to the states,” revamped Common Core standards are unlikely at best. Content-rich curricula can help, but they aren’t enough. As literacy expert Louisa Moats emphasizes, “The material doesn’t do the teaching; the teacher does the teaching.” If they don’t buy into a particular curriculum, individual educators can and often do bypass mandated curricula. (Ask any veteran teacher how we know.)
Educator preparation programs and ongoing professional development are critical, and longtime Core Knowledge advocate David Steiner also highlights assessment as a viable means of reframing educators’ priorities. Because we don’t expect kids to be familiar with any particular content in English language arts, Steiner explains, we test them on abstract skills like “demonstrating understanding,” “inferencing,” and the like. But because this structure necessarily means that students end up being assessed on random passages, the tests end up testing their background knowledge. Think of it this way: In a famous 1980s study, kids who read a narrative about baseball understood it better if they were familiar with baseball. They understood who was involved because they knew what a shortstop was. They understood how “bases loaded” contributed to narrative tension. No amount of skills practice could’ve replaced this knowledge crucial for comprehension.
But, as Steiner notes, if teachers and students know the specific content that will be tested, then they can work to ensure that students are familiar with that content in advance of the assessment. Even in the U.S., with our emphasis on state autonomy, Steiner believes a move to this type of assessment is possible. He notes the success of Louisiana, where over 90 percent of teachers use the same state-vetted ELA curriculum.
Making the change to content-centered assessment wouldn’t be a light lift, but it could certainly help shift how educators perceive their role. If they don’t have any way to predict the content on a reading assessment—as currently is almost always the case—then it makes sense for them to emphasize reading skills. What practical alternative do they have?
Teachers want their students to be successful on assessments, and they know that that’s a core part of their job. If they know certain content will appear on the test, then they will absorb the message that they are responsible for teaching that content. And, as webinar panelist Eric Tucker and his blog post co-author Edmund Gordon argued, a stronger culture of formative assessment can help teachers see what knowledge is sticking along the way. Assessment won’t do it alone, but it can help create the “schema change” that Freitag has called for.
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In sum, when it comes to the science of reading, states are jumping the gun if they declare victory before classroom practice actually changes. In many states, the policy battles may be won—at least for now—but the “big work” lies ahead.
As 2025 drew to a close, the nation lost two leaders whose careers spanned very different worlds—but whose legacies converged around a shared conviction.
Jim Hunt, who served two stints as governor of North Carolina from 1977–1985 and again from 1993–2001, was one of the most influential education governors of the modern era. Lou Gerstner, the former chairman and CEO of IBM, is widely credited with orchestrating one of the most significant corporate turnarounds of the 1990s.
Amid their many accomplishments, Hunt and Gerstner shared a deep, unwavering belief that education is the linchpin of economic opportunity for individuals and of long-term competitiveness for the nation as a whole. Their passing is a moment not only for reflection, but for reckoning—because the conditions that brought them together nearly three decades ago are strikingly similar to those we face today.
In the mid-1990s, Hunt and Gerstner were prominent voices among a group of visionary governors and CEOs who chose collaboration over complacency. They worked across state and party lines to set a collective agenda for educational improvement tied directly to a vision of economic competitiveness. That effort culminated in the 1996 National Education Summit, which convened more than 40 governors and CEOs from some of the world’s most influential companies.
The summit marked a pivotal moment. Business and policy leaders—Democrats and Republicans alike—came together with a shared sense of urgency and responsibility. They understood that America’s economic future depended on the strength of its education system and the skills of its workforce, and they were unwilling to wait for Washington to solve the problem.
Looking back on that moment, there are striking similarities to this one.
Like today, the mid-1990s were marked by uncertainty and disruption. Leaders faced questions about global competition, economic security, and whether the United States was preparing enough people for the jobs of the future. Resources were constrained. Trust across political lines was thin. And yet there was broad agreement on one essential truth: education and the economy were inseparable.
There was also a shared recognition that while the challenges were national, the solutions didn’t need to come from the federal government. Instead, Governors and CEOs decided to take up the mantle themselves. They believed states were best positioned to act—and that business had a responsibility to help shape the conditions under which talent and innovation could flourish.
Concerns about international competitiveness loomed large. Leaders worried the U.S. was falling behind other countries in preparing workers with the skills needed to drive growth in critical industries. Their call to action—build a world-class education system aligned to economic needs—would resonate powerfully today.
Gerstner, Hunt, and their peers understood that without a highly skilled, well-prepared workforce, the United States could not achieve the competitiveness it sought. They recognized the direct link between economic development and talent development, and that bridging the two required intentional policy and sustained collaboration.
The agenda they forged was ambitious: higher expectations for students, stronger systems to measure performance, and real accountability for results. They believed the country simply wasn’t aiming high enough in its schools to produce the talent that the future demanded.
Importantly, they created a unique table. A bipartisan group of governors sat shoulder to shoulder with CEOs of global companies. Together, they benchmarked U.S. expectations against international peers and allowed states to measure themselves against one another. The result was what could be described as “competitive collaboration”—a dynamic that pushed states to raise standards, build better data systems, and inspire excellence without federal mandates.
And it worked. In the years that followed, all states set higher academic standards, scores on the Nation’s Report Card rose, and students from all walks of life began to receive better preparation for career success.
It took visionary leadership, political courage, and a genuine spirit of partnership between education and business—and across party lines.
Those ingredients are desperately needed again. While there is widespread recognition today that education must be more closely connected to workforce and economic agendas, the mechanisms to realize that vision are weak. Collaboration across state lines exists, but not at anything close to the scale or intensity of the 1990s. The bipartisan spirit that allowed leaders to develop shared solutions while maintaining their own state priorities is largely absent.
And yet the need has only grown.
We are heading into a year in which gubernatorial races will be held in 36 states. A significant number of new governors could take office. What would it look like if they aspired to be education governors in the mold of Jim Hunt? Or of Tommy Thompson, John Engler, and Roy Romer—leaders from both parties who worked across state lines to advance a shared education agenda? What would it look like for more CEOs to embrace a commitment to improving our education system not just as corporate social responsibility, but as an investment in their companies’ growth and the prosperity of our nation?
There are signs of possibility. The current and immediately previous chairs of the National Governors Association, Governor Stitt of Oklahoma and Governor Polis of Colorado, have both focused their initiatives on education. JPMorgan Chase CEO Jamie Dimon recently committed significant resources through the firm’s “security and resiliency initiative,” which aims to dramatically accelerate innovation in areas critical to U.S. competitiveness. That spirit echoes the mindset of business leaders in the 1990s—including the CEOs of Procter & Gamble, Boeing, Intel, Prudential, State Farm, and others—who understood that competitiveness required long-term investment—and that those investments were most effective when made in partnership with states.
The challenges we face today are not confined to any single state or company. As AI reshapes every industry from medicine to manufacturing, business leaders of all stripes are wrestling with how best to meet this moment and ensure that they have prepared talent.
Governors, too, are grappling with common questions: How do we ensure students build strong foundational skills in their K–12 experiences? How do we improve ROI in higher education and strengthen these systems as engines of innovation, research, and talent production? How do we govern more efficiently, align fragmented systems, and reduce bureaucracy? And how do we ensure the workforce can meet the shifting skill demands as a result of AI?
The challenges before us are national in scope, as they were when Lou Gerstner and Jim Hunt joined fellow governors and CEOs to confront the forces reshaping the economy. What mattered then—and what matters now—was not uniformity of approach, but a shared seriousness of purpose and a willingness to take responsibility for outcomes.
Today’s governors and business leaders face a similar moment of choice. Will they treat education as peripheral, or as foundational to growth, security and competitiveness? Will they invest, innovate, and govern with the long view in mind?
The answer to those questions will shape not only our education systems, but the nation’s economic future.
Editor’s note: This was first published by Forbes.
In the past few months, there has been much rending of cloths and gnashing of teeth over the decline in classroom book reading (see here, here, here, and here, for example). Heck, I penned my own lamentation, weeping over how few whole books teachers assign.
In the pages of the New York Times, Dana Goldstein notes that this phenomenon isn’t just standard adult-grumbling about young generations. The average number of books assigned per year really has dropped.
The accused are numerous. Karen Vaites blames publishing companies, who hawk excerpt-heavy textbooks for a tidy profit. It’s probably safe to lay much blame at the algorithmic feet of social media and AI. Others harangue standards-based reform. And I cast aspersions at teacher professional organizations that explicitly encourage English teachers to decenter book reading from their classes.
However, I come here today not to sift and winnow between the causes of reduced reading loads or suss out whether there really are fewer books in English classes. Rather, I want to push back on the pushback a bit.
My book-loving credentials are in order. I spent my time in schools as an English teacher and an administrator in the classical education world. To Kill a Mockingbird, Of Mice and Men, Animal Farm, The Odyssey—I lived and breathed these books for years. I read them out loud with students, savored the language, assigned chapters, assessed comprehension, broke down beautiful lines and metaphors, and tested and measured student understandings.
But I assigned writings other than novels, too: speeches, poems, short stories, and essays. These have as much value as a complete book.
I agree with Doug Lemov and others that longer works—plays, novels, epic poems—ought to be the core of any English class. Length allows for more complex characterization and plotting, demands more of students, and facilitates coherent, extended units. But shorter works have their own value.
For example, with my sixth graders, I included a unit on Romantic poetry—think nature and short lyrics, not roses and hearts. I couched it between more difficult novel-length studies as something of a curricular reprieve. Short works break up the year and pace out the rigor. After finishing a final exam and before picking up another dense, heavy novel, we spent just a few weeks delighting in verse.
Over the course of studying a novel, students experience one author. Through a unit on Romantic poetry, students read Blake, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Longfellow, Shelley, and others. They encounter compelling metaphors, rhythm and rhyme, complex language, and beautiful images in condensed, accessible bites that could get overlooked in the waterfall of text in a novel.
It’s also worth reading many short works simply because they are great in themselves. In the lead up to Halloween every year, I had my seventh graders read Edgar Allan Poe. They let out an “eewww” in the final lines of Annabel Lee. They winced at the thought of the Pit and the Pendulum. They fell silent at the haunting image of party-goers falling, one by one, into a bloody seizure as humanity goes extinct at close of the Masque of the Red Death.
Edgar Allan Poe—though I’ll be the first to admit that his prose is at times needlessly verbose and turgid—crafted a compendium of mythological imagery akin to the images of Sisyphus or Icarus. The beating heart of guilt under the floor boards, an unstoppable scythe swinging ever closer to bring death, a chained man bricked into a tomb—these are literary images that stand the test of time.
Plenty of other short works have equal value. What would a high school education be without A Letter from Birmingham Jail or What to a Slave is the Fourth of July? Should we not introduce Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, and Langston Hughes to our students that their verse might be a companion to them? Should we keep Gettysburg, I Have a Dream, or Washington’s Farewell from students because they’re each only a few pages long?
To be fair, I know that no one who penned the aforementioned protest over the decline of book reading in classrooms would argue that students should only ever read books. But seeing as the pendulum of education policy and fads ever swings too far, it’s worth pausing for a moment to acknowledge the benefits of short works. As a happy medium in discipline would settle somewhere between “suspension for checking the clock” and “here’s a bag of chips for punching your teacher,” so the literature classroom should settle between “no novels” and “only novels.”
Fundamentally, the English classroom exists for twin purposes: improve literacy and introduce students to the best that has been thought and said. An English classroom that includes no novels or only excerpts fails miserably at that dual purpose. But the villain here is the complete lack of novels and the tendency to include only excerpts. Short stories, poems, and speeches—these are not the bad guy in this storyline.
Last month, pundits debated the validity of Mississippi’s remarkable gains in student achievement. In the January 2026 issue of Significance, statisticians invoke David Hume and Immanuel Kant while questioning the idea that Mississippi produced improvements for its children, instead arguing that selection bias and tricky math—driven by excluding struggling students from testing cohorts—is behind rising scores. They suggest paltry spending on reading interventions in Mississippi compared to national per pupil spending is particularly suspect. The authors narrow in on third-grade retention policies as the source of artificially inflated achievement. Do retention policies make cohorts appear stronger without real gains, or do they actually drive improvement?
A new working paper by economist Sakib Mahmud breaks down how third-grade reading retention policies impact student outcomes—and not just in Mississippi. He doesn’t set out to settle the debate on retention-cohort samples, and the analysis was conducted before the recent round of statistical disagreements. Still, the findings suggest improvements reflect real learning rather than testing low-performing kids a year later.
Using a staggered-adoption difference-in-differences design, Mahmud analyzes retention policies in Arizona, North Carolina, and Ohio beginning in 2013–14 and in Mississippi starting in 2014–15. Each state implemented literacy reforms during this time period, including statewide third-grade retention policies. He relies on 2010 to 2019 data from SEDA (Stanford Education Data Archive), which creates a uniform scale of state and district scores aligned with NAEP to assess academic trends.
The first comparison looks at student outcomes in retention-mandate states compared to places without statewide policies during the study period. The retention states show improvement in fourth grade reading scores compared to states without retention policies (0.07 to 0.10 standard deviations, a range that’s both statistically and practically significant). Further, duration appears to matter, with post-treatment estimates indicating sustained improvement over time. He also adjusts for Mississippi’s policy timing—the state announced the Literacy-Based Promotion Act in 2013, giving schools extra time before implementing the retention mandate in 2014–15. It appears the preparation period led to even larger gains (0.159 standard deviations).
Isolating the state retention mandate by comparing to states with similar literacy reforms where retention policies are determined at the local level allows Mahmud to examine whether the retention policies are responsible for student gains. Here, the effect almost disappears in Arizona, North Carolina, and Ohio (0.001 standard deviations for this group). Only Mississippi shows a positive and statistically significant improvement due to its state-mandated retention policy specifically, but the effect size drops dramatically to about 0.04 standard deviations in mean language arts scores. In other words, retention played a role, but it wasn’t the primary driver of the state’s improvement.
Retention is never the first choice when a young student struggles to develop critical skills. In Mississippi, it was a piece of a much larger slate of interventions that included progress monitoring, teacher training, and individualized support via literacy coaches. Mahmud indicates that it is this comprehensive approach, rather than the standalone impact of the retention policy, that drives improvements—findings that support insights from the professionals who developed and implemented Mississippi’s reforms. Don’t call it a miracle, they insist, but rather the result of sustained commitment to evidence-backed strategies. As Mahmud writes, success in Mississippi is “primarily due to the intensity of its implementation” rather than the retention policy. Improvements began before the 2014–15 retention policy, when state legislators demanded improvement and backed up that demand with a $15 million annual allocation to support teacher training and other interventions. This amount may seem small to statisticians working outside K–12 education, but it was a substantial commitment in one of the country’s poorest states and appears to be one that led to measurable gains.
There’s no singular solution for improving early literacy. In this study, state retention mandates in Arizona, North Carolina, and Ohio did not appear to increase the effectiveness of their comprehensive reform efforts. Mississippi is different, but not because the state is manipulating student data to create a mirage of improvement. Rather, the evidence suggests that Mississippi’s state-level leadership and significant financial investment—before the retention policy began—drove its improvements in reading. Sustained commitment to evidence-based literacy instruction, coupled with this support, matters far more for student success than state-mandated third grade retention.
SOURCE: Sakib Mahmud, “Does State-Mandated Third-Grade Reading Retention Policy Improve Achievement? Evidence from a Staggered-Adoption Difference-in-Differences Design,” EdWorkingPaper: 25-1352. Annenberg Institute at Brown University (December 2025).
This week, we’re joined by Liz Cohen, vice president of policy at 50CAN, to discuss her book, The Future of Tutoring. Mike and David ask her some tough questions on whether tutoring is worth the investment, and she provides some excellent answers.
Then on the Research Minute, Amber highlights new evidence showing that students’ family background plays a key role not just in college major choice, but also in who goes on to graduate school and how earnings unfold over time.
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