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Jill Hoppe Elainah Elkins
4.23.2026
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Editor’s note: This is the first in a three-part series written by Elainah Elkins and Jill Hoppe, born in 1999 and 2000, respectively. There is growing discourse surrounding Gen Z, but the voices of Gen Zers themselves are often missing from the conversation. This is their response.

Do you remember New Year’s Eve 2000, when people weren’t sure if the world was going to end? We don’t. We’ve heard the stories, of course, but Elainah was too young to remember, and Jill wasn’t even born until August of that year. We are part of Generation Z, more commonly known as Gen Z, defined as those born between 1997 and 2012.

Nearly every day, we see a new headline criticizing what is “wrong” with Gen Z. “Gen Z is dating less. The result is one of the most unprepared workforces,” “Gen Z has ‘workplace anxiety’. Here’s what employers need to do,” and “Gen Z is the loneliest generation. Here’s what can help.” The message is consistent: Something about our generation is off.

Of course, this kind of narrative is not new. Every generation has been critiqued by the one before it—Gen Xers were labeled as slackers and millennials were viewed as entitled. Though the phrase “kids these days” has persisted forever, the intensity of these critiques feels different now, and data confirm that Gen Z’s work ethic is vastly different than the generations before it.

While some of the critiques about Gen Z feel exaggerated, others are somewhat grounded in reality. Most tend to fall into three broad categories: we struggle with mental health and interpersonal connection, we are overdependent on technology, and we are unprepared for the workforce.

But these critiques rarely ask a more important question: Why?

To understand Gen Z, you have to look at the systems and experiences that shaped us, including school. As members of the older end of this cohort, we recognize that our experiences may differ from those of younger Gen Zers, especially those just now entering high school. Still, we believe that our personal reflections will help illuminate the broader trends many young adults have experienced.

This post will focus on the first of these claims, the struggle with mental health and connection, and explore how and why Gen Zers came to be this way.

Test-taking culture contributed to an anxious learning environment

The signing of No Child Left Behind (NCLB) in 2002 marked a turning point in U.S. education. Driven by concerns over widening achievement gaps and fears that the country was falling behind globally, NCLB expanded the federal government’s role in education and ushered in an era of accountability and standardized testing.

By the time we entered elementary school in the late 2000s, this approach was deeply embedded in day-to-day classroom life. Jill’s experience with the New England Common Assessment Program (NECAP) and Elainah’s experience with Virginia’s Standards of Learning (SOLs) reflect how widespread and integral testing had become. Like many students of our generation, we began taking standardized tests around age eight, in a peak NCLB culture when performance on those exams was often treated as the primary measure of success.

Though we grew up in different states, our recollections of standardized testing share striking similarities. Regardless of how confident we felt about our test performance, schools drastically increased the stakes by entirely transforming classrooms and policies for test day. Desks were spaced evenly apart and makeshift dividers made from folders and binders created an environment reminiscent of a voting booth. Students waited in line at the pencil sharpener to ensure their two (in case one broke) No. 2 pencils were perfectly prepared. Even bathroom breaks were tightly controlled, requiring a teacher to escort us to prevent any possibility of cheating. You also weren’t allowed to ask for help of any sort, including asking for help sounding out a word you might not know.

Most teachers spent the entire year discussing the end-of-year test. There was no learning that didn’t reflect something that we’d be tested on, and it was instilled that whatever we learned was for the sake of performing well on the end of year test. In fact, after the passage of NCLB, 44 percent of school administrators confessed to cutting physical education and recess to focus on test prep. To be clear, the tests themselves weren’t the issue so much as the high-stakes test-taking culture. The culture communicated, implicitly and explicitly, that performance on the test was what mattered most.

Research from the NCLB era supports this experience. In one of the first studies specifically examining elementary students’ responses to high-stakes testing under NCLB, researchers found that children reported significantly higher levels of anxiety during standardized tests than during typical classroom assessments, including both emotional stress and physical symptoms like nervousness and tension. Moreover, a 2019 study found that, on average, students had 15 percent more cortisol (a hormonal indicator of stress) in their systems during the homeroom period before a standardized test than on days with no high-stakes testing. A significant amount of anecdotal evidence from scholars and former teachers and administrators confirms these experiences, as well.

Growing up in this education environment likely contributed to a stronger sense of perfectionism for many of us, fueled by stress, anxiety, and a heightened awareness of evaluation. While these traits are not unique to Gen Z, the systems we experienced may have reinforced them in ways that shaped how we approach risk, failure, and uncertainty.

School aren’t safe

Schools were not only a place that came with academic pressure, as concerns about school safety became an ever-present part of Gen Z’s educational experience.

The Columbine High School shooting in 1999, in which 12 students and one teacher were killed, marked a turning point in how Americans understood school safety, signaling that schools were no longer immune from gun violence. More than a decade later, when we were 12 and 13, the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting, where 20 young children and six educators were killed, underscored this reality, bringing the fear of school violence into even the earliest years of education.

In the years since these pivotal tragedies, gun violence has become an increasingly visible backdrop of our upbringing. We grew up in schools where lockdown drills became routine: doors locked, blinds drawn, students huddled together in corners or by cubbies. We learned where to go, how to stay silent, and how to respond, often before we were old enough to fully understand why these precautions were necessary. In this context, it should not be difficult to understand a contributing factor to why we are “so anxious,” and multiple studies confirm this. Gen Z is the first generation to grow up with the constant looming possibility of gun violence as a defining feature of education.

The pandemic disrupted socializing

We must also acknowledge the impact of the Covid-19 pandemic on Gen Z’s mental health and ability to connect. How it affected Gen Z can vary significantly across different ages, but whether it was during college (as for us) or middle school, Covid disrupted education for nearly all Gen Zers.

The shift to remote learning and virtual interaction fundamentally changed how young people build relationships—with peers, teachers, and institutions. For many, connection became mediated through screens, making it harder to form social bonds and a sense of belonging that schools and universities typically provide. At the same time, rates of anxiety, depression, and other mental health challenges rose sharply, as isolation, uncertainty, and disruption took their toll on developing brains.

These experiences also drastically altered how students show up to school. In many cases, this has translated into higher rates of chronic absenteeism, not simply as a matter of logistics, but as a reflection of deeper disengagement. When students feel disconnected, overwhelmed, or unsupported, showing up, both physically or mentally, becomes that much harder.

* * *

So where do we go from here? If Gen Z’s challenges are, in part, a product of the systems we moved through, then schools have an opportunity—and a responsibility—to respond differently moving forward. That does not mean abandoning accountability, rigor, or high expectations, but it does mean rethinking how those priorities show up in students’ daily experiences.

First, schools should consider the role of assessments. While end-of-year tests and other assessments remain necessary, how teachers and schools talk about these tests to students and integrate them into their classrooms can change. While standardized scores do not typically carry direct consequences for students until high school, the tests did carry consequences for schools, districts and teachers. School ratings, public report cards, state interventions, and teacher evaluations and effectiveness are often all tied to test scores. When everything feels high-stakes, it often trickles down to the students, who learn to equate their worth with performance. Prioritizing growth is a key way to reduce the implications these tests have on the system. Revision, feedback, engagement, and learning for the sake of learning can also help rebuild a culture where learning is the main goal. Students need opportunities to take risks without fear that a single assessment will define them.

Second, school safety requires outside policy intervention, but schools can make small efforts to help their students. For example, access to school-based mental health professionals can help ensure students receive support consistently, rather than only in moments of crisis. At the same time, schools should actively include student voices in decisions about safety policies and practices, including rethinking how drills might be impacting student mental health. Finally, educators and school staff must feel equipped and supported with the training and resources needed not only to respond to emergencies, but to recognize warning signs.

Lastly, connection has to be treated as foundational, not some sort of “extra.” The disruption of the pandemic made clear how essential relationships are to learning. Re-engagement efforts, especially in response to chronic absenteeism, must go beyond compliance. If disengagement is rooted in disconnection, then solutions have to focus on rebuilding trust and community. Many schools have already begun to tackle this, engaging in creative efforts like creating tasks force that do home visits, or providing gas cards or other incentives to encourage attendance. Solutions should also include considering how to get students involved in extracurricular activities, especially prior to high school. 

None of this is simple, and none of it is quick. But if we want to better understand Gen Z—and support the generations coming after us—we have to move beyond asking what’s “wrong” with students and start examining what they’ve been asked to navigate. The path forward begins there.

Next in this series we will turn to two other forces shaping our generation: the role of technology in how we learn and interact and the growing disconnect between how we were educated and what the workforce expects.

Policy Priority:
High Expectations
Topics:
Accountability & Testing
Governance
Teachers & School Leaders
Jeff Murray
4.23.2026
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It’s been six years since the Covid-19 pandemic began disrupting education, and a varying number of years since schools returned to “normal,” but data charting the numerous negative impacts on students keep coming. Two recently-published reports separately focus on attendance and math achievement.

First up is Jeremy Singer, a researcher from the University of Michigan-Flint, looking at post-pandemic student attendance trends as a function of how much remote learning a student experienced during Covid disruptions. Absenteeism increased during the two most-impacted Covid years, and overall, remains higher today than in pre-Covid years.

Singer uses data from Michigan covering every public school in the state during the 2020–21 school year. Schools were required to report their current learning modality (fully in-person, fully online, or a mix/option of the two) to the state every month. Singer created a measure of remote learning duration to which more than 992,000 students were exposed in 2020–21 and tracked their attendance from the 2017–18 through the 2023–24 school years—a total of more than 5,100,000 observations. He then tested the differential impact of remote learning exposure via both difference-in-differences and instrumental variable analyses. Neither set of findings is causal because exposure to remote learning was not random (and was often an affirmative parental choice), but they correlate strongly with each other.

The topline finding is that the longer students experienced remote learning in their schools, the worse their post-pandemic attendance was when compared to pre-pandemic patterns. Yet the impacts were not linear. Compared to students who were never provided with remote-only learning in 2020–21, students provided with remote-only learning for one, two, or three months had no statistically-significant decline in attendance post-pandemic; those with remote-only learning for four, five, or six months subsequently missed a few additional days of school; and those with remote-only learning for seven, eight, or nine months missed substantially more. Consistent with other data, negative impacts were strongest for Michigan students in 2021–22 and 2022–23, although they were still seen at a statically-significant level well into the 2023–24 school year among those with the most exposure to remote-only learning.

Given these findings—and the fact that more than 80 percent of Michigan students were in the low-exposure category—current absenteeism woes in the state can’t be neatly pinned on Covid-era remote learning. And generalizability beyond the Michigan context is also unclear. In fact, Singer suggests that his findings might say as much about the quality of the “cure” (absenteeism-mitigation strategies implemented in the wake of shocking early data) as they do about the strength of the “disease” of remote learning itself.

And what of academic outcomes impacted by Covid-era instructional modality changes? A pair of researchers from the University of Western Ontario examine the ways in which math course-taking among high schoolers in Massachusetts changed in 2020–21, including the extent of exposure to remote learning.

Their dataset comprises more than 327,500 unique students who were in grades 9 or 10 in the 2016–17 through 2019–20 school years, and who transitioned into grades 10 or 11 in 2017–18 through 2020–21—a total of more than half a million student-year records. The choice of grades is deliberate to (a) avoid the first year of high school, often a tricky transition generally; and (b) maximize the evidence of students’ progression (or not) through a typical high school course sequence from basic math to Algebra I and II to geometry to pre-calculus and beyond. Data from the Massachusetts Department of Elementary and Secondary Education comprised a detailed transcript for each student, including math classes attended, completion (or not), and academic performance therein. Instructional modality changes during the 2020–21 school year were tracked similarly to the Singer study above, using the Bay State’s contemporaneous school survey data.

The researchers find that overall rates of advancement for students (that is, taking a higher-level math course in one year compared to the prior one) decreased during the 2020–21 school year, with stronger negative impacts seen among students who spent a greater share of the year in remote-only instruction mode.

Students in grade 10 in 2019–20 slightly decreased the rate at which they advanced in math and markedly increased the rate of repeating their grade 9 math class, as compared to pre-pandemic trends. In 2020–21, these patterns were even stronger. Just 65 percent of students who spent all or nearly all of the school year in remote instruction took a higher-level math course in grade 10 than in grade 9. Those high-exposure grade 10 students were much more likely than their in-person peers to take a course below their grade level (meaning Algebra I or lower), to receive lower marks in whatever math course they took, and to fail or withdraw from a math course. Students in grade 11 showed a similar pattern of impacts. Economically disadvantaged, Black, and Hispanic students fared worse across the board than their White and Asian peers. The researchers ran additional multilevel logistic regression models to attempt to account for some student- and school-level factors. While, the randomness of exposure to remote learning does not allow their efforts to produce causal findings, all analyses showed similar patterns.

The math report concludes by pointing out that halted progress during a course sequence—for any reason—tends to stop students from building upon math knowledge, rendering future progress unlikely or at least very difficult. That’s a particularly chilling prospect given that the Massachusetts students in question long ago left high school, many with the assistance of lowered graduation requirements implemented during Covid, making whatever damage has been done to their math learning solely their problem to deal with.

The attendance report does not discuss differential impacts based on grade level, but the same holds true regardless: Whatever damage was done by students’ exposure to remote learning in 2020–21 (and indeed whatever benefit of mitigation they may have experienced afterward), all of it was cemented in when they graduated. For Covid-impacted students who have not yet graduated, their schools owe it to them to learn from the continuing stream of data documenting harm and to triple down to alleviate it in whatever time remains—focusing solidly on those kids who experienced the most remote-only learning.

SOURCES: Jeremy Singer, “Remote Learning in 2020-21 and Student Attendance Since the COVID-19 Pandemic,” EdWorkingPaper, Annenberg Institute at Brown University (January 2026); and Patrick Denice and Shahar Dangur-Levy, “Math coursetaking trajectories in high school during the COVID-19 disruptions to schooling,” EdWorkingPaper, Annenberg Institute at Brown University (March 2026).

Policy Priority:
High Expectations
Topics:
Evidence-Based Learning
Julia Hayes
4.23.2026
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Approximately 7.5 million U.S. students receive special education services in public schools—more than one in seven pupils nationwide. Its services cost roughly twice as much per pupil as general education and account for about one-third of federal appropriations for elementary and secondary education. Despite its scale, there has long been uncertainty about special education’s causal impact on student outcomes due to selection bias and methodological challenges. A new working paper from Boston University’s Wheelock Center (2026) helps fill this gap by applying rigorous causal methods to longitudinal administrative data to examine the impact of special education classification on student learning and educational progress.

The researchers used data on public school students in grades 3–8 from three states: Massachusetts, Indiana, and Connecticut. The analysis focuses on students first classified in grades 3–8 and primarily examines common disability categories such as specific learning disabilities, other health impairments, emotional disturbance, and speech or language impairments, rather than students with the most significant cognitive disabilities. The Indiana data spanned the 2011–12 through 2017–18 school years; the Connecticut data spanned the 2013–14 through 2019–20 school years; and the Massachusetts data spanned the 2007–08 through 2017–18 school years. Each data system used unique student identifiers to track students over time, and student demographic characteristics such as race/ethnicity, gender, and free or reduced-price lunch eligibility were observed in each state. The researchers employed an event-study design, comparing students to themselves before and after their special education classification, supplemented by a difference-in-differences approach that leveraged variation in the timing of classification.

The study revealed several notable findings. Most importantly, across all three states, students’ achievement trajectories declined prior to special education classification and rose sharply after they began receiving special education services. Gains in standardized math and English language arts test scores reached approximately 0.2 to 0.4 standard deviations within three years, suggesting substantial effects on learning. These effects were similar across disability types and student demographics. Taken together, this pattern suggests that special education services do not merely support students at a fixed level of performance, but instead help reverse ongoing academic decline.

Additionally, student gains did not occur all at once but increased over multiple years. This gradual pattern was consistent with sustained improvements in underlying skill development rather than short-term test score gains. The findings indicate that special education enhances the productivity of instruction over time, not just short-term performance.

The researchers also found that the benefits of these services were broad and not driven by testing accommodations. While critics have argued that accommodations create unfair advantages for high test scores, the evidence suggests otherwise. In Massachusetts—where data on testing accommodations are available—the researchers controlled for supports such as read-aloud and calculator use and found that the estimated gains remained nearly unchanged. This indicates that students demonstrated real improvements in learning, not just higher scores due to testing supports.

Importantly, the study’s methodological approach yielded more credible estimates than prior research by better accounting for pre-existing declines in student achievement. Traditional methods underestimated the relationship between these, potentially understating the effects of special education. By accounting for these trends in using the event-study design, the researchers were able to isolate the causal impact of special education services and show meaningful gains following classification.

Overall, these findings suggest that special education can produce meaningful learning gains when instruction and supports are tailored to students’ needs. However, because the study focuses on students identified in grades 3–8, the results may not generalize to students identified earlier. And while the analysis demonstrates substantial learning gains, it does not examine the costs relative to these benefits, leaving open questions about the return on investment. As a working paper, the findings would benefit from further peer review and replication, given mixed evidence in prior research.

From a policy perspective, the results suggest the importance of accurate and timely identification, expanded access to high-quality services, and more consistent service delivery so that qualifying students can benefit from these supports. At the same time, policymakers should recognize ongoing concerns about both over- and under-identification across student groups, including the possibility that some students who could benefit from services are not being identified.

SOURCE: Stephanie Coffey, Joshua Goodman, Amy Ellen Schwartz, Leanna Stiefel, Marcus A. Winters, and Yunee H. Yoon, “Special Education Substantially Improves Learning: Evidence from Three States,” Boston University, Wheelock Educational Policy Center (2026).

Policy Priority:
High Expectations
Topics:
Evidence-Based Learning
Curriculum & Instruction
Jeff Murray
4.22.2026
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  1. Here’s a nicely-detailed look at the substance of that You Don’t Hate Vouchers Enough seminar, held in Akron last night. Based on this coverage, however, it seems that the voucher portion of the evening didn’t take up much time and the discussion moved on rather quickly to anything and everything else these folks hate, including the school funding formula, state transportation requirements, tax policy, and unused school facilities laws. (Signal Akron, 4/21/26) Lest you think the foregoing kitchen sink anti-school-choice pile on is unique to the educational establishment in northeast Ohio, I give you this surprise entry in the Let Us Tell You How Much EdChoice (And Everything Else That’s Not A Traditional School District) Sucks Season festival of favoritism. In it, a group of reporters concur with each other about how awful every person they interviewed has told them vouchers are. In case you decide to listen, the gang begins spewing a bunch of inaccurate information along with their other “findings” at around the 15-minute mark. (All Sides, WOSU-FM, 4/21/26)

  2. And just in case you need it spelled out any further, here’s a look at an event held in Columbus yesterday in which elected city and district leaders announced a new committee of cooperation between them. The collab will include everything from school-district-owned land use decisions to city/district partnerships, to millions of dollars in wraparound services for “our kids”. As the elected president of the City Council said, “This committee is how the city council and the school board can come together regularly, align priorities and make smarter, more coordinated decisions on behalf of our students and our families.” Doesn’t sound so bad so far, right? Minus the somewhat harsh exclusion of any family who has the audacity not to choose Columbus City Schools. However, Hizzoner goes on to say it’s not just about these airy ideals, “But also our facilities, the neighborhoods around our schools, our land, our economic development policies, our funding priorities and our programs.” Ooh! My “unused facilities loophole” radar is now pinging wildly. And why is this coming along at this particular moment, given Columbus City Schools’ long history of budgetary and academic struggles, as well as its long-running enrollment declines? “It’s important now more than ever,” says our elected council prez, “because we live in an environment where the state government is going on offense against public schools.” Call me a cynic, but when I hear “we need to link arms” in this context, I think “we need to circle the wagons”. And it sounds to me like they’re already in line. (WOSU-FM, Columbus, 4/21/26)

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Policy Priority:
School Funding
Topics:
Governance
Jeff Murray
4.20.2026
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  1. As we mentioned last week (and a jillion other times before that), one key reason why Ohio school districts are facing big budget deficits right now is because they have lost a ton of students over the last decade. Even the ones who understand they need to close/consolidate buildings to right-size their facilities remain reluctant to actually sell those empty buildings because Ohio law nominally requires charter and private school operators to get first dibs on any sale or auction. But districts have found and utilized every loophole in the law to stop “the competition” from “winning” in this scenario. Thus Ohio Senate Bill 311, which attempts to close a number of those loopholes, is currently drawing ire from districts and their assorted alphabet soup of apologists. (Ohio Capital Journal, 4/20/26)

  2. One of my least favorite times of year has arrived: Let The Haters Tell You Why Vouchers Suck So Much season is nearly upon us. First stop, Akron. No balancing viewpoints needed at this event it seems…or in this coverage. (Signal Akron, 4/19/26)

  3. Very few stories have frustrated me as much over the years as Toledo City Schools’ career high school program. As my long-tenured, long-tormented subscribers will no doubt remember, the program was rolled out a couple years ago at various district high schools with a bunch of high-profile employer- and higher ed-partners and with great names like Construction Careers Academy and Aerospace and Natural Science Academy (still a weird combo though). But the rollout also came with tepid statements from district leaders about how none of the programs would be promising a specific career—even to successful grads—but instead instilling “transferrable skills” that would help graduates get some job at some point in the future. Maddening! Why bother to call it “aviation tech” and recruit a pipeline of education and employment partners if kids are just going to get the same level of math they need for a job at T.J. Maxx? To my surprise, however, it feels like everyone other than the administration took the programs and their names seriously—including students. Here’s an example of Toledo City Schools’ Pre-Med & Health Science Academy living up to the promise of its name for at least one more student. The hospital reps quoted here are effusive in their praise of senior Alayna Bui, her exemplary learning and early work as a pharmacy tech, and the promise of the program to lift up more young people like her into good-paying, career-ladder professional jobs right from high school. District supe Romules Durant is a bit less enthusiastic, as per usual, but even he seems to be figuring out that his career pathway high schools as actually working as advertised and preparing kids for a specific career. Just like district families want and need. (Toledo Blade, 4/20/26)

  4. Saving the best for last, Fordham is introduced in this piece as an “influential education think tank” and our prescription for revamping state report cards is laid out in some detail after that. Very nice. Unfortunately for everyone, our proposals are deemed to be a bit ahead of their time by numerous state level stakeholders and “unlikely to inspire major changes” to K-12 accountability in the near term as both the Executive and Legislative branches are heading for electoral shakeups soon. That’s OK, folks: Good ideas never go out of style. We can wait. (Gongwer Ohio/State Affairs, 4/19/26) Also unfortunately for most Bites readers, the Gongwer/State Affairs piece is subscriber-only content. But I can offer you a link to Chad Aldis’ on the report card revamp plan in testimony before the Ohio Department of Education and Workforce via The Ohio Channel. (Chad starts speaking at approximately 1:25:50.) You can also read about it here.

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Policy Priority:
School Funding
Topics:
Governance
Jeff Murray
4.17.2026
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Addressing the real problem

Cleveland Metropolitan School District leaders this week announced the layoff of more than 400 staff members including teachers, administrators, and support staff. This is in addition to the closure of more than two dozen buildings announced previously. They are all part of the effort to deal with a looming and unavoidable budget deficit. While the media coverage largely blames charter and private school choice for CMSD’s woes, the truth is more complicated and includes Covid-era decisions coming home—predictably—to roost.

Showcase

While this piece is subscriber-only content, it still feels great to know that dedicated readers of The Morning Journal in Lorain got to see a positive and in-depth piece chronicling a day in the life of Jessica Varner, the business manager/community engagement coordinator at Horizon Science Academy. Kudos!

The real work begins in Indy

The new Indianapolis Public Education Corporation overseeing all of K-12 education in the city held its inaugural meeting on Tuesday. Not much happened beyond swearing the mayorally-appointed members in, but future meetings will likely focus—perhaps predictably—on money. Specifically, whether to put a new funding measure for the city school district on the November ballot.

Expansion in North Carolina

TMSA Public Charter Schools recently closed on $77.9 million in education revenue bonds with the help of North Carolina’s Public Finance Authority. This will support construction or expansion of three K-8 campuses across the state. Two of the expansion campuses—in Durham and McLeansville—are on track to open this fall, and one in Raleigh will open its doors in 2027. Growth was driven by student demand. “This investment allows us to meet that demand responsibly,” said network superintendent Ben Karaduman, “while maintaining the high standards and outcomes that define TMSA.”

Maximum flexibility for families

Katherine Anne Porter School in Wimberley, Texas, is looking to add fully-remote and hybrid options for the 2026-27 school year in order to provide more options for families, especially those living in rural areas between Austin and San Antonio. The charter school serves grades 8-12 and focuses on students who for whatever reason did not fit in in a traditional district school setting, including a large percentage of kids transitioning from homeschooling to a more formal education model. Superintendent Mariah Ingram credited recently-passed Texas Senate Bill 569 for allowing these new options, saying they are “fantastic for our student demographic.”

*****

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Policy Priority:
School Choice
Topics:
Charter Schools
Jeff Murray
4.17.2026
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  1. Let’s start with the shiny new item of the week: Ohio’s student absenteeism dashboard is now live…sorta. It’s clearly a good idea and hundreds of schools and districts are providing informative attendance data—updated monthly—for the public to see and assess. But it’s a voluntary effort and, as reporter Laura Hancock points out, lots of schools and districts aren’t participating all across the state, including the Columbus, Cincinnati, and Cleveland districts as well as some large charter school networks. And as Fordham’s Chad Aldis says, the data will really only achieve its full value if and when it spurs permanent change and improvement in absenteeism rates. (Cleveland.com, 4/15/26)

  2. Returning now to the theme of Wednesday’s Bites, the Dayton Daily News concurs that school districts all across the state are facing fiscal crises. Interestingly, this reality has not yet resulted in more tax levies for the May ballot (just 65 this year in Ohio vs. 99 last year) despite the potential for big problem$ ahead. I assume that’s because everyone quoted here blames the state for “underfunding” districts—which enough whining (such as is included in the piece) might change. Why don’t they blame ongoing student enrollment losses? Because there’s not enough whining in the world gonna fix that problem. (Dayton Daily News, 4/15/26)

  3. Staying on theme to end the week: As we have continually noted around here, even closing school buildings hollowed out by enrollment losses won’t help shore up multi-million-dollar budget deficits if districts end up holding onto the empty buildings afterward. Maintenance and security are costly while selling a building would actually bring in revenue, especially in an open sale or public auction. So why don’t they all immediately plan to sell if the calculus is that obvious? It’s either a petty effort to stop charter or private school competitors from obtaining those buildings, pressure from friendly public entities to do a backroom deal at a cut rate, a delusional belief that they need to have space “ready” when all the lost students magically return, or a mix of them all. Whatever the reason(s), count Toledo City Schools among those who are planning to continue to spend big to hang onto a whopping eight empty buildings after the long-underutilized facilities are finally closed this summer due to budget deficit concerns. (Toledo Blade, 4/15/26)

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Policy Priority:
School Funding
Topics:
Governance
The Education Gadfly
4.17.2026
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WHAT WE’RE READING

Sal Khan admits that his much-hyped AI tutoring chatbot hasn’t revolutionized student learning. As he tells Matt Barnum, “AI is going to help…But I think our biggest lever is really investing in the human systems.” It’s a sentiment remarkably similar to thoughts shared last week by Google’s Head of Learning (covered here in SCHOOLED). —Chalkbeat

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In Education Next, Alan Gottlieb, Maya Lagana, and Van Schoales share how rural districts in Colorado do “deeply relational work while fighting a regulatory architecture built for districts 10 to 50 times their size.” They describe district leaders in tune with their community needs, while frustrated by the burdens of state-mandated reporting and a disregard for the needs and capacities of rural districts across the state.


Editor's note: This was first published on Mike Petrilli's Substack, SCHOOLED, a twice-weekly free Substack and email newsletter restarting the education-reform conversation.

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The Education Gadfly
4.17.2026
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CHEERS

New data from the National Center for Health Statistics show that teen birth rates continue to fall, reaching a historic low in 2025. It’s great news, since children born to teen parents tend to struggle. Yet this dramatic decline—11.7 births per 1,000 female teens in 2025 compared to 61.8 per 1,000 in 1991—makes recent school achievement drops even more disappointing because the teenaged pregnancy trend should be serving as a significant tailwind to improved student outcomes. —Selena Simmons-Duffin, NPR

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Jessika Harkay shares an uplifting look at Connecticut’s lowest-funded school district, where elementary school students are beating the odds on reading proficiency scores. Behind their success are dedicated teachers supporting each other, hands-on oversight and accountability, and innovative efforts to improve student outcomes. The district is scaling successful school-level efforts, including small shifts to the school day schedule—building in transition times and reteach days for difficult units—and bigger changes like a departmentalized third grade schedule where students rotate between classrooms. —The 74

JEERS

A new AI bot links up with learning platforms to find and complete assignments without any student involvement; its creator calls it a wake-up call reflecting the reality that educators need to rethink assignments. As AI companies race to lock in young users, both students and educators worry about the impact on learning. “Even as growing numbers of students are using the technology, a majority believe that the more they use AI for classwork, the more it will harm their critical-thinking skills,” writes Lila Shroff. —The Atlantic

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Pennsylvania created high school graduation pathways to bypass standardized testing requirements. Now, popular credentials include one in “ladder safety,” which, as Rebecca Redelmeier notes, has “little value or relevance to students after graduation,” and finds that “no one at the state or district level is analyzing which credentials students submit to meet graduation requirements.”

Pushing students to develop technical skills via industry-recognized credentials isn’t an inherently flawed idea, but the details matter. In a recent report for Fordham, Jay Plasman dug into how credentials earned in high school impact college and workforce outcomes in Ohio, where a “career experience and technical skill” pathway also allows underperforming high schoolers to earn credentials in fields unlikely to yield the long-term opportunities that come with basic math and English proficiency. Pennsylvania’s leaders may want to take note.


Editor's note: This was first published on Mike Petrilli's Substack, SCHOOLED, a twice-weekly free Substack and email newsletter restarting the education-reform conversation.

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Miah Daughtery
4.16.2026
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There is a guy named Guy I think about sometimes when I see what language arts has traded. We were eighth grade students at Hally Middle School in Detroit, deep in the throes of a school-wide reading contest. We had outrun every other student, and the contest was down to the two of us, who read and recorded books weekly, neck and neck until the bitter end. Across the school, our teachers had a combination of both deep optimism and high expectations of all students, as evidenced by the ongoing opportunities to read critically, think deeply, and conquer texts on grade level. This contest was no different. Guy had become my greatest challenger, and I beat him—101 books to 99. My victory felt no smaller than the Greeks defeating the Trojans.

That public win came on the winds of a private one. In seventh grade, I wanted to read the biggest book I could find, which, at the time, was Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. I didn’t know the content, but it had heft and I wanted to read a “big” book. The weight of the book in my 12-year-old hands was the point. With dogged determination, I plowed through the story of Scarlett and Rhett, both deeply enthralled in a love story that ended in tragedy and confused beyond all comprehension of the southern blockade. I didn’t understand all of it. But I built just enough knowledge from a fictional text to anchor American history and economics when I got to high school.

Both of those experiences were pivotal in their own right, but what bonded them together was a deep regard for the humble novel and wanting, deeply, to best it, often and with great aplomb. I’ve been thinking about that instinct lately—the desire not just to read, but to conquer a novel. To walk onto the battlefield of words and emerge victorious, and to take that victory to science, to social studies, to economics, to biology, to sociology, to psychology, to anthropology—the battlefield of the novel is where knowledge is built, ideas are forged, and lives change.

It seems we’ve selectively bred out of students the drive to conquer a complex novel.

Somewhere between my 1990s middle school and now, the novel has lost its place at the center of the language arts classroom. As the novel waits patiently in the school book room, gathering dust, in its stead we’ve centered passages, excerpts, and summaries. We’ve replaced 200 pages with two—carefully leveled, devoid of context, and perfectly optimized for a standardized test that is the Final Boss of every instructional unit. While we ask central idea questions about 750 words, the 100,000 words bound by two covers wait quietly for us to remember them.

This is a civilizational loss.

The case for bringing back the novel to the classroom is not just a sentimental one, though sentiment does have value. My middle school language arts teachers were novel teachers. We were assigned and read The Pearl by John Steinbeck (bored), The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway (really bored), Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred Taylor (loved), and The Giver by Lois Lowry (really loved). Regardless of my personal reactions to the novel, it’s undeniable that I grew intellectually with each one. The Pearl taught us how to read a complex fable and consider the corrupting influence of wealth. The Old Man and the Sea introduced us to existentialism, endurance, and agony over defeat. Roll of Thunder transported us 1990s Detroiters to 1930s Mississippi, where we wrestled with unflinching racism that built and maintained systemic poverty. The Giver posed dark moral dilemmas and raised questions about the ethicality of individuality versus sameness. These layers of thematic complexity carried us from the language arts classroom into the lunchroom and on walks home, where we often argued about the characters and why they did what they did.

That was my school-related experience. Outside of school, I ripped through book after book. I graduated from the Babysitters Club to Sweet Valley High, I devoured Stephen King’s Firestarter and It and I got so bold that I plodded, quite unsuccessfully, through Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye. I read The Bluest Eye alone in the summer between eighth and ninth grade on the recommendation of a classmate—not a teacher, a classmate—plodding through it like a mouse wading through molasses and exiting it mired in confusion. This is an argument for, not against, the novel. The novel worked exactly as intended. It made me think. And when I read it again with my class in tenth grade, I had just enough prior knowledge for it to make sense and for the disjointed thoughts in my head to fuse into coherence.

This reveals the deeper argument: cognitive development. Reading novels is not the same as reading passages or even short stories. Passages train students for processing in bursts—to identify, extract, and move on. Novels train students for mental endurance, the sustained effortful act of holding a world in your head across days and weeks. Plot threads. Subtle, slow character development. Tone shifts. Meaning that builds steadily, surely, and slowly, whose accumulation bucks summarization in margin notes.

Consider what it takes to deeply understand Hamlet’s paralysis (in a play, not a novel, in this case). You can understand, from a synopsis, that his uncle killed his father. But it is only across the full arc of acts II through V, from his cruelty toward Ophelia, his philosophical dizziness in the graveyard, that you begin to comprehend, to know, the depth of his grief. Understanding is not knowledge. The novel is where students learn the difference.

There is also the important matter of the language itself. One of my favorite language lessons emerged from Night by Elie Wiesel (a memoir). When I taught the text, I noticed that he uses a colon in a grammatically interesting way, something my tenth grade students had glossed over. Wiesel deploys the colon constantly, linking two independent clauses into a single load-bearing sentence. My students had never considered that a colon could do anything more than indicate time or begin a list. But because Night is a book with space for a pattern to emerge and repeat, the colon became an object of instruction. We studied examples across chapters. We discussed the effect. We returned to earlier sentences and reexamined them. We played with the colon as a stylistic device, writing our own sentences in Wiesel’s style, in earnest attempts to achieve the same linguist keenness, write sentences that had their own weight.

That lesson came entirely from sustained exposure. A two-page excerpt may have had the pattern, but it would not have revealed its heft. Passages struggle to provide repeated, varied, contextualized language encounters that shift how a student reads and provides clear models for how to write. Vocabulary encountered once in a passage is vocabulary that turns to grayscale. Vocabulary encountered a dozen times, across chapters, in a story with an emotional investment, remains vibrant in the mind.

And let us not ignore the question of investment. My own tenth-grade class read Richard Wright’s Native Son. We were, all of us, gripped by Bigger Thomas in a way that was compelling and uncomfortable. We argued about Bigger. We discussed the personal and social morality of the world that Bigger inhabited. We were invested. When Ms. Odham assigned Black Boy (a memoir) later that semester, we did not groan. The momentum of the first novel propelled us into the second. That kind of magical book physics—the way the momentum of one book forces the reader into the next—is invisible in data, unmeasurable by assessment, yet entirely real.

And perhaps most importantly for civic life, the novel is an entree into empathy, especially in the storm of moral ambiguity. Complex, well-written novels ask readers to inhabit the lives of others for extended periods of time, not just three paragraphs but three hundred pages. Communities require us to navigate complexity, tolerate ambiguity, and be open to ideas that are different from the ones we woke up with. The novel allows practice for the real world in a contained, low-stakes environment. Want to address bullying? Stop lecturing and start studying The 57 Bus by Daska Slater (nonfiction), Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, and The Skin I’m In by Sharon Flake.

The practical objections to assigning novels are real, however, and I won’t wave them away. I (shamefully) admit that I contributed to the system that slowly peeled them away from instruction.

There is no definite list that every student should read. Full stop. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling you a bridge to Brooklyn. I believe students benefit from a balanced diet of classic and contemporary texts, authors whose backgrounds span the full range of the human experience and illuminate human possibility. The classics have endured for important reasons: Their themes buck obsolescence, their syntax requires close reading, their vocabulary introduces students to words they won’t encounter in everyday speech. Contemporary texts do something different but equally necessary: They affirm students’ current experiences, they use familiar language for accessibility, and they become current cultural touchstones.[1] Choosing what novels assign is therefore difficult.

Teaching them is also hard work. It requires the teacher to understand not just the plot but the architecture of the text—how the theme develops, when and why the tone shifts, what the structure does to meaning. The teacher must first consume the book as a reader, then return to it as a teacher. You have to know the novel so deeply that you can anticipate students’ questions in advance and have the discipline to resist letting discussions drift about for weeks on end. Some students will refuse to read the text at first, and will some never start. But many will acquiesce, especially with the right hook, the right book, and the right teacher. And those who do will carry those characters, sentences, words, and worlds beyond the classroom and into their adult lives, where they’ll quietly and unexpectedly surface over dinner, at the bar, or in an Uber after a night out.

That is what the novel does. It carries us from before into the beyond. We should let it.


[1] One note of caution. I once taught The Hunger Games in eighth grade because all my students were already reading it. In retrospect, I had it backwards. They were going to read The Hunger Games anyway. They were reading it anyway. Instead of using precious instructional time on a book that they were already reading, I should have used it as a springboard from what they loved to a thematically similar novel they never would have found on their own. Teach the novel they aren’t reading, not the one they are.

Policy Priority:
High Expectations
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Teachers & School Leaders

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