Hold Steady and Stick Together: A Rumination on School-Choice Vouchers

I’ve been listening to narratives about it since the mid-1980s, when my parents pulled me out of public school. The situation at my house started because I was a high-achieving student in elementary. I had done “independent work” and “enrichment” early on, then entered the federally funded “gifted program” in third grade. After a couple of years of hearing that I was still not being challenged academically, my mother was frustrated by the lack of opportunities at our school. I was in the meeting when the principal told her, We’re doing all we can for him. There’s nothing more we have to offer. It wasn’t long after that when I found out I was heading for private school. And that’s when the grumbling started in my then-typical white, Southern, working-class household: why do we have to pay for other kids’ education then for ours, too? why do we have to fund schools our kids don’t attend? why can’t our tax dollars be redirected to our kids’ education? The underfunded, recently integrated, racially and economically diverse school in our neighborhood literally could not accommodate high-achieving students of any race or background. The narratives that resulted, which are now easily recognizable, were based on disappointment and frustration. In my house, these were repeated often and where I could hear them. Mine were among the early groups of Southern parents with a desire for school vouchers.

Now, forty years later, in the mid-2020s, this long-time grievance seems likely to receive its salve. In the no-longer-Democratic South, the conservative mindset has shifted its attitude toward public services under Republican leadership. The new myths say that improved quality for all is not the answer, but individualistic solutions to common problems are: I’ll go my way, you go yours. Within this climate, state leaders in Georgia and Alabama appear to have made what is now called “school choice” a priority. In mid-January, The Wall Street Journal was reporting:

Georgia has entered the second year of its biennial legislative session, and that means second chances. Namely, lawmakers have an opportunity to pass school-choice legislation that failed last year. A good sign is that Republican Gov. Brian Kemp is backing the effort early and with apparent conviction.

One state over, The Alabama Reflector was reporting (on the same day) that the governor and legislature there were poised to do the same, though the state’s schools superintendent wanted limits on the forthcoming practice:

[Superintendent Eric] Mackey said that he would like any money to be sent directly to schools as a voucher program, rather than the checks or debit cards going to parents. He said he wanted parameters on how those educational dollars could be used.

Support for government-issued education vouchers varies widely in the South, depending upon one’s circumstances. Up-to-the-minute data on schools is almost impossible to get — it is a massive task to gather and report — but combining several sources from the late 2010s and early 2020s yields a broad explanation for this varied support. Generally, the national rate for private school enrollment is about 9%. In Alabama, the rate varies widely, from 2% in some rural counties (with only one private school) to nearly 25% in the cities (where multiple schools operate). In Montgomery, where I live, it is about 20%, more than double the national average.

And where I live, this debate over vouchers is interesting, because the political dynamics of school funding are complex. In the 1990s and 2000s, Montgomery shifted from being a majority-white city to a majority-black city, and its public schools went from being from fairly diverse to having a significant black majority. Departures from public schools and the growth of local private schools occurred during this time (after I graduated but before I had children). Yet, the narrative isn’t entirely about race. Its also includes issues of housing, money, and public health. Since the 1990s, there have been many new outlying suburbs built, which has led to a decrease in population — and thus, school funding — within the city. Later, our local public schools struggled during the Great Recession years of 2010 and 2011, then were taken over by the state in the late 2010s, and most recently were affected by COVID-19. While the proportion of families who choose private schools has been comparatively high since the 1990s, a referendum for a large tax increase for public schools passed in 2020 with 61% of the vote. Looking ahead, that local tax hike is up for renewal in 2024, but the renewal vote may be affected by the fact that our public school system dropped from a C to a D on its state report card. Adding to the drama, this referendum will take place in the same year that the legislature’s voucher legislation is in-process. These two possibilities, by themselves and in tandem, could shuffle the deck for education in Montgomery, because when families — of any race or background — start looking at private schools, many need help with the cost. By contrast, public schools need all the funding they can get, and don’t want to lose out. In short, the political issue of private schools and vouchers is complicated, and it varies from location to location- and it has also grown over time. Back when I was a kid, very few families chose private school. My graduating class had thirty-seven in the early 1990s, at a time when local public high schools were graduating 700–800. That’s not the case any more, so the call for vouchers has and will become louder as more voices join the chorus.

As a former private school kid, a former public school teacher, and a current parent of teenagers, I see this conundrum from several perspectives. People who base their beliefs on generalizations and stereotypes might assume that my parents were part of “white flight” in the 1980s by moving my brother and me to private school. In reality, inadequate academics caused by underfunding drove their decision, and furthermore, we stayed in our home in a racially and economically diverse neighborhood. Did I leave a diverse school and move to a mostly white, upper-middle class school? Yes. Was that why I was moved? No. Later, as a teacher in the 2000s and 2010s, I saw the long-term effects of the disorganized de facto movement that my parents were part of. Frustrated families who left public school — thus, withdrawing their children, their support, their PTA memberships, their presence at open houses and ball games, etc. — have created a social divide that has grown over decades since daily interactions between children and families from dissimilar backgrounds are diminished. When I was a teacher, my mostly black students were often surprised to know that I had gone to a Montgomery private school- they believed that people from private schools were racists who wanted nothing to do with them! That’s what many of them had been told, and their life experience had shown them no different. Finally, as parents, my wife and I have chosen religious schools for our kids but do not support vouchers because we value public education. Our decisions for our own children were reinforced socially by the fact that no family in our neighborhood sent their kids to our zone’s public school. That decision was even further reinforced by the fact that our zone schools are not near our home, as mine was when I was a child. We live too far for our kids to walk to school yet are within an area that is too close for them to ride a bus. Those factors combined would have meant that we would have been solely responsible for our kids’ transportation, to and from every day, since no possibilities for carpooling or bussing were available.

This situation makes me sad for all children these days, and for my community. I used to love walking or riding bikes to school with a group of friends, and I grew up regarding my school as part of my community. My dad had gone there as a boy in the 1950s, and my brother was there, too, a couple of grades ahead of me. That’s part of what made it upsetting for me to be removed and sent somewhere else. In public school, I had friends from families unlike my own in more ways: racially, socially, economically, religiously. Did I like everyone I knew in public school? No. Did I learn about their lives and how to live alongside people who were different from me? Yes.

When I look today at underfunded and failing public schools, I understand why some parents want school vouchers. Mine wanted them. A more all-encompassing narrative reveals that something bigger and more important is being lost. The call for school vouchers is a sign that should show us where we are as a culture. Trying to figure out how to work with people unlike ourselves can be aggravating and frustrating, but relying only on ourselves isn’t the answer. It reminds me of the run-on-the-bank scene in It’s A Wonderful Life. George Bailey tries to convince everyone to hold steady and stick together, when all they want is their cash. He reminds them frantically that it is Mr. Potter — a symbol of power-hungry greed in American life — who will ultimately win out. Why? Because he doesn’t panic, and they do. George Bailey — himself a symbol: of community and sacrifice — shows his customers the way, and it isn’t individualism. That way only pays fifty cents on the dollar, and I hope that last bit of symbolism doesn’t need explaining.

Originally published at http://modernsouthernfolklore.com on January 25, 2024.