Who Will Protect Our Students When the Department of Education Is Gone?
Civil rights protections aren’t bureaucratic red tape — they’re lifelines for our most vulnerable students
The calls to dismantle the Department of Education aren’t new, but they’ve gained dangerous momentum with President-Elect Trump’s recent campaign promises. As someone who’s spent decades in education, I’ve heard all the arguments: It’s federal overreach. States know best. We don’t need Washington bureaucrats telling us how to run our schools.
The reality of these stakes became clear in a meeting where the participants grappled with Texas Senate Bill 17 — one of the state’s newer laws restricting discussions of race, gender, and sexuality in higher education. I watched the room shift uncomfortably as people debated how to navigate the law regarding support for LGBTQ+ students or if we should cancel programming for Hispanic Heritage and African American History months.
The discussion reached peak surrealism when someone suggested we might need to “reallocate” scholarship funds that a long-deceased donor had specifically set aside for female students — because supporting only women could now be seen as discriminatory. Someone would suggest eliminating a program or committee multiple times, only to be reminded: “We have to maintain compliance with the Office for Civil Rights.” That moment crystallized something I’ve long known: OCR isn’t red tape — it’s often the last line of defense protecting student rights and free expression.
Before I understood these policy battles and became National Teacher of the Year, I was a little girl in a remote rural school who knew that monsters sometimes lived in whiskey bottles. I knew they could turn otherwise good people into someone who grabbed me by the throat and shoved me against walls until I nearly quit breathing. The school was my sanctuary, and teachers were my protectors.
Those teachers couldn’t have known they were doing more than saving one little girl — they were showing me what’s truly at stake in education. Now, as I watch this renewed push to eliminate federal oversight of education, I see how their acts of care mirror the larger systems we’ve built to safeguard all students’ futures.
I can’t stay silent about what’s at stake in this renewed push to eliminate federal education guarantees. The Department of Education isn’t perfect — like any federal agency, it can feel distant from the daily realities of teaching and learning. But in America, it’s also the backbone of educational opportunity for all students, regardless of who they are or where they live. When people talk about “federal overreach” in education, they’re often really talking about dismantling protections that took decades to build.
I think about a former high school student with Down syndrome who formed an extraordinary friendship with a nonverbal classmate in a wheelchair. Their daily ritual in the cafeteria — greeting each other with enthusiastic claps, laughter, shared joy, and matched head-patting — wasn’t just heartwarming. It was possible because federal law guarantees both students the right to be there.
Without federal enforcement, how many districts would quietly return to segregating students with disabilities?
I’m not old, but I remember school before the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA). This federal law requires schools to educate students with disabilities alongside their peers whenever possible. I never saw a student with any disability in the hallways of my elementary or middle school because if they came to school at all, they went to a room none of the rest of us ever went to.
That’s not just my memory; before federal special education law, only 1 in 5 children with disabilities received a public education. Many states had laws explicitly excluding students from public schools.
When we remove these federal safeguards — our nation’s way of ensuring that our deepest values about children aren’t just empty promises — what happens to:
- The sophomore with severe anxiety who can now take tests in a quiet room and gets extended time for assignments because of Section 504 assistance? Without these accommodations, his panic attacks would likely force him to drop out.
- The Title I funding that made our night school possible — where I taught students like James, who worked construction during the day to help support his family but was determined to graduate? Or Sarah, who needed to make up credits after a suspension nearly derailed her education? Instead of dropping out, these students found a path forward.
- The student with cerebral palsy whose specialized transport and in-class aide — guaranteed by IDEA — make it possible for her to attend our school at all? Before federal help, she would have been denied an education entirely.
- The teenagers I’ve taught in summer school who count on their federally funded breakfast and lunch — not because their families don’t care, but because minimum wage jobs don’t cover rent and groceries in our city? These aren’t just meals; they’re the difference between being able to focus on learning and sitting through class hungry.
- A student I’ve worked with recently whose family was investigated after he came out as transgender. His family got help through OCR so he could return to school, graduate on time, and enter professional school this fall. Without federal authority over states, who can step in when politicians make sudden changes that hurt the helpless?
Each of these stories represents hundreds more untold ones in classrooms across America. The federal codes that make these stories possible aren’t abstract policies written in distant offices — they’re vital safety nets that catch our students when everything else fails.
When people talk about “local control,” I think about how quickly that can become code for dismantling programs that students’ lives literally depend on. History shows us exactly what happens when we turn over the right to learn to folks furthest away from the kids inside schools. And let’s be honest — some of those people are using our kids and schools as talking points to build political power while funneling tax dollars to corporations selling the empty promise of “choice.” The different standards for charter and private schools aren’t just policy details — they’re decisions that shape real lives.
The real cost isn’t measured in dollars — it’s measured in the empty seats where eager learners should be, in the quiet spaces where young voices should ring out. Our students deserve a system that protects their opportunity to thrive, to speak, to exist — regardless of their zip code, their disability status, or their family’s income. That’s not bureaucratic control — it’s educational justice.
And educational justice isn’t optional. It’s not a luxury we can afford to lose in the name of “flexibility” or “choice.” Whenever we allow different standards for different schools, we choose who matters and who doesn’t. We’re deciding whose future we’re willing to compromise.
We must do better. We must demand that every school — public, charter, or private — that accepts public funds meets the same high standards for serving all students. Our children’s futures depend on our courage to stand firm on this principle. Because in the end, educational justice isn’t just about policies and standards — it’s about keeping our promise to every child that their education is a right, not a privilege.
