I am a former school superintendent in a swing county, in a swing state who devoted my career to supporting students, families, and staff with integrity and empathy. But in the final years of my tenure, I found myself in the center of a political firestorm, where civil boundaries seemed to vanish and leadership meant withstanding a wave of verbal, digital, and deeply personal attacks.
What triggered the most intense backlash? Informing the school community about public health guidance. Supporting inclusive school environments. Affirming the connection between intellectual freedom and access to books in school libraries. Simple, professional decisions.
Each step brought criticism—from sarcastic emails to angry phone calls to personal attacks on social media to aggressive comments at public board meetings. One parent group even tried to pressure the district attorney to bring child abuse charges against me for requiring students to wear masks during the COVID-19 pandemic.
Throughout, I remained committed to listening, responding respectfully, and modeling civil discourse. Over time, I developed the ability—so vital to being an education leader—to embrace conflict with an open heart and an open mind. But this skill set was no match for the emotional toll as vitriol increasingly replaced dialogue.
Ultimately, I made the difficult decision to retire early to be more fully present for my family. Still, I remain committed to contributing to public education and supporting those leaders who continue this important work during a time of unprecedented polarization.
What I never got the chance to respond to was one of the most common phrases hurled at me during this time: “You’re woke.” It was a term often thrown my way at the end of an angry phone call or shouted at me during public comment at board meetings.
Until recently, I hadn’t taken the time to reflect on that word—where it comes from, what it once meant, and what it has come to represent. But I’m a former Latin teacher and I have always loved language, its roots, and its evolution.
“Woke” originates in African American Vernacular English, dating back as early as the 1930s to describe awareness of racial injustice and a heightened sense of social consciousness. In recent decades, it has evolved to signify a broader alertness to inequality and oppression.
The term also reminds me of a song—one that speaks to both awareness and service. In July 1985, during the Live Aid concert that raised awareness and funding for famine relief in Africa, U2 performed their song “Bad.” Bono introduced it with a reflection that their home city of Dublin has its good and its bad—and how all communities contain both. The refrain echoed: “I’m wide awake … I’m not sleeping.” That’s how I felt as a school leader: alert, conscious of what our students needed, and determined to face challenges head-on.
In recent years, however, the term has been hijacked—stripped of its dignity and weaponized by some on the far right as a catch-all insult for progressivism, inclusivity, and those (including educators) who believe in equity.
In its current usage, woke has become a four-letter word with a hard “k” sound—more interjection than descriptor. Like a verbal grenade, it’s often launched without thought, designed not to invite conversation but to end it.
So here is my reply to all the people who called my school leadership “too woke,” one that I first started drafting as a superintendent but never delivered at a podium or in a phone call:
Yes, I am awake. I am not asleep at the wheel.
Superintendents and all educators have a duty to be aware—to be informed and vigilant so that we can serve students, families, and staff to the best of our ability.
The term “woke” should never have become a weapon. And yet it has—part of a broader trend of contempt in civic life. For educators and school leaders, this contempt shows up in sarcastic attacks, hostile tones, and digital cruelty—memes, soundbites, and public shaming. It’s the antithesis of collaboration and an enemy of the grace-driven leadership our schools require.
But here’s what I learned in my time as a superintendent: Responding to contempt with equal contempt accomplishes nothing. The antidote is clear, firm, values-based communication rooted in empathy and resilience. In every interaction, we must continue to uphold what educators know best: the power of kindness, the value of dialogue, and the importance of showing up for all students.
As we move forward in this polarized climate, I encourage education leaders to remain “wide awake”—not politically postured but morally grounded. Be awake to the needs of marginalized students. Be awake to the rising toll of mental health challenges. Be awake to misinformation, historical erasure, and cultural attacks that undermine public education.
Above all, be awake to the truth that grace is not weakness. It is strength.
I’ll close with a stanza from a poem I wrote as a high school student, which I rediscovered decades later and once read to close out a particularly contentious school board meeting:
We move together.
In love for each other.
No matter what is in front of us.
We will seek trust … forever.
Let that be the spirit in which we lead. Let that be what “awake” truly means.
