Yesterday, Penny Schwinn, the former Tennessee schools chief, withdrew her nomination to be Linda McMahon’s number two at the U.S. Department of Education. The news was a shock, given that Schwinn had earned the Senate education committee’s nod in June, got an enthusiastic endorsement from President Trump back in January, and has been active in the department’s business while awaiting confirmation. Yet, facing a coordinated MAGA pressure campaign that threatened her confirmation, she finally hung it up. (She will still serve as a salaried strategic adviser to McMahon).
Many have asked what’s going on. They wonder why a Republican Senate that’s confirmed less-than-impressive characters like Pete Hegseth and Tulsi Gabbard might balk at a former red-state schools chief who likes school choice, made it through the committee, and had Trump’s personal backing.
This episode illustrates the split between Republicans focused on instruction and accountability and those more broadly intent on pushing back against progressive dogma.
For education Democrats and Never Trumpers, Schwinn’s nomination was unexpected and heartening. A former TFA recruit, Schwinn has a Ph.D. and a history of working across the aisle. She’s more focused on curriculum than culture, is an achievement hawk, and is passionate about literacy. She’s the kind of Republican even anti-Trumpers could embrace.
At the same time, the nomination sparked concerns among MAGA activists who’d spent years being smeared as “bigots” and “transphobes” for fighting COVID school closures or woke dogmas—and who wanted to be sure the Trump administration had their backs. This push to reject Schwinn was initially spearheaded by a Moms for Liberty chapter in Tennessee and anti-DEI crusader and social media personality Robby Starbuck.
Schwinn’s critics made her nomination a test case for whether Trump 2.0 would tackle the K–12 culture wars in a way that Trump 1.0 did not. You see, for all the cheap vitriol hurled at Betsy DeVos, one of the many things her critics ignored was how assiduously she tried to avoid getting pulled into culture clashes. Ground zero for the debate over Schwinn was Marsha Blackburn, the Tennessee senator who’s contemplating a run for governor and who really didn’t want to get crosswise with her state’s GOP activist base. (Schwinn still could’ve sailed to confirmation with even modest Democratic support, but the blue team isn’t in the mood to lift a finger to help Trump nominees right now).
As I see it, the MAGA camp raised real concerns but fixated on the wrong target. I think it’s fair to argue that too many putatively conservative leaders hesitated to take on progressive educational excesses over the past decade, while haughtily explaining that they didn’t want to get “distracted by culture wars.” Well, the Moms for Liberty types got sick of that. And I think they have a point: Republican officials really did spend much of this century’s first two decades rolling over on values. Heck, over the past decade, I’ve written repeatedly about the need for Republican leaders to stand up for the principles of merit, rigor, and equality (see, for instance, here, here, here, and here) and, for much of that period, it felt like shouting down a well. So, like I said, I’ve much sympathy for the “no more squishes” stance.
But I find it odd and unfortunate that Schwinn became a stand-in for this generalized frustration. I know her to be a champion of academic rigor, a get-things-done executive, and a leader with a deep streak of common-sense conservatism. She worked for right-wing favorite Ben Sasse when he was leading the University of Florida, is eager to cut red tape and bureaucracy, and is committed to empowering parents. I fear her critics have been making a version of the same mistake made by those earlier go-along, get-along Republicans—imagining that the issue is either “culture wars” or “what really matters for kids.” What risks getting lost is that course-correcting on culture is how we help schools get back on track.
As EdChoice’s Mike McShane and I explained during the 2024 Republican primaries, a conservative vision for schooling starts with shared values and translates those into kitchen-table concerns like “promoting excellence, rigor, and merit.” After all, it’s tough to champion rigorous math instruction when educators fret that it’s racist to worry about correct answers or offer advanced math classes. It’s tough to support academic excellence when educators are reluctant to address student misconduct or when personal responsibility is dismissed as a legacy of white-supremacy culture, as I have noted many times before.
Restoring common sense to classroom culture isn’t a distraction. It’s crucial if educators are going to focus on the work of educating. But then what? That’s where there’s a need for leaders, like Schwinn, who are uncompromisingly focused on academics and student achievement. After all, this Department of Education is already stocked with political appointees who are hard-charging, savvy veterans of recent battles over DEI, gender identity, and school closures. During her Senate confirmation hearing, Schwinn repeatedly pledged her fealty to the full Trump agenda. The recent attacks on Schwinn weren’t about the direction of the department—they were about something smaller, more symbolic, and more personal.
As McMahon’s department seeks to move on state waiver requests, prune red tape, support choice, promote the science of reading, shrink staffing, rebuild the Institute of Education Sciences, and more, it would’ve benefited mightily from Schwinn’s cool touch. Kirsten Baesler, the long-serving North Dakota schools chief, is still slated to take the reins on K–12 sometime later this year. She’ll bring plenty of savvy, skill, and experience. That’ll help. There are other good possibilities the administration might pursue. And, meanwhile, the administration is fortunate that it has been able to lean on the extraordinarily talented Hayley Sanon as acting K–12 chief.
But Schwinn’s withdrawal is an unfortunate blow to an administration bent on doing big things in schooling.
