Last night in Sumner County, Tennessee the School Board decided to open school. The decision came thirteen days after a standoff began with the County Commission over $2.7 million needed to fund 45 public schools in a place with an estimated 30, 282 children between the ages 5-18 (US Census Bureau, 2011 estimate). The decision to open the schools (10-1) rested with 11 individuals. The upcoming decision that remains, that is whether or not to fund the schools with the full $2.7 million the School Board said was required, will fall to the 24 individuals of the County Commission. My primary concern is how 35 adults could so fecklessly ignore the important task of opening and funding public schools for 30,000 school-age children.

We talk so often about jobs, but the chasm between thriving and dying communities exists because in one instance education is a requirement of government and a necessary right for maintaining order in a community, but in the latter education is treated as an unnecessary good to be exchanged for money, the same as a shirt or any other consumable product. While education directly affects the economic health of a community (jobs and businesses don't relocate to a place where the standard of living is less than sufficient to maintain an educated workforce for the future of that plant, warehouse, or other business) this all misses the point that thriving communities acknowledged a long time ago (like, in the 19th century): The "education of the people [is a requirement] as the safeguard of order and liberty." (Boston Public Library Board of Trustees, 1859)

For the first community, growing by attracting businesses and young couples with children and income, there is little or no discussion about taxes when they speak about education. Taxes for education are an investment in future health, wealth, and prosperity. Taxes for education are an investment in safety. Taxes for education are an investment in improved neighborhoods. There might even be a place in this community for thriving private or charter schools, but the public schools are never left to wonder when they might open.  It seems impossible that 35 adults could not come up with $2.7 million to fund 45 schools and 5,000 employees with nearly 120,000 taxpaying citizens.

Literary critics talk about a "southern sense of place." In literature as in life, people from the South have a connection to their surroundings - the environment, the people, and the history of a place. In West Tennessee there are stories that cannot be told without the mention of the mighty Mississippi River. In Middle Tennessee, the rolling hills and farms are evident in the written words of authors like Robert Penn Warren and others. In East Tennessee the mountain hamlets are a source of pride. That most political punditry highlights the three geographic regions of the state points to the distinctiveness of the places we come from. We are proud of these places as much for their natural splendor as for what they gave to us. The same stupefying and indescribable joy from these places is also found in the free and public education they gave to us, because it never leaves us. That is why public education is a necessary investment. Squabble over the budget elsewhere, not in the School Board. Raise teacher pay. Hire more teachers and administrators. Open more schools. Invest freely in education. Adjust your priorities.

This "big news" and how it consumed much of the local and print media attention is not only a testament to the limited attention span for a viewing audience that mostly hears about local homicides, house fires, and pet adoption. The "big news" is also evidence of the priorities of 35 elected persons who are tasked with one huge priority- educating 30, 282 children. While I wish this place was a place I could call home again, I will not because I don't think I can raise children in a place where education is placed as such a low priority. Here is the perspective of a mediocre student from a mediocre school system that continuously slips even further towards the brink of ultimate decline. (Seriously, I graduated 117 of 333.)