When Leadership Shrugs, Communities Pay: North Carolina’s Education Crisis Demands More Than Apologies

In North Carolina, two stories collided this week that should shake anyone who still believes public education is safe, stable, or adequately supported.

At a Wake County public forum, parents came expecting reassurance about school safety. Instead, Superintendent Robert Taylor told families he believes mass shootings will happen and schools must focus on “minimizing damage.” The words landed like a gut punch. How do you “minimize” trauma? How do you tell families, many already navigating racial inequities and economic stress, that their children’s safety is a matter of probability?

Days later, a different cry rose from classrooms across the state—educators, tired of surviving on stagnant pay and shrinking respect, considering a walkout. Whether that protest materializes or not, the message is already clear: our teachers are breaking under the weight of policies that undervalue their expertise and their humanity.

Both incidents expose the same truth: North Carolina’s education system is running on borrowed time and borrowed courage.

Superintendent Taylor’s statement didn’t come from malice—it came from a system that has accepted crisis as normal. School shootings, burnout, underfunding—these aren’t inevitabilities; they’re choices made through neglect and misplaced priorities. Every dollar diverted from student wellness, every year teacher pay lags behind inflation, every unaddressed act of community violence becomes another brick in the wall separating our children from safety and hope.

We can’t afford to normalize despair.

Our educators deserve more than “thank yous” and pizza during Teacher Appreciation Week. They deserve livable wages that reflect their degree, their training, and the emotional labor they carry. Families deserve leaders who don’t speak of tragedy as destiny but as a call to transformation.

Here’s what real leadership looks like:

  • Center parents and students in policymaking. Communities aren’t asking for miracles—they’re asking to be heard before the headlines hit.
  • Name the problem honestly. Safety isn’t just about locked doors; it’s about stable schools, trained counselors, and responsive crisis plans shaped by community voices—not bureaucratic language.
  • Pay teachers what they’re worth. If the state can fund tax breaks, it can fund classrooms. The erosion of teacher morale is a public-safety issue as much as a labor issue.

The question isn’t whether North Carolina can afford to do better—it’s whether it has the moral will to stop pretending “damage control” is a plan.

Because when leadership shrugs, communities pay. And when we allow fear to define what’s “possible” for our schools, we fail the very people those schools exist to serve.

Our children deserve boldness, not bureaucracy. Our educators deserve investment, not indifference. And our communities deserve more than condolences after the next crisis.

The time for “minimizing damage” is over. The time for transformation is now.