Twitter, amiright?
Recently, I wrote a blog post about the phrase “You can’t make everyone happy,” which did not, in fact, make everyone happy. The post explored how school administrators often feel pressure to please everyone. Even as I encouraged my fellow leaders to eschew that pressure, I was still (perhaps hypocritically) taken aback at the vitriol behind one reader’s tweet, which read: “Bite me.”
OK, it wasn’t just that. The reader’s main source of consternation was the attention I paid to administrators’ well-being. The reader pointed out that administrators make more money than teachers and aren’t subject to reviews from those they lead—both pertinent facts. The implication was that leaders don’t really have much of a right to pursue happiness, given their hefty salary and allegedly forgiving evaluation structure. The tweet was an acute reminder of a question that has haunted me since my first day in leadership: Is animosity between teachers and administrators inevitable?
Maybe you, like many school leaders, spent your first months in administration wondering why everyone seemed to assume the worst of you. Maybe people who have known you for years still treat you like you’re a hard-hearted tyrant, purely because you’re on the “dark side.” Maybe you calculate every decision on the basis of whether or not it will inflame hostility. When I work with new administrators, their dominant feeling is loneliness; transitioning into leadership means giving up those Friday night happy hours with colleagues and accepting the role of responsible buzzkill—or so it seems. Teachers, who are in the proverbial trenches, trust each other more easily, which is an immeasurable blessing to new educators in particular. New administrators, however, get a culture shock when they realize that easy trust no longer extends to them. They have to earn it through years of integrity, service, and reliability. Even then, it can be broken in an instant.
Leaders aren’t supposed to admit that teachers may have some good reasons for distrusting or disliking them.
We, as leaders, are not supposed to acknowledge that any hostility exists between administrators and teachers. We fear that if we do, others will interpret the hostility as entirely our fault: we must have done something to spark that mistrust, that animosity. Our jobs could be compromised if the wrong people see us as loathsome despots, so we pretend that there isn’t something systemic making administrator-teacher relationships tense, even hostile. It’s ridiculous, really, that we can’t acknowledge our biggest barrier and the obstacle to relationships, culture, and innovation. But leaders aren’t supposed to admit that teachers may have some good reasons for distrusting or disliking them:
- Most teachers remain in the same school longer than most principals.
- The longer administrators are out of the classroom, the more out of touch they become.
- Education leadership naturally entails some secrecy, politics, and unkept promises.
Yes, teachers mistrust administrators. But is that mistrust, that animosity and sometimes even contempt inherent to any leadership gig? Or does the structure of American education fan the flames, making us all burn with resentment?
Looking at the Systems Level
Let’s look at how the system treats each group. Most districts don’t (or can’t) incentivize administrators to stick around for many years; tenure is rarely, if ever, an option for admin, and retention incentives are thin on the ground. Many leaders, therefore, are constantly sniffing the air for the next opportunity—a step up the ladder, a better paycheck, a healthier environment—and why wouldn’t they? If a district doesn’t value loyalty, loyalty won’t happen. From a teacher’s perspective, though, this looks like a revolving door of administration—a confirmation that the fat cats on top are vainglorious oppressors who can’t be bothered about the little guy.
Then, too, U.S. educational theory prioritizes change leadership, praising reformers, radicals, and revolutionaries. In the administrative conversation, this feels perfectly natural—our underlying assumption is that innovation is inherently good. Have we ever thought, however, about how insulting our attitude may appear to teachers, especially when combined with rapid administrative turnover? To teachers, we may appear to believe that there is always something endemically wrong with schools and with the people in them. Teachers who have watched a revolving door of administrators come through schools with grandiose change plans, only to vanish four years later, are naturally skeptical.
Finally, leaders’ schedules and job expectations often make it logistically hard—even impossible—to connect with teachers as much as they would like to. The way most districts operate, administrators, especially central office admin, spend an inordinate amount of time in meetings, whether they want to or not. This keeps leaders out of classrooms and away from conversations with teachers. Our very structures exacerbate the gap between administrators and those they lead.
What about the way the system treats teachers? For years, teachers have watched their pile of tasks grow ever more daunting. State requirements stack up quickly, with everything from mandatory compliance training to student-services paperwork eating up teachers’ time. In addition, districts’ efforts to implement new programs and best practices entail meetings, professional learning, and subsequent monitoring measures that—while worthy pursuits—still take time. As one teacher participating in the Texas Education Agency’s Vacancy Task Force report put it:
We are not only planning and teaching kids, we are filling out endless paperwork, completing classes to better our teaching, [attending] several meetings a week during our “planning time,” and many more things. All that leaves us very little time to actually plan and prep activities for the kids.
The system, then, sets teachers up to fail—or at least to deliver weaker instruction than they’re capable of. When administrators observe teachers, do they consider this perspective? Or do they merely zoom in on the many things teachers aren’t doing, writing them off as lazy, apathetic, or incompetent?
We ignore teachers’ humanity, acting as though they are failures, when really, the system is failing them.
When teachers express frustration, exhaustion, or burnout, the default response from leaders is often something to the effect of “If you don’t rekindle your passion, you’re going to actively harm children.” This is ludicrous, and yet it is the product of a system that takes advantage of teachers’ presumed love of the job. We expect teachers to be blithely sacrificial martyrs, giving away their time, their health, and their well-being to their work, all in the name of “Do it for the kids.” American education has managed to underpay teachers for over a century simply by treating teaching as a saintly calling, rather than a serious profession.
We ignore teachers’ humanity, acting as though they are failures, when really, the system is failing them. They are, in so many ways, taking the blame for things beyond their control. Administrators who think school improvement arises from pressuring teachers will not only be disappointed, they will end up blaming and shaming the very people on whom real improvement hinges.
How We Talk Matters
Clearly, a systemic change is in order, but one way you and I can make a difference is through our language. Animosity between teachers and administrators certainly feels inevitable, based on the assumptions each group is encouraged to make about the other. It’s on both “sides,” then, to challenge these assumptions.
My favorite book on the topic of high-stakes relationships is Crucial Accountability, which encourages us to question the stories we tell ourselves—our self-interested interpretations of other people’s behavior—and instead ask, “Why would a reasonable, rational, and decent person do that?” (Patterson et al, 2013). I think this concept applies to administrator-teacher relationships as well. Rather than jump to conclusions about the virtues or failings of an entire group, it’s essential to start with an assumption of reasonableness, rationality, and decency, and only then to wonder why someone is falling short of our expectations.
I once knew an administrator who regularly described teachers as “hating kids,” usually when the teachers in question didn’t manage student behavior in accordance with school policy. This made my skin crawl. It’s a rare teacher who hates kids—more likely, the teachers didn’t agree with the school policy or didn’t have the training to implement it … but they didn’t hate kids. And the insinuation that they did ignored their reasonableness, rationality, and decency.
Similarly, I have a teacher friend who uses the word “admin” as a pejorative to make blanket statements about the entire, despicable group (even when I’m sitting right there). Her administrators show up to meetings late, spend the whole time checking their email, and let teachers solve the brunt of the problems. Therefore, all admin are oblivious, disrespectful buffoons. (Again, buddy: I’m right here.) Rarely do I hear her wonder why a reasonable person might be late, prioritize email, or stay quiet during problem-solving, though there could be plenty of reasons for these things.
Decades of mistrust will take time to evolve into something better; the dialogue has to evolve now, though.
Twitter spats aside, the conversation between teachers and administrators needs serious recuperation. Decades of mistrust will take time to evolve into something better; the dialogue has to evolve now, though, because one thing teachers and administrators share in 2023 is exceptionally high attrition. With both groups fleeing the field at unprecedented rates, it’s no secret that the workplace environment feels intolerable and even toxic in many schools.
If educators from all roles want to stop the exodus and improve our environment, we have to do a few things:
- Stop bunching all teachers or all administrators into a single entity about which we make ungenerous assumptions.
- Stop blaming entire groups for the shortcomings of one individual.
- Start recognizing how our system confines and impedes the work of each group, and help each other overcome those impediments.
- Start seeing people, not job titles, so that teachers and administrators alike can build individual reputations without baggage.
- Start making the effort to talk to people on “the other side” about their own frustrations and limitations, so that you build mutual understanding and lessen blame.
It’s not within your power, or mine, to make this change in every school overnight. Still, the way we talk about each other (at school, at home, and online) is infectious. With enough people committed to eradicating tension, teachers and administrators may both enjoy a healthier environment and sense of shared purpose.
