Radical (20 page)

I
N
S
EPTEMBER
, O
PRAH
W
INFREY
had invited me to appear on her show to discuss
Waiting for “Superman
.
”
I'd held in check my sadness at Fenty's loss.

“People say, ‘Chancellor Rhee, you are so mean,' ” I said, “and ‘Chancellor Rhee, you are so harsh.' ”

“ ‘We should give ineffective teachers more time,' they tell me.

“I look at this from the vantage point of being a mother,” I said. “I can tell you that if I showed up on the first day of school with Olivia, and the principal said, ‘Here's your teacher. Guess what? She's not so good.' He explains that the school system is giving her one more year to improve, and he says: ‘Olivia and her classmates might not learn how to read this year, but we think this is the right thing to do for this adult.' There is no way I would ever accept that for my child. So why should we accept that for anyone's child?”

The audience cheered.

Mark Zuckerberg later appeared on
Oprah
with Governor Chris Christie and Newark, New Jersey, mayor Cory Booker. The creator of Facebook was contributing $100 million to launch reforms in Booker's public schools. Oprah gave them a forum and brought her audience of seven million to focus on public education.

Thinking about it, KMJ saw an opportunity. Though our organization was still in the birthing stages—no name, no staff and all—KMJ wanted to announce it on
Oprah
.

“You're crazy,” I said. “There's no way that's going to happen.”

“It will,” he replied. KMJ has a self-assuredness about him the likes of which I've never seen. It's not cocky or immodest, though. It's just matter-of-fact.

“I've already been on the show once; there's no way they'd have me on again!” I said.

“Let me take care of that part,” he responded. “It will be good for us, because it'll give us both a deadline and a powerful launch. Green?”

As in, green light.

“Green,” I said.

He called Oprah.

“Michelle is going to start a new advocacy group,” he said. “It's going to change education as we know it. We need your help. We want to announce it on your show.”

“I get it,” she said.

They booked me for December 6. Great, I thought—we had a launch date for an organization that existed only in our minds.

W
E BROUGHT TOGETHER A
group of longtime advisers—my brain trust—to meet in New York and put some flesh on the bones of an idea.

Along with me, KMJ, and Joel Klein, the group took shape. First was Anita Dunn, who had been on Barack Obama's communications team for his 2008 campaign. Living in D.C. and having seen the media struggles that I had endured in my early years as chancellor, she began to help me on the PR front in my last year with DCPS. She had masterfully guided us through the announcement of the new teachers union contract. Next was Bradley Tusk, founder of Tusk Strategies, who had served on Michael Bloomberg's 2009 reelection campaign. Bradley was known as a keen political strategist who was very familiar with the politics of education reform. As I started to conceive of StudentsFirst, Anita suggested I meet with him. After the first meeting, he whipped out an impressive plan of the next steps that would be necessary to launch a major national organization.

Then came Joe Rospars, with Blue State Digital, the company that took online grassroots mobilization to a new level with Obama's 2008 presidential campaign. Anita connected us, and we immediately hit it off. Also in the room was Byron Auguste, with McKinsey & Company. Byron was the lead McKinsey person working with DCPS when Mayor Fenty first took control of the schools, and he remained a trusted adviser throughout my tenure. Joe Williams, with Democrats for Education Reform, was a friend and fellow reformer with whom I had had a long-standing relationship. The groundwork that DFER laid in the education reform landscape was critical to future advocacy efforts. Next was Dmitri Mehlhorn, who Byron thought could be a valuable member of the team. Dmitri would become one of my top executives at StudentsFirst. David Coleman also joined us. David is one of my dearest friends and also one of the smartest people I know. He had masterminded the strategy and messaging around my entry into DCPS and was a natural to aid this second transition. Adam Mendelsohn, head of Mercury consulting in Sacramento, a strong adviser to KMJ, and an activist in Republican politics, was also in attendance. Rounding out the group, my brother Erik served as our legal counsel.

Bradley Tusk hosted us in his conference room, high in an office building on Broadway. For the better part of the day, we barely left the room.

On the high-concept level, we had to decide how the new organization would present itself: as one that was somewhat faceless, defined by an idea rather than a person? Or would it be stronger if it were associated with one person?

“That's an easy one,” Joel Klein said. “Michelle is the face of StudentsFirst. She will help define it, get press, convince governors and state legislators to back our reforms. It's got to be led by her, at least initially. That's what makes it noteworthy. Otherwise, it's nothing.”

“Let's be honest,” KMJ said. “We're creating an organization to build out your vision. You're our biggest asset. So what is your vision?”

I explained the basic premise. KMJ listened and looked around the room.

“There's no diversity in this room,” he said. “We can't make all these decisions from the thirtieth floor of an office building in New York City.

“What did we learn in D.C.?” KMJ asked. “We can't make the same mistakes. Why are we here? To build a group that appeals only to white, male Republicans? Is that what we're doing?”

Silence. There was no easy answer.

What we all knew was that money alone would not be the solution. KMJ knew best that we had to build a real and sustainable grassroots organization that was demanding change from the bottom up.

KMJ had put down a marker and set a goal to build a real movement. As it turned out, he would be instrumental in getting us there.

We ended the meeting with more definition behind the concept. We knew that I would need to build a strong staff to execute our plans. We knew we could expect to have the funds necessary to hire staff and rent space. We already knew there was demand for our reforms in a number of states, but we needed everyday people to drive those changes. And we still needed a name.

For a few weeks we batted names back and forth in emails and texts. I pitched “Save Our Schools.” Then “Fix Our Schools.” Among the comments were “Too bland,” and “There's one in every city, including D.C.,” and “Way too generic.”

I was a minority of one.

We tossed around more names. Nothing worked.

“It has to be about kids,” Dmitri Mehlhorn argued. “I think we should go with StudentsFirst.”

I ran it by KMJ.

“Name says it all,” he said. “I like it.”

I did, too. StudentsFirst it would be.

E
VEN BEFORE
I
WAS
officially finished in D.C. at the end of October, politicians at the state level started to call. I had declined Florida governor Rick Scott's offer to move to Florida, but I had agreed to serve on his transition team. Governors and legislators from both parties in states like Nevada, New Mexico, Tennessee, and Ohio had said they would welcome our reforms. Governor Paul LePage asked me if I'd consider coming to Maine.

“I'm not going to work in just one state,” I responded. “I'm thinking about something broader. But I promise that with this new idea, we are going to be able to help you.”

Were a name, a promise of funding, a concept, and invitations from a number of states enough to launch StudentsFirst on
Oprah
? It would have to suffice. The show was two weeks away. We designed a logo. We created a website and prepared to go live.

Oprah's audience tuning in on December 6 saw me in a serious tweed dress. Oprah wore pink. I described StudentsFirst and said we were launching today.

“I love that title,” Oprah said, and added that I hoped to attract a million members.

“We have ten million people watching today,” she said. “Will one million of y'all please go sign up?”

The address Studentsfirst.org flashed on the screen.

I quickly laid out our goals: highly effective teachers in every classroom, excellent options for parents, taking money from the bureaucracy to the classroom. Oprah said she had been using her show as a platform for fixing education; now was the chance.

“Somebody needs to fix it!” she said. “You can do it! I am behind you! We are behind you!”

She turned to the camera.

“This is an urgent call to action,” she said. “America, hear me now. This is a seminal moment for us.”

She said students in the United States ranked very low among thirty industrialized nations in reading and math.

“We're either going to fall further behind or move forward,” she said. “It's in our hands. Get yourself fired up! Stop complaining. Log in and sign up!”

She wrapped me in a big, pink hug.

The StudentsFirst website went live. By the end of the day we had more than one hundred thousand members, on our way to a million—and more.

I
ALREADY HAD A
small office and staff in Washington, but that didn't feel right as a permanent home. Kevin Huffman, my ex-husband, had been offered the job of commissioner of education for the state of Tennessee. He would be moving to Nashville. KMJ pointed out that Kevin had agreed to move to D.C. so I could take the chancellor's job. It was our turn to return the favor. I started making plans to set up a house in Nashville with my parents, and I would be there half-time, but it wasn't the right place for StudentsFirst. KMJ and I had postponed our wedding, but it was inevitable that I would marry the mayor of Sacramento. Would his hometown make a good base for StudentsFirst?

“You have to come to the belly of the beast,” he said.

California was the most populous state, and its teachers union was arguably the strongest in the nation. Its legislature, run by Democrats, was in the union's thrall. It would be the hardest state to reform.

A few days later I knew for sure: Sacramento would be our home base.

My first hire was Shawn Branch, the native Baltimorean who had run my schedule and my life in D.C. He was integral to my sanity and agreed to pull up stakes and make the move to Sacramento in January. My second hire was an eighteen-year-old named Julian Nagler, who had interned for KMJ the summer before. He was taking a gap year before college and handled every problem, small or large. He was a great utility player when I needed one.

In addition to fielding calls from governors, we spent December writing a business plan and a policy agenda. Bain and Company, under the leadership of senior partner Chris Bierly, helped with the business side of the plan. Dmitri Mehlhorn came on as COO. Kathleen deLaski, an executive who had worked at places as varied as the Pentagon and AOL, agreed to manage all facets of the political operation. I was able to convince Eric Lerum, who was essential to reforming the D.C. schools in the deputy mayor's office, and his fiancée, Rebecca Sibilia, to move to Sacramento, too.

I swept up as many Fenty administration folks as I could. Kate Gottfredson, Ximena Hartsock, Mafara Hobson, and Bridget Davis rounded out our original team.

We pounded out a twenty-five-page policy agenda. It would serve as a road map that states could follow, including specific laws that they would need to adopt if they wanted to match our reforms in D.C.

Our blueprint suggested that states establish teacher evaluation systems based on student achievement and classroom observations. “State law should give districts the autonomy to develop teacher evaluation systems apart from the collective bargaining process,” we wrote. We also recommended that states evaluate principals on their success with student achievement and their ability to manage their schools.

One of the most promising developments in public education that I witnessed, from our years at The New Teacher Project through the time in D.C., was that professionals were willing to make midlife career changes to become teachers. However, the process was often cumbersome.

To address that, we wrote: “States must reduce legal barriers to entry in the teaching profession.” We suggested that states break down complicated credentialing and certification schemes. As in D.C., states should be able to reward excellent teachers with individual performance pay, and they should take tenure off the table. We recommended that states adopt mutual consent and end “last in, first out” policies.

We also wanted to empower parents. Our first recommendation sounded simple and easy: state laws should “ensure that parents receive meaningful information about their schools and teachers.” In most states and districts, parents have to demand and dig for basic information on the quality of teaching and teachers. Teachers' track records on student achievement should be disclosed to parents, and parents should have access to alternative, more effective classrooms.

Why not grade the schools? We suggested a law for that.

I have always believed that students should be able to attend the best schools, whether public schools, charters, or private schools. Our policy paper recommended that states remove arbitrary caps on charter schools. Many charters, which are supported with public funds but managed independently of the public schools, have been enormously successful in raising achievement for students in rough circumstances. Students in charters in New Orleans and Washington, D.C., have excelled, which supports my contention that great teachers at focused schools can improve achievement.

We also recommended that states create a mechanism to close low-performing schools. Parents should not have to see their children stuck at bad schools. If parents join together and come to the conclusion that their local school is not helping their kids learn, they should be able to employ a trigger petition to force fundamental changes: from removing the principal and teachers to turning it into a charter school. State legislators could pass laws to give them that power.