The Iron Law of independent education is this: There is always a test.
I was reminded of this when school leaders had to decide over a federal-holiday weekend whether and how they wanted to address their communities about the Oct. 7 sneak attack by Hamas terrorists into Israel from Gaza.
The violence was horrific: It was the deadliest day in Israel’s history, while the country’s military response has killed thousands of Palestinians. The anguish seared Jews and Palestinians in this country, too, leaving them feeling vulnerable, isolated and threatened. For support in this terrible time, they looked to their chosen communities, including the schools where they work or where their children attend.
This was a test independent schools have faced before — assessing quickly, in the wake of a great tragedy, whether constituents need to hear from school leaders, and if so, what should be said. Should a head of school speak to fears, share in sorrow and, as much as possible, soothe concerns? And would the lack of a message be misunderstood as indifference or callousness?
But, if the questions were familiar, something else felt new this month: the sense that the right answers were more elusive than ever. Academic leaders, one publication summarized, have been faulted “for saying too much, too little, or not the right thing at all.”
A reassessment of whether to speak out
What fed this criticism was, in part, what had come before: years of statements from school leaders on national elections, gun violence, political protests, legal rulings, wars on other continents and more.
Yet there is also a growing sense that institutional statements have become too frequent and that they draw schools into matters that, while tragic or alarming, aren’t really central to an institution’s mission.
Political division on campus has been an especially potent complication for official statements. At independent schools, less than a quarter of heads report feeling “very prepared” to address and manage community polarization.
At such a time, the words that speak for a disunited community can feel very elusive. If it’s not clear what to say that will help, silence may be the less divisive option.
But a school’s silence may also be received as the breaking of a compact. The culture of regular statements has encouraged families, employees and donors to reasonably expect their most important issues will be seen and lifted up for community support. For some years, the prevailing view has effectively been, As I stand with you in your moment of need, I trust you will stand with me in mine.
The absence of a statement, then, can spark a sense of betrayal, that something core in the school has changed and it is no longer the place it once was.
With all this subtext, making any statement, or no statement, can feel like an incendiary act.
The Andover model
Months ago, as these factors bubbled under the surface, I was pleased to see an essay last spring from Andover’s chief communications officer, Tracy Sweet, that addressed the situation in NAIS’s quarterly magazine.
Sweet described how her school formed a set of guidelines that systematize when to speak up about off-campus events. The guidelines begin by asking:
- What do students, faculty, and staff need from Andover?
- Is the matter relevant to education?
- Does it directly affect our campus community, families, and alumni?
- Is Andover positioned to advance the conversation?
- Who benefits from understanding the school’s viewpoint?
These are great questions, echoing the ones that my colleagues at RW Jones Agency advise client universities to ask before instinctively ordering up an official statement.
No framework can cover every possible situation, and there will be times when a leader chooses to set aside the guidelines and to speak from the heart.
Still, this framework gives a school something to guide discussions in a moment of difficulty. Without that starting point, colleagues can find themselves confused where even to start a conversation.
It’s never too soon to prepare such a framework for your school. Read Sweet’s essay, ask your head of school for approval to draft some questions pertinent to your institution, then workshop the draft with your administrative team.
Better late than never? Uh, no
Another element that tripped up independent schools was the timing of messages. Several schools elected not to address the Oct. 7 attack, only to reverse course days later, in light of a threatened “Day of Revenge” for Oct. 13. With such a delay, the potential to reach and persuade a community is lost, and cynicism can breed.
Also, it was painful to see how many schools published social media posts honoring Indigenous Peoples’ Day on Oct. 10, then had to reply in comments to indignant and offended community members who noted what wasn’t being talked about.
All this is a good reminder of a communications truism: Official statements are crisis communications. And, as we know, in every crisis communication, timing matters. Being late with a statement can harm a reputation more than a principled decision to say nothing.
As you and your colleagues talk about creating policy on official statements, you might ask how best to communicate that policy beyond the admin table.
Some leaders found difficulty this month because, while they had decided to limit such statements, they never told this to anybody. So the institutions didn’t look principled; they looked indifferent. Belated explanations of their “new” policy ensued (such as this one from the president of Williams College).
The primary takeaway from this test is that every school needs to anticipate and understand its community’s expectation of official statements, and to reconcile it with the head’s and board chair’s preferences.
I recommend starting now to develop a proactive approach for managing this community demand — whether that is an internal framework, an announced policy or some other model. Whatever the choice, be certain that the public’s appetite for school leaders staking out a position will not fade on its own.
And also that another test is surely on its way.
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