As the calendar turns, leaders often take the opportunity to reflect and discuss their intentions for the year. New goals. New resolutions. New language about growth and innovation.
But this moment does not need better intentions.
It needs braver decisions—especially where children are concerned.
The superintendency has never been a role for the faint of heart. But in this moment—marked by political volatility, public distrust, and heightened scrutiny—it is tempting to confuse survival with leadership.
Many superintendents enter the new year focused on avoiding missteps. Staying aligned. Managing risk. Keeping the temperature down.
But the work of a superintendent has never been about comfort. It has always been about custodianship—of children, communities, and public trust.
And custodianship requires courage.
One of the most persistent myths in leadership is that courage is something you either have or you don’t—an innate personality trait reserved for the bold, the loud, or the fearless. That belief gives far too many leaders an easy out.
Courage is not a temperament.
It is not charisma.
And it is certainly not recklessness.
Courage is a choice.
The Lie We Tell Ourselves About Courage
Too often, leaders excuse their silence by claiming they are “not wired” for confrontation or that they prefer a more “measured” approach. What we are really saying, however, is that we have decided comfort is safer than consequence.
Yet we already know that silence has dire consequences for children.
When schools avoid addressing chronic absenteeism because the root causes are politically uncomfortable—poverty, housing instability, untreated trauma—students do not simply “catch up later.” They fall further behind academically, disengage socially, and are far more likely to disappear from systems altogether and we can never reach them.
When leaders hesitate to defend access to mental health supports because the topic has become contentious, kids do not become more resilient on their own. Anxiety, depression, and behavioral challenges show up in classrooms instead; often mislabeled as defiance rather than distress.
Courage does not mean charging ahead without thought.
It means deciding that children’s well-being will not be collateral damage in adult discomfort.
When “Staying Out of It” Is Still a Choice
Neutrality is not absence.
It is alignment—whether we acknowledge it or not.
When leaders choose silence in moments of harm, confusion, or injustice, the system does not pause.
For example:
- When districts quietly remove inclusive materials or student supports without explanation, students who already feel unseen learn an unspoken lesson: your identity is negotiable.
- When educators are discouraged from addressing real-world issues that students are already living through—violence, racism, economic instability—school becomes less safe, not more, because kids are left to process reality alone.
In each case, leaders may believe they are “avoiding controversy.” In practice, they are allowing uncertainty and fear to shape environments meant to be stabilizing for children.
Silence has weight.
Delay has impact.
And “waiting it out” is still a decision.
Leadership does not require us to have every answer. But it does require us to be clear about who we are responsible for—and that responsibility begins with kids.
The Cost of Comfort Leadership
Comfort leadership avoids friction.
It relies on language that sounds balanced but resolves nothing.
It mistakes caution for wisdom.
We see the cost of this when:
- Schools focus narrowly on test recovery while ignoring the trauma students carried into and out of the pandemic
- Discipline policies are softened in name but not reimagined in practice, leaving the same students disproportionately excluded
- Family engagement is celebrated rhetorically but under-resourced when translation, transportation, or trust-building is required
In each instance, adults remain protected while children absorb the instability.
People lose trust when leaders hedge.
Organizations drift when values are vague.
And cultures fracture when clarity is absent.
We do not need louder leaders.
We need clearer ones—especially when children’s learning conditions are at stake.
What Courage Actually Looks Like in 2026
Courage today looks like:
- Saying publicly that academic excellence and student well-being are not competing priorities
- Defending evidence-based supports—counseling, restorative practices, inclusive curriculum—because they work for kids, not because they are popular
- Naming when adult politics are undermining child-centered decision-making
- Setting boundaries with boards, communities, or external pressures when those pressures conflict with students’ safety or dignity
Courage is not about being fearless. It is about being anchored—in research, ethics, and an unwavering commitment to children.
The leaders who will matter most this year will not be the ones who avoid criticism. They will be the ones who can say, plainly and consistently: this decision protects kids, and that is why we are making it.
A New Year Call to Leaders
The new year offers all of us a choice.
We can lead carefully—hoping the turbulence settles without requiring too much of us.
Or we can lead courageously—understanding that schools, systems, and organizations charged with serving children do not have the luxury of waiting for perfect conditions.
Courage is not loud.
It is not performative.
But it is unmistakable when a leader decides that children are not negotiable.
2026 does not need neutral leadership.
It needs moral leadership—leadership willing to protect kids even when doing so is inconvenient.
And that begins with a choice—made again and again—to lead with clarity, conviction, and care.
My new book – Roaches in My Cereal: And The Moral Imperative to Reimagine School – drops tomorrow, January 13th.
(Preorder) https://lnkd.in/gst5zQhK
