Let’s Be Honest: What Do We Really Want for Our Schools?

As Newfoundland and Labrador heads into a provincial election, it’s no surprise that education has reappeared on the campaign agenda. This week, the government announced that it will cover more of the cost of school supplies for students. At first glance, this seems like good news. After all, every parent knows how expensive the back-to-school season can be. But if we look a little closer, the announcement raises deeper questions—not just about budgeting, but about our priorities as a province and the values that guide public education.

The Promise and Its Appeal

The idea is straightforward enough: the government will negotiate large-scale purchases of school supplies and distribute them directly to schools, saving families a few dozen dollars per child. It sounds compassionate and practical. But public money always comes from somewhere, and every dollar spent in one direction means a dollar not spent elsewhere.

If this initiative costs several million dollars, could that money have been used instead to hire more teachers, reduce class sizes, or provide better learning supports? Would parents rather save forty or fifty dollars on pencils and binders—or know that their child’s class size was capped at twenty students, with enough time and attention for everyone? These are the kinds of trade-offs that rarely make it into the fine print of campaign promises, yet they determine the quality of education far more than any bundle of school supplies.

The Difference Between Relief and Reform

There is a difference between relief and reform. Relief is immediate—it makes people feel seen, and it can be politically effective. Reform, on the other hand, asks harder questions about structure, staffing, and sustainability. It addresses the conditions that make families feel squeezed in the first place. Covering the cost of basic supplies may ease a bit of frustration, but it doesn’t strengthen the foundation of our education system.

We know from decades of research that the most powerful factors in student success are the quality of teaching, the depth of relationships, and manageable class sizes. Those are the conditions that foster learning, trust, and care. No government can buy those outcomes in bulk.

Responsibility and Formation

There’s also an ethical layer that deserves attention. When government assumes responsibility for every small aspect of school life, it risks sending an unintended message: that citizens are no longer expected to contribute to the small acts of preparation and care that hold communities together.

We also see this tension in other areas of education. Schools are increasingly expected to assume social roles that extend far beyond their instructional responsibilities. Some of these, such as school breakfast and lunch programs, are essential—and we have strong evidence that well-nourished students learn better and thrive. Universal meal programs make sense because they remove barriers and support equity. However, there’s a difference between meeting a need and taking away the small moments that teach responsibility—the everyday lessons that help children grow into capable and caring citizens.

Consider something as simple as a pencil. When I was in Grade 5, I once used mine as a lever to pry open a box. I knew it might break—and of course it did. But that moment, trivial as it was, taught me something about care, consequence, and resourcefulness. If every broken pencil is instantly replaced without reflection, something quiet but important is lost.

There’s a risk that when children never experience the connection between care and consequence, they begin to take community resources for granted and assume that someone else will always fix things for them.

That’s not how responsibility—or democracy—works.

The habits that sustain a democratic life begin early, in the small acts of taking care, of repairing, and of recognizing that shared things require shared stewardship.

The Politics of Giving

Elections often tempt leaders to equate generosity with governance. But giving away what already belongs to the public is not the same as solving public problems. The role of government is not only to distribute resources—it is to steward them wisely, and to ensure that decisions reflect genuine public priorities rather than short-term popularity.

That doesn’t mean that helping families is wrong. Far from it. It means that we must ask: what kind of help leads to lasting benefit? Are we addressing root causes, or simply redistributing symptoms?

True leadership invites citizens into this conversation. It trusts parents, educators, and communities to weigh the trade-offs and express their values openly. That is the democratic work of self-government. When policies are announced without that dialogue—particularly during election campaigns—they risk becoming symbolic gestures rather than thoughtful reforms.

A Better Question

Perhaps the real question is not how much the government should provide, but what kind of society we are trying to build. If our goal is to cultivate thoughtful, responsible, and engaged citizens, then our policies should reflect that.

Imagine if the same political energy used to announce supply programs were directed toward a public dialogue on how to strengthen the teaching profession, improve early childhood education, or rebuild trust in our schools. Imagine if every parent and teacher had a voice in setting those priorities. That would be a genuinely democratic initiative—one rooted in the belief that the people most affected by education policy should help shape it.

Let’s Be Honest

A healthy democracy depends on citizens who expect more than gestures. We can—and should—care about the cost of living, but we must also care about the integrity of public decision-making. That means looking beyond the headlines and asking the hard questions: What are we teaching our children about responsibility? What do we expect from our leaders? And what role should citizens play in setting priorities—especially in education, where spending decisions shape our future as a community?

The answers to these questions won’t come from one leader or one policy. They come from the shared work of citizenship: thinking together, participating honestly, and insisting that our choices reflect not just what feels good in the moment, but what matters most—what truly helps children learn and grow, and what genuinely strengthens our schools and communities.