We Elect School Board Members. Most of Us Don’t Know Who They Are.
Not long ago, I ran a poll in a private Facebook group focused on logic, compassion, and civic engagement. The members are thoughtful, politically aware, and many have deep roots in their communities. I asked one question:
Do you know the names of all the school board members in your district?
Two out of three said no.
That should concern all of us, not because it’s embarrassing, but because it’s telling. If even the most civically engaged among us can’t name who governs our schools, the problem isn’t with us. It’s with a system that’s made it easy to tune out and hard to plug in. A system that benefits when we’re too tired or too distracted to ask questions.
School boards in Colorado operate with remarkable autonomy. They shape curriculum, approve or ban books, negotiate contracts, and control decisions about charter schools, staffing, and school closures. They set the tone for what’s rewarded and what’s punished in classrooms. They steward vast amounts of property tax revenue. And they influence how history is framed, how sensitive topics are handled, and how well public schools reflect the diversity and complexity of the communities they serve.
Despite this reach, meaningful oversight is nearly nonexistent. The Colorado State Board of Education has no real enforcement authority. Legislators have repeatedly failed to include school boards within the jurisdiction of independent ethics commissions. Most operate entirely outside the spotlight. Their only real accountability comes from voters, many of whom never return a ballot.
That reality has weight in every community, including places like Montrose. Smaller districts can feel more accessible, more human-scale. But that same familiarity can make power less visible and more insulated. We assume things are working because we know someone on the board. Or because nothing feels broken.
Until it does.
And when local elections draw turnout below 40 percent, it only takes a small, determined group to shift a district’s trajectory. If you’ve ever looked up and wondered how your schools became a site for ideological power struggles, that’s where it begins.
The people who answered my poll weren’t apathetic. They were tired. Many said they used to follow board activity but got burned out. Some said they didn’t know where to look.
Others said they only knew the names because they worked in schools. And a few, pointedly, said they knew the names and wished they didn’t. That’s not indifference. That’s disconnection. And it’s telling us something if we’re willing to hear it.
So what do we do? You don’t need to sit through a three-hour board meeting or volunteer for a campaign to make a difference. You can look up your school board members. You can mention what you learn in one conversation, with a neighbor, a coworker, a friend. You can vote in the next school board election, even if you’re still learning what it all means.
Because here’s the quiet truth: school board elections aren’t just about education. They’re about who decides what counts as normal. They’re about whose voices are centered, and whose are sidelined. They’re about prioritizing millions of dollars of public funds. And when most of us sit it out, someone else decides for us.
To be clear, many school board members are thoughtful, principled public servants. This isn’t about villainizing them. It’s about recognizing that even the best-intentioned public bodies need public attention. Power without engagement, however well-meaning, still drifts. That’s how systems work.
If we want schools that reflect our values, we have to name who’s shaping them. That starts with knowing who’s at the table.
You don’t need permission to care. You just need a place to begin.
Start with one name. Start there.
Originally appeared in the Montrose Daily on June 25, 2025.