As school began this fall, my fifth-grade daughter Willa came home one night and spent an hour selling magazines — to me, to her grandparents, and others — for a company called American Publishers. All her peers were doing the same thing.
In fact, at assembly, instead of learning about math or history, music or science, she saw a presentation on how to sell the magazines. Last year, the school raised $16,000 thanks to this program. “Good for them!” I thought.
But the next week, Willa came home selling tulips. Through that program, the school raises money for field trips, which they can’t otherwise afford. So I bought some tulips, even though the deer destroy them in the spring. But this second sales pitch got me thinking. What was going on here?
Willa’s becoming a very good magazine and tulip saleswoman. But if things keep going like this, that’s what she’s going to be when she grows up. And anyway, I’d rather just give the school money directly, instead of supporting some business that’s making a bankload off my daughter’s labor, and only cutting the schools in on a portion of the revenue.
When I tried to explain this to Willa — the marginal benefit, the bankruptcy of the whole approach — her 10-year-old eyes gave me a look I expect I’ll see much move of over the years: “You are such a downer, Dad!” And she pointed out: “If I sell six magazines, I get to be in the cash hurricane!” (Don’t ask.)
It’s hardly the school’s fault. Her principal is excellent; he understands the challenges, and the irony, around these fundraisers. But the fact is that Colorado spends $1,397 less per pupil than the national average, ranking 43rd in the country by that metric. These fundraisers are the last resort of a school system starved of funding.
Most Coloradans know that the reason we’re in this pickle is because of two constitutional amendments. The first is the Taxpayer’s Bill of Rights, or TABOR, which in part limits state spending and bars lawmakers from raising taxes without a vote of the people. The second is the Gallagher Amendment, which has pushed down assessment rates on residential property, which is a primary source of school funding.
Hardly a bill of rights for taxpayers, these two laws are a prison sentence, and condemn our children and citizens to desperate solutions — like selling tulips instead of doing homework or, like the newest wacky proposal to fund education, Amendment 68, allowing gambling at a racetrack outside Denver. Taxing gambling revenue, which is a tax on the poor, is an unethical and unreliable source of income. But I can’t blame people for eyeing the money longingly.
To make up for the general shortfall of funding, Willa’s school asked us to pay $50 for supplies. We had the same request from her brother’s school. Ironically, this money is about the size of a school funding tax proposed in the RE-2 district, just west of us, a few years ago. That levy was voted down. But when the schools moved to four-day school weeks as a result, parents undoubtedly had to pay that amount every couple of weeks for daycare, or they lost income when they had to stay home with their kids. And on top of that, like us, they likely had to pay a fee for school supplies at the beginning of the year anyway.
As both Colorado and America face an election that may swing the Senate and state governorships toward “small government” and anti-tax candidates who often argue we’re doing just fine even with lower school funding, it’s worth considering the costs of what many call “fiscal responsibility.”
But Colorado’s new science and social studies standardized tests put the lie to that notion. Results show that fewer students are meeting or exceeding standards. In social studies, 17 percent of fourth- and seventh-graders tested to the “strong and distinguished” level. In science, only a third of fifth and eighth-graders reached that level. Meanwhile, Colorado’s teachers are the 44th worst paid in the nation, and real teacher salaries have dropped 13 percent over 20 years. That means our schools have a hard time retaining quality teachers.
Colorado will never be the leader it should, or the place of promise and hope its landscape and history suggest, if we continue to elect leaders whose anti-tax ideology targets our youngest, and most promising, citizens.
Auden Schendler is a a vice president at Aspen Skiing Company. He lives in Basalt.
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