Tales from the Trenches

Email Emancipation: A Letter to the School Board and the Superintendent

Sometimes, the best way to start a revolution is with a warm cup of matcha—and a big dose of mutiny.

For years, I swallowed policies that felt like chains disguised as “procedure.” This year, I finally snapped. I fired off an email to the superintendent and the school board about my district’s “Notice Of Renewal” process—the one that forces us to commit to employment months ahead of time and threatens us with hefty fines if we change our minds later. Because yeah, apparently my life isn’t flexible, but their convenience sure is.

This document states, “The District reserves the right to transfer or reassign you.”
What this really means? They reserve the right to jerk you around.

On numerous occasions, teachers in my building didn’t know what they’d be teaching until days—sometimes hours—before the school year started. Some were moved to entirely different subjects, grade levels, or courses without warning, year after year. Others were reassigned to different buildings with little say in the matter.

My building alone has a rotating cast of traveling teachers—expected to flit between multiple schools in a single day like educational nomads. Within my department, the traveling art teacher role has been a revolving door since I started. Several teachers have quit mid-year just to preserve their mental health. And many more should have.

How, in any universe, can you expect educators to do their best work when they don’t even know what—or where—they’ll be teaching?

The “Notice of Renewal” also states:

  • You’ll be charged for any professional development provided to your replacement—if they don’t finish a full year.
  • You must give the district at least 30 days’ notice before leaving.
  • And you agree to pay liquidated damages to the district, based on the following timeline:

This isn’t a policy designed to support teachers. It’s a policy designed to trap them.

In any case, I’ve grown tired of the bullshit.

Below you’ll find the email I sent to the superintendent and the school board. The italicized parts are my internal dialog and were not part of the email.
Allow me to be crystal clear: this isn’t just a letter. It’s a statement. A demand for justice.
It’s a goddamn primal roar.


Dear Superintendent Blah, Blah, Blah, & School Board Members,

I am writing to express my serious concern and disappointment regarding the district’s “Notice of Renewal” process and the liquidated damages clause associated with it.

Okay, here’s where I start setting the tone—this is serious. I’m not tiptoeing.

I’ve worked for this district since 2011. I have given my time, my energy, my creativity, and—more often than not—my unpaid labor. Just this past school year, I spent over 24 unpaid hours packing and moving my classroom to accommodate district construction. That time was expected, and given without compensation—because I care about my students, my space, and the integrity of my work.

24 hours. Unpaid. Expected. And don’t forget, I’m the one who’s supposed to be grateful to work here.

And yet, according to this policy, if I choose to resign after June 15, I must pay the district for the inconvenience of replacing me. This tells me, in no uncertain terms, that the district values its own time and logistics—but not mine. My labor is expected. My flexibility is assumed. My professional autonomy? Financially penalized.

This part stings every time I say it out loud. My time has zero value unless it’s on their terms.

I understand that Wisconsin Statute §118.22 requires districts to issue contract renewals by May 15 and allows teachers until June 15 to respond. But that statute does not require the district to threaten financial punishment for any decision made after that date.

Just because they CAN do something doesn’t mean they SHOULD.

The liquidated damages clause—charging up to $2,000 for a post-deadline resignation—is coercive. And treating failure to respond by June 15 as a voluntary resignation is not just legally questionable; it’s ethically appalling.

Ethically appalling. Y’all, that’s putting it mildly.

In most other professions, employees are afforded the courtesy and flexibility to give two weeks’ notice without penalty. In ECASD, educators are trapped in a no-win choice: sign early and risk being fined if your life circumstances change, or don’t sign and be dismissed.

That’s the kicker: it’s a lose-lose. And they wonder why morale is tanking.

This approach is not a reflection of professionalism. It’s a reflection of control.

Control disguised as policy. No more.

I have waited years to speak up. Each year I quiet my anger, tell myself it’s not worth the fight, and convince myself to keep going. But I’m done waiting. I am speaking now—not only for myself, but for every educator who has silently absorbed the disrespect embedded in this process.

Silence is complicity. And I refuse.

I have emailed the school board asking for:

  • Clear documentation showing where this policy exists in my employment contract.
  • The specific statutory language used to justify both the fines and the automatic resignation.
  • Public discussion and re-evaluation of this practice in future board meetings.

If the district claims to value its educators, then its policies should reflect that—not contradict it.

Sincerely,

Tea


The System Is Burning—Let’s Build Something Better

Sending that email was more than just speaking my mind—it was reclaiming my power. Because if we keep swallowing disrespect and playing by rules designed to cage us, we become complicit in the very system that keeps us stuck. This email is my way of lighting a match under a whole damn pile of outdated rules and disrespect. Because if we keep pretending this is “just how it is,” we’re all part of the problem.

To every teacher reading this who feels boxed in by policies that don’t respect your humanity or your hustle: you’re not alone. Let’s stop simmering down and start rising up.

Pour your matcha, feel the fire, and emancipate yourselves from the absurdity of the system.