I’m sitting in an airport, returning home from a conference that brought together traditional, pro-freedom, merit-based educators from across the country. These teachers came from every region of the U.S., representing a variety of ages, races, and beliefs. This wasn’t a political event. It wasn’t sponsored by the Republican Party, and it wasn’t overtly religious. But it was filled with people who deeply love this country—people who have sacrificed much to teach, mentor, and protect your children.
You need to understand: there is a cost.
I listened to educators who have been pushed out of the profession, who’ve been bullied, slandered, and even one who suffered a stress-induced stroke just five months ago. I heard stories of frustration from teachers who feel abandoned—by administrators who won’t stand with them, and by parents who stay silent. And still, I pleaded with them: Try one more time.
These are not the leftist teachers protected by radical policies and complicit unions. These are the ones being hunted—for not practicing “radical kindness” or “radical inclusion,” for refusing to bow to ideologies that distort education and punish dissent.
Yes, I said hunted.
One speaker put it bluntly: “The issue is never the issue. The issue is the revolution.” These educators face retribution simply for upholding truth, merit, and moral clarity. They’re targeted by fellow teachers, administrators, school boards—even students indoctrinated into activism over understanding.
Some of them ran for school board seats without the backing of powerful unions or well-placed “friends.” They’ve had their cars vandalized, reputations shredded, and careers stalled. These are people of every background—many of them Black and Brown—who have dedicated their lives to this country’s future and now find themselves on the outside looking in.
Those who scream “tolerance” the loudest often show the least of it. The very ones who cry “fascist” are too often the ones wielding power with intolerance and control.
And yet… these teachers still stand.
They stand because they know. They know that truth is not up for debate. They know that the best teachers don’t follow fads or bend with the political winds. They teach with urgency, with love, and with deep knowledge. And they love their students—appropriately, powerfully.
Scripture warns, “Not many of you should become teachers, for you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly.” (James 3:1) In many cultures—such as Japan, India, and ancient Greece—teachers were revered just below God. That reverence isn’t misplaced. Teachers shape generations. They mold minds. And in today’s America, they are on the front lines of a cultural revolution.
Last night, we listened to Yeonmi Park, a North Korean defector who knows what it feels like to have freedom threatened. Her love of liberty and her warnings echoed through the room: The revolution is real—and it is here.
As I sit here, the word “pocket” comes to mind. On the plane beside me, a woman wears a badge: “Wellness Ambassador.” I don’t know her, but I can’t help but wonder if this new breed of “ambassador” resembles Soviet reporters of old. We now live in a time where common sense gathers in quiet corners, and those unwilling to shift with every cultural trend must flee to find solidarity.
Every revolution has its informants. Every totalitarian regime props up bullies and silences dissenters. When Jews were marched through towns, many churches just sang louder. Today, when educators are silenced, too many parents look away.
Someone said, “We must protect the profession of teaching, not individual teachers.” I understand the sentiment—but after what I’ve seen, that policy is ripe for weaponization. Today, it’s being used to remove truth-tellers from classrooms and replace them with ideologues.
One male teacher shared that he was forced to give a biological female the Male Student of the Year award—at a Christian school. Another teacher spent three months on unpaid leave before finally being honored with a $10,000 award for her courage to say no. That prize is not small—especially for a teacher.
Again and again, I heard the same question: When will anyone stand up for us?
I told them I’ve tried. I’ve never stopped respecting teachers—both the profession and the character of those who entered it for the right reasons. What I don’t respect is the co-opting of that profession. I don’t respect the lies mandated by ideology, the abuse of both students and teachers in the name of progress.
What must it cost a teacher to lie to a child—to affirm something they know isn’t true? To tell one student they are inherently more burdened, more oppressed, or more special based solely on skin color?
Did you know many liberal elites especially in education, speak slower to Black Americans? That’s not education—it’s empowered bigotry wrapped in virtue signaling.
What I saw and heard this week were teachers trying desperately to find a way back to sanity. Back to truth. Back to real, proven, effective teaching.
And I saw something else: deep weariness. A sense of hopelessness. These are not people who are easily shaken—but they are tired. After decades of faithful service, many now face disciplinary action, social isolation, and even threats—just for believing what they’ve always believed.
Some schools proudly fly one kind of flag but punish any outward sign of faith, tradition, or conservative values. And these teachers? They’re expected to keep their heads down and say nothing.
My plea to them—how can I help?—was often met with silence or hesitation. They’ve been let down before. They’re gun-shy. And who could blame them?
But my mind drifts to the past, to times in history when neighbors were marched off and good people did nothing. When churches sang louder. When grassroots candidates wondered why no one else would stand with them.
I remember the teachers who gave me my foundation—Mr. Garza, who taught me that my life was mine to shape; Miss Mac, who modeled both courage and cowardice, and taught me to discern the difference. I think of the sixth-grade teacher who never taught my son but taught her students to feel Flanders Field. The fourth-grade teacher who stands on his desk, tells jokes, and loves the children—all the more because he has none of his own.
These are the ones who spend their summers planning, who show up in parks to tell stories of hope. These are my heroes. And it has been painful to be painted as their enemy—just because I’ve spoken out about education policy.
My work has always been about defending them.
One of the final speakers reminded us that parents don’t just have rights—we have duties. We hand our children over to schools each day, assuming we’re giving them to heroes. But heroes are now the minority. Many are hindered by bad policy, progressive school boards, or radical colleagues.
So what can we do?
We must protect good teachers. We must ally with them. We must share the arrows. And we must recognize that NOT all teachers are the same.
The fire is raging. And our heroes are inside.