President Donald Trump’s second first 100 days have already felt like being trapped inside a Russian novel—and we’re barely underway.
Here’s my take on what we’ve seen in K-12. Be forewarned, you’ll need to look elsewhere for a blistering denunciation or an exercise in cheerleading. That’s because I’m feeling pretty conflicted. On the one hand, I support Team Trump’s priorities and vision. On the other, I think responsible government is less a matter of what you intend to do than what you actually do. And, on that score, there’s much to give me pause.
Character is destiny, in Russian novels as in life, and what we’re seeing reflects Trump’s. But unlike Trump 1.0, when his staff often tempered his impulsiveness, bombast, and distaste for detail, we’re getting the Full Trump this go-round. I didn’t fully anticipate the resulting chaos. Much of what’s happened over the past three-plus months has startled me. It’s not the priorities that have surprised me: I anticipated the emphasis on diversity, equity, and inclusiveness; gender ideology; school choice; and reducing the federal footprint. But I’ve been taken aback by the number and sweep of executive orders, the blunderbuss posture, and just how indiscriminate DOGE proved to be.
What’s surprised me in particular? First, what we’ve seen has been far less deliberate than I’d expected, given the Trump team’s thick (metaphorical) playbook and deep bench of talent. Second, the prominence and relentless aggression of the DOGE chainsaw. Third, the taste for confrontation, even when it made it tougher to rack up wins. Fourth, the failure to coherently make the case for many of their more controversial actions.
Look, I thought DOGE had enormous potential. I’ve long argued that the U.S. Department of Education could be run far more efficiently and responsibly—as have others, like Mark Schneider, my AEI colleague and a former director of the Institute of Education Sciences (IES). The department suffered under a troubled culture and a padded payroll, and its contracts would benefit from a good scouring. Moreover, previous administrations have lacked the will (or even the desire) to tackle any of this. So I was inclined to give DOGE’s grip-it-and-rip-it tactics a chance. But I noted that success would depend on the coherence of what followed. What we got was a capriciousness and clumsiness that raised red flags. DOGE’s mission was to promote efficiency and ensure money is spent on the things that matter. Well, months after ED’s contracts were yanked and staff were first let go, it’s entirely unclear that this will produce a more effective agency—and not just a smaller one. There’s been a disconcerting lack of clarity about what’s being cut, the rationale for specific cuts, how much money is being saved, or how things will work going forward.
Take the National Assessment of Educational Progress. DOGE either ignored the secretary of education’s promise to preserve NAEP or didn’t realize that it was cutting NAEP-essential staff and contracts (similar lapses, of course, have been evident across a number of agencies). While the small NAEP unit attached to the National Assessment Governing Board was preserved, that team is charged with management, strategy, and communications. The staff members who actually coordinated and crunched the data for NAEP got wiped out, along with more than 90 percent of IES. As the administration scrambles to recover from this misstep, NAEP is getting put back together with bubble gum and duct tape, while chunks of it (including the U.S. history test) are jettisoned. I get less of an impression of streamlining than of DOGE just gutting everything in its path.
Trump’s executive order to dismantle the Department of Education is better understood as an emphatic memo asking the secretary of education to do what she was already doing (since abolishing the department or moving components to other agencies requires an act of Congress). That’s why many of us assumed the president would urge Congress to act and then focus on things he could control. Instead, the long-shot push to dismantle ED plays on, even as Team Trump reassures everyone that no spending cuts are coming to ED’s major programs like Title I, IDEA, or Pell Grants (though there’s been talk of moving IDEA, for instance, to the Department of Health and Human Services—a move that would require not-in-the-cards congressional approval). Trump’s budget proposal does call for zeroing out Head Start, though it’s unclear whether Congress will go along. Moreover, the push to shrink Washington’s role sits uneasily alongside the new executive order on artificial intelligence, which calls for Uncle Sam to actively promote AI integration in schools.
Then there’s DEI. Obviously, those who support DEI hate everything Trump has done on this count. If you’re like me, though, you think the administration has a compelling case. Federal civil rights law requires schools and colleges to abide by the Civil Rights Act’s prohibition on discrimination based on race, color, or national origin. It seems obvious that when school officials are organizing race-based affinity groups or restricting programs based on student race or ethnicity, they are violating federal law—and creating a “hostile learning environment” for some students. Moreover, since 2021, four years of state-level legislative and legal efforts have offered up lessons about how to craft directives and legislation that are broadly popular and take First Amendment concerns seriously. I expected the administration’s ability to draw on those experiences would be an enormous boon.
Well, that hard-earned wisdom sure seems to have fallen by the wayside. The administration’s executive order and “Dear Colleague Letter” on DEI did little to distinguish between discriminatory conduct by schools, on one hand, and classroom instruction or materials that touched on matters of race, on the other. The federal government’s role in education policy has always been a contentious issue, with debates over the extent of its authority and the limits of its interference. The current administration’s efforts to address diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) in schools have sparked controversy, with critics arguing that the Department of Education (ED) is overstepping its bounds and infringing on First Amendment rights.
One of the main points of contention is the administration’s directive on DEI, which some argue is an attempt to impose a particular ideological agenda on schools. However, legal challenges have raised doubts about the legality of these directives, leading some state education chiefs to reject them on the grounds of protecting the First Amendment. This has put the administration in a difficult position, as it tries to balance its commitment to DEI with concerns about government overreach.
Similar conflicts have arisen in other areas of education policy, such as gender identity. While the administration’s clarification of Title IX’s use of “biological sex” has been praised for upholding the law, its aggressive enforcement tactics have raised concerns about presidential authority and due process. The administration’s actions in this area have also faced legal challenges, highlighting the need for a more measured approach to policy implementation.
On the issue of school choice, the administration has taken steps to expand educational freedom and opportunity for families. Executive orders have been issued, and regulations have been lifted to make programs more choice-friendly. However, the administration’s reliance on executive action has raised concerns about the stability and sustainability of these policies, as they can easily be reversed by future administrations.
Overall, the administration’s approach to education policy has been characterized by a mix of bold initiatives and questionable tactics. While there is a clear need for reform and innovation in the education system, the administration must be mindful of legal constraints, due process, and the need for bipartisan support. By engaging with stakeholders, respecting established laws, and pursuing legislative solutions, the administration can ensure that its efforts to improve education are both effective and enduring. With time still left in the administration’s term, there is an opportunity to course-correct and build on the successes achieved so far. As I sit here, enveloped in a cloud of melancholy and introspection, I can’t help but feel like a character in a Russian novel. The weight of the world seems to rest upon my shoulders, and every decision I make feels like a matter of life and death.
In the world of Russian literature, characters are often faced with moral dilemmas and existential crises. They grapple with the complexities of human nature, the futility of existence, and the harsh realities of life. It is a world where passion and despair collide, where love and loss go hand in hand, and where every moment is pregnant with meaning.
I suppose this is what it feels like to be a character in a Russian novel – to be constantly torn between the forces of good and evil, to navigate the treacherous waters of love and betrayal, and to confront the harsh truths of the human condition. It is a world of contradictions and paradoxes, where beauty and brutality coexist in perfect harmony.
As I navigate through the twists and turns of my own personal narrative, I can’t help but feel a sense of kinship with the characters of Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Chekhov. Like them, I am haunted by my own demons, driven by my own desires, and consumed by my own doubts. I am a flawed and complex being, struggling to make sense of a world that often seems senseless and cruel.
But in the midst of this chaos and confusion, there is also beauty and grace. There is the promise of redemption, the possibility of transformation, and the hope of a better tomorrow. Like the characters in a Russian novel, I am constantly striving to find meaning and purpose in a world that often seems devoid of both.
So as I continue on my journey, grappling with my own inner demons and external challenges, I take solace in the knowledge that I am not alone. I am part of a long and storied tradition of characters in Russian literature, each one struggling to find their place in a world that is both familiar and strange, comforting and terrifying.
And perhaps, in the end, that is the true beauty of being a character in a Russian novel – the realization that we are all connected, all part of the same grand tapestry of life, love, and loss. In that realization, there is both comfort and despair, hope and resignation, joy and sorrow. And in that realization, there is the essence of what it means to be truly human.
