Guest Post By Salty Peanut:
Delaware’s education policies are relics from an era when students carried Walkmans—or worse, when their parents picked them up in cars playing 8-tracks. The state has 19 public school districts, three vocational-technical districts, and 23 charter schools, all operating independently rather than as part of a cohesive system. This fractured structure leads to disparities in resources, policies, and student outcomes. Our state ranks 45th nationally in education outcomes, a glaring indicator of systemic failure.
In the 2023-2024 school year, only 33% of students achieved proficiency in math, and 40% in English Language Arts (ELA). High school students didn’t fare any better, with 45% scoring proficient or higher in reading and a dismal 18% in mathematics on the SAT.
These aren’t just numbers; they’re flashing red lights on the dashboard, warning us that the engine is about to blow. Yet, during the recent Joint Finance Committee (JFC) hearing, the Department of Education (DOE) seemed content with minor tune-ups instead of the complete overhaul we desperately need.
Consider the Maurice Pritchett Sr. Academy in Wilmington. Before even discussing new schools, it’s important to acknowledge the structure Delaware operates within. In Wilmington alone, students are split among the Brandywine, Christina, and Red Clay districts, with no single comprehensive public high school serving the city itself. This leaves many students attending suburban schools far from their communities. Meanwhile, Sussex County is divided among eight independent school districts, including Indian River and Laurel, each governing its own set of schools. Sussex is also home to one charter school, the Sussex Academy of Arts & Sciences. These structural inefficiencies make statewide reform nearly impossible. It’s commendable that we’re opening new schools in the city for the first time in decades, but as of now, the academy doesn’t even have a principal. How do you open a brand-new school in a struggling city and not even have a principal? That’s not a minor administrative issue—it’s a flashing neon sign that says “We’re making it up as we go along.” Similarly, The Bayard School is also operating without a principal.
Then there’s the Woodbridge School District, encompassing areas like Bridgeville and Greenwood in lower Delaware. Despite serving approximately 2,500 students, the district’s superintendent earns about $170,000 annually. This situation arises because school systems prefer to remain independent rather than merge and share resources, leading to inefficiencies. And while school systems will never admit that culture (and for sure not race) plays a role in why they don’t want to merge, the reality is that in many parts of Delaware—from Wilmington to lower Delaware—post-integration, families who could afford to send their kids to private schools, particularly so-called private Christian schools, did just that. These schools provided a way for parents to cite “religious education” as their reason for pulling out of the public school system while avoiding openly stated racial motives.
This reality doesn’t just impact students of color in struggling schools above the canal. Inner-city schools in Wilmington, which serve mostly minority students, and rural schools in lower Delaware, which serve mostly white students, face many of the same systemic problems—underfunding, teacher shortages, and declining performance. Yet, political divisions, racial tensions, and cultural differences keep these communities from seeing that they are two sides of the same coin. Instead of uniting to demand systemic change, they remain divided, allowing Delaware politicians to maintain the status quo without real accountability.
Delaware is small enough that these problems should be fixable. But the state isn’t just dealing with bureaucratic inefficiencies—this is a political and cultural divide as well. Wilmington and New Castle County, predominantly Democratic and urban, often push for state-led education reform, while lower Delaware, predominantly Republican and rural, prioritizes local control and resists centralization. This tension creates a convenient dynamic: Republican representatives in lower Delaware benefit from maintaining their constituents’ independence from northern influence, while Democrats in Wilmington and Dover blame the lack of statewide progress on Republican obstruction. It’s a perfect political equation—each side gets a villain, and the cycle continues. We’re not running a massive system like New York or California. And yet, because of the “Delaware Way”—this polite, insider-friendly, don’t rock the boat mentality—no one actually does the hard work of fixing it. Instead, politicians patch over the problems, assuming voters won’t push for real accountability.
Take our infatuation with charter schools. Marketed as innovative solutions, they’ve often deepened racial and economic divides, siphoning resources from public schools without delivering on their promises of superior performance.
Then there’s the issue of chronic absenteeism, affecting 25% of our students statewide. This isn’t just about kids skipping class; it’s a symptom of unreliable transportation, inadequate mental health support, and disengagement stemming from underfunded and understaffed schools.
And let’s not forget the teacher shortage, with over 1,000 unfilled positions last year. Our solution? Relying on long-term substitutes lacking proper certification, leaving our most vulnerable students without the qualified educators they desperately need.
Before we can tailor a new, well-fitted educational framework, we must confront our current state. Ignoring the strained seams and worn fabric of our system won’t make the problems disappear. As one lawmaker aptly noted, “We can’t set goals to improve without first acknowledging where we stand.” This means embracing uncomfortable truths and being willing to make bold changes.
Delaware’s education system isn’t failing because of one political party—it’s failing because both sides avoid doing the hard work. Republicans claim Democratic leadership is the problem, but red states like Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana rank even worse. Meanwhile, Delaware Democrats govern more like corporate centrists than progressives, keeping the system just intact enough to avoid real scrutiny. Both sides dodge systemic reform because those take time and don’t win quick votes.
That means finally scrapping the outdated funding model, raising teacher salaries to a competitive level, stopping the unchecked expansion of charter schools, creating a real transportation plan for students, and giving local districts more power to make decisions based on their unique needs. These aren’t Democratic or Republican ideas—they’re common-sense reforms that any competent government should be implementing.
And while teachers and schools must do their part, we also need to acknowledge that many students come to school facing challenges that go beyond what any teacher can fix. Education doesn’t happen in a vacuum. If a child doesn’t have access to adequate meals at home because of the rising cost of groceries, or if they can’t even get a comfortable night’s sleep because their parents are afraid to turn the heat up too high due to soaring Delmarva energy costs, their ability to learn is already compromised before they step into a classroom. These are the types of factors that government regulation and intervention could help address, but instead, policymakers would rather act as if education exists in a bubble, unaffected by the larger economic conditions impacting students’ lives.
So what’s Delaware going to do? Are we going to keep pretending this fragmented system somehow functions, even as districts pull in different directions, charter schools siphon resources without accountability, and local control remains an untouchable sacred cow? Keep tugging at the seams, pretending this bloated, outdated system will somehow hold together? Or finally rip the whole thing off and build something that actually fits? Because the truth is, we don’t have a choice. The coat isn’t just too small—it’s already split wide open in the back, and while we’re still strutting around like it fits, everyone else is laughing at the giant tear flapping behind us.