Known Doesn’t Mean Protected

“It was not so much what Vicki did that night: it was what she said. It was not so much her behaviour: it was her vocabulary!”
― Patrick Hamilton, The Slaves of Solitude

Every Child Known… But Are They Valued?

Last week, I was critical of Metro Nashville Public Schools’ favorite trope, “every child known.” It’s a slogan that rolls off district tongues with all the ease of a well-rehearsed jingle. But this week, I’ve come to realize something far more unsettling:

“Every child known” may actually be more accurate than “every child valued.”

That shift in wording—just one verb—changes everything.

Because when a district knows a child is in danger, knows their history, knows their struggles, knows the warning signs… and still fails them, what does that tell us about the hierarchy of value? What does that tell families? What does it tell students?

And more importantly, what does it tell us about the adults in charge?

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Section One: A Child Lost, A System Exposed

In January of last year, Antioch High School experienced the unthinkable. A young man opened fire in the school cafeteria—killing a young woman before turning the gun on himself. A horrific tragedy in a school already burdened with more than its share of challenges.

But this wasn’t a lightning strike out of nowhere. It wasn’t random. And it wasn’t unforeseeable.

After the shooting, it was revealed that the gunman had previously been disciplined three months earlier for pulling a box cutter on another student.

Three months.
A box cutter.
A documented violent incident.

Parents pushed for metal detectors. They begged the district to implement the most basic security measure available. But MNPS Director of Schools Adrienne Battle refused, citing “unintended consequences” and fear that minority students might “feel anxious.”

I understand the concern. I understand the optics. I understand the argument.

But I also understand that none of these outweighed the need to keep kids safe.

Leadership means balancing competing priorities. But sometimes leadership also means acknowledging when you weighted the wrong side of the scale.

Despite these shortcomings—and others—the district has repeatedly insisted it did everything possible to keep that child safe.

Everything?

No. They didn’t.
And saying it louder doesn’t make it truer.

In the wake of the shooting, Dr. Battle ordered the implementation of the EVOLVE system in every high school. EVOLVE functions like a metal detector, though MNPS insists it’s “different than a metal detection system.” It’s now being installed in middle schools this fall.

The EVOLVE system is a welcome addition. But it is also far too late for two families.

Let’s be honest: if a child dies on your watch, you cannot say you did everything possible. You failed. You may not have intended to fail, but you failed all the same.

It is not unreasonable to demand a zero-tolerance approach to the death of a child in our schools.

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Section Two: The Price of a Life

As a result of their daughter’s death, the family filed a lawsuit in July 2025 in Davidson County Circuit Court. They sought $700,000—the maximum allowed under Tennessee’s Governmental Tort Liability Act.

Their argument was simple and painfully reasonable:
MNPS and Metro Nashville failed to protect students from harm, especially when administrators knew the shooter had a history of violent behavior.

This week, the MNPS Board of Education unanimously approved a settlement of $300,000—including attorney fees.

$300,000.

Less than half the maximum amount.
Less than Dr. Adrienne Battle’s annual salary.

Whether intentional or not, the board has placed a monetary value on that child’s life that is less than double what they recently spent renovating a bathroom for the superintendent.

Let that sink in.

$700K was already too low. Anything less than a million was an insult. Even though no dollar amount can ever be “enough,” at least seven figures would have signaled genuine, painful, uncomfortable acknowledgment of failure.

Instead, after court costs and fees, the family will receive less than the annual salary of MNPS chiefs.

That is an abomination.

Some argue the family’s attorney should have filed in federal court, where caps don’t exist. Maybe. There is also talk that the family—who are of Hispanic descent—did not want to sue at all. That could explain why the case went local instead of federal. I’m slow to criticize their decisions; I cannot imagine their grief. It makes me shudder just to think about it.

But even with all that in mind, MNPS could have simply paid the maximum amount while acknowledging wrongdoing and vowing to do better.

Instead, the Board of Education said that while it believes the school and district “took appropriate steps,” the settlement:

“reflects our commitment to supporting the family while preventing further trauma through protracted litigation.”

And here’s the part that sticks with me: why would there be prolonged litigation? If the district truly believes it acted appropriately, what exactly would be so “protracted” about the process? And if they know they failed, why not own it? The only thing prolonged here is the district’s commitment to avoiding accountability.

It reads like a wealthy man peeling a $10 bill off his roll of hundreds and saying,
“Here you go. Buy yourself something nice. Something to make you feel a little better.”

The statement released by Board Chair Frida Player does nothing to dispel that imagery. It’s political speech—carefully crafted, emotion-adjacent, and empathy-optional.

She wrote:

“Our hearts remain with the family of Josselin Corea Escalante following the tragic shooting at Antioch High School. From the first moments after this heartbreaking event, the Board of Education has worked alongside district leadership and community partners to provide support for the Antioch community and for those most deeply affected by this tragedy.

While we believe the school and district took appropriate steps at the time and continue to strengthen those efforts to protect students and staff, this settlement reflects our commitment to supporting the family while preventing further trauma through protracted litigation.

The safety and security of our students and staff remain our highest priority. Since this tragedy, the district has partnered with the Metro Nashville Police Department to increase the presence of School Resource Officers at Antioch High School and has expanded safety measures across the district, including the installation of advanced concealed weapon detection systems at every high school and ongoing expansion to middle schools.

We are grateful to the Metro Legal Department for helping to bring this resolution forward, and we once again extend our deepest condolences to Josselin’s family, friends, and all who continue to mourn her loss.”

Nowhere—nowhere—in that statement does Player take responsibility. After a single-sentence acknowledgment of the tragedy, she pivots to bragging about MNPS actions. She spends more time praising Metro Legal than mourning a dead child.

Do they truly not grasp that no matter what they do now—no matter how much they retrofit, re-imagine, or reinforce—a child went to school and never came home?

Your list of reactive actions doesn’t demonstrate your strength.
It demonstrates your earlier failures.

Here again, Maya Angelou tells the truth that no press release can varnish:

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time. People know themselves much better than you do. That’s why it’s important to stop expecting them to be something other than who they are.”

Amen.

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Section Three: Free Speech, Fallout, and Fear

In the wake of the recent Charlie Kirk assassination, several public school teachers were fired for social media posts critical of Kirk and mocking his death.

Distasteful? Sure.

Illegal? Hardly.

Most of those educators have since been reinstated.

In Williamson County, the latest reinstatement involves Franklin High School teacher Emily Orbison, who filed a federal lawsuit after her suspension and a “no contact” ban that prevented her from entering district property—including the campus where her own daughter attends school.

Orbison was reinstated on Nov. 11 with back pay from Sept. 15. Her reinstatement letter states that her:

“actions did not justify employee discipline.”

Yet the lawsuit still moves forward, leaving the question of whether she returns to the classroom unresolved.

In the reinstatement letter, the district outlined its thinking:

“The decision to return Plaintiff to her job does not mean that the suspension pending investigation unlawfully infringed upon Plaintiff’s protected speech — it was necessary to balance the competing interests before returning Plaintiff to a potentially volatile environment,” wrote attorney Lisa Carson.

“Indeed, in the immediate aftermath of Kirk’s death and Plaintiff’s comments, where community reaction was volatile and the risk of disruption was highest, the balance weighed in favor of the employer’s interest in protecting students and staff and avoiding disruption.”

Free speech is a funny thing. Most of us champion it enthusiastically—right up until someone says something we don’tlike.

Then suddenly the edges get blurry and the slope gets slippery.

I’ve always told my kids that our relationship should be rooted in transparency and honesty. But when they practice those values, it’s not always pretty. I often have to remind myself that discomfort is the cost of truth.

It’s messy. I walk back initial reactions more often than I’d like to admit.

But that’s the process.

The alternative—silence and suppression—is far worse.

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Section Four: Graduation Rates and Great Pretending

A recent TDOE report shows MNPS recording its second-highest graduation rate ever. Several historically disadvantaged groups—economically disadvantaged students, Black students, and students with disabilities—posted their highest rates on record.

Sounds impressive.

Until you look at the details.

The district’s overall graduation rate: 83%.

Hispanic students? Their rate dropped 6.1 percentage points in the 2024–25 school year, landing at 73.2%.

For context:

• Statewide graduation rate for Hispanic students: 86.2%

• MNPS graduation rate for Black students: 88.6%

• MNPS graduation rate for White students: 92%

MNPS is 34% Hispanic—yet Hispanic students are graduating at a rate 19 points below white students.

But sure, let’s celebrate.

Let’s also add a little context—graduation rates since 2018 have hovered between 81 and 83%. So this isn’t exactly a rocket-ship trajectory. It’s more like holding steady at mediocrity.

At a recent board meeting, student board member and MLK junior Ava Dakash asked a question the adults should have been asking themselves:

“How are we going to combat the fact that we’re losing graduation rates specifically from the Hispanic population, given that 14 percent of the Metro Nashville population is Hispanic?”

And while the city may be 14% Hispanic, the district is 34% Hispanic—a fact that deepens the urgency.

Dr. Battle, in typical fashion, blamed the state. She pointed to a new policy regarding which district counts a transferring student’s graduation outcome, noting MNPS had more of those students and couldn’t determine if all should be counted.

“Both state and federal policy changes (do) have an impact on things like graduation rates,” said Dr. Battle. “From a historical standpoint, the strategies that the team has had in place actually (are) working, and so we’ve got to continue to double down on those strategies.”

Working?

Graduation rates have remained flat for her entire tenure.

At some point, you either improve… or you admit you haven’t.

Because playing by federal rules isn’t optional. It’s the job.

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Section Five: What Comes Next

The through-line in all of these stories—Antioch’s tragedy, the lawsuit settlement, free speech cases, graduation rates—is painfully simple:

Leadership that avoids accountability always produces systems that avoid responsibility.

Every child known is meaningless if every child is not valued.
Every teacher’s voice is chilled when administrators fear discomfort more than truth.
Every graduation celebration is hollow if entire student populations are slipping backward.

This isn’t corporate media.
There’s no team, no budget, no handlers, no safety net.

It’s just me—trying to keep up, trying to keep you informed, and trying to say what others won’t.

If you value that, here’s how you can help:

💵 Venmo: @Thomas-Weber-10
💵 Cash App: $PeterAveryWeber
📬 Tips / story ideas: Norinrad10@yahoo.com

Until next time—remember:

The goal isn’t to survive life, but to live it.