Why I'm Relieved the Through-Year Testing Bill Failed in Texas
I’m genuinely relieved that the through-year testing bill failed in Texas. And just to be clear—that’s not because I’m a fan of STAAR, or because I subscribe to the tired claim that we can’t understand how schools are doing without standardized testing. Nor is it only because the Senate’s version of the bill handed even more power to an unelected commissioner already running roughshod over public education (though that’s certainly part of it).
The real issue runs deeper.
This was a debate about which standardized test is best for accountability, without asking the most fundamental question:
The answer is unequivocally no.
When we argue that one version of this sort of testing is better than another, we trap ourselves in a false choice. Well-intentioned folks may feel they’re pushing for progress, but they’re really just reinforcing the same flawed structure with different packaging. And if the alternative test fails to deliver—as it inevitably will—those who pushed for it lose credibility in shaping future conversations. What looks like a win ends up undermining the case for deeper, more meaningful change.
That’s why I’m relieved the bill failed. Because now we have a chance to shift the conversation to where it truly belongs, to what accountability should be, not just how often we do the wrong thing. That conversation starts with two core truths:
1. Texas—and the federal government—chose the wrong accountability model from the start.
Our system is rooted in compliance, not effectiveness. In nearly every other profession, compliance is simply a license to operate—it’s the floor, not the ceiling. It says, “You’re allowed to do the work,” not, “You’re doing excellent work.”
Yet in education, we’ve allowed compliance to masquerade as a signal of quality. It isn’t. It can’t be. Until we clearly separate those two concepts, no amount of testing—however frequent or sophisticated—will give us a meaningful picture of our schools.
2. Standardized testing is a limited tool—and we’re asking it to do too much.
At its best, standardized testing can reveal patterns in student learning across large groups. It can surface trends in literacy, numeracy, or other measured skills. But it cannot tell us why those patterns exist.
Some underlying causes warrant judgment. Others don’t. And unless we pair test scores with deeper analysis and context—something only more holistic evaluation can provide—we’re left guessing. When we draw hard lines on a test and call one side “effective” and the other “ineffective,” we’re engaging in a false precision that produces neither clarity nor fairness.
Texas spends over $100 million a year on an accountability system that fails to do the one thing it’s supposed to: identify school quality.
For three decades in Texas, schools have operated under a system that misreads them while insisting it sees them clearly. Educators are then forced to treat that distorted picture as truth. It’s not just frustrating; it’s demoralizing. And even the most committed leaders struggle to thrive in an environment built on misrepresentation.
That’s why I’m glad the through-year testing bill failed. Because instead of debating whether to do the wrong thing once or three times a year, we now have the chance to ask a better question:
What would it look like to do the right thing instead?
The real issue runs deeper.
This was a debate about which standardized test is best for accountability, without asking the most fundamental question:
Can any standardized test—regardless of how often it’s given—accurately determine the quality of a school?
The answer is unequivocally no.
When we argue that one version of this sort of testing is better than another, we trap ourselves in a false choice. Well-intentioned folks may feel they’re pushing for progress, but they’re really just reinforcing the same flawed structure with different packaging. And if the alternative test fails to deliver—as it inevitably will—those who pushed for it lose credibility in shaping future conversations. What looks like a win ends up undermining the case for deeper, more meaningful change.
That’s why I’m relieved the bill failed. Because now we have a chance to shift the conversation to where it truly belongs, to what accountability should be, not just how often we do the wrong thing. That conversation starts with two core truths:
1. Texas—and the federal government—chose the wrong accountability model from the start.
Our system is rooted in compliance, not effectiveness. In nearly every other profession, compliance is simply a license to operate—it’s the floor, not the ceiling. It says, “You’re allowed to do the work,” not, “You’re doing excellent work.”
Yet in education, we’ve allowed compliance to masquerade as a signal of quality. It isn’t. It can’t be. Until we clearly separate those two concepts, no amount of testing—however frequent or sophisticated—will give us a meaningful picture of our schools.
2. Standardized testing is a limited tool—and we’re asking it to do too much.
At its best, standardized testing can reveal patterns in student learning across large groups. It can surface trends in literacy, numeracy, or other measured skills. But it cannot tell us why those patterns exist.
Some underlying causes warrant judgment. Others don’t. And unless we pair test scores with deeper analysis and context—something only more holistic evaluation can provide—we’re left guessing. When we draw hard lines on a test and call one side “effective” and the other “ineffective,” we’re engaging in a false precision that produces neither clarity nor fairness.
Texas spends over $100 million a year on an accountability system that fails to do the one thing it’s supposed to: identify school quality.
For three decades in Texas, schools have operated under a system that misreads them while insisting it sees them clearly. Educators are then forced to treat that distorted picture as truth. It’s not just frustrating; it’s demoralizing. And even the most committed leaders struggle to thrive in an environment built on misrepresentation.
That’s why I’m glad the through-year testing bill failed. Because instead of debating whether to do the wrong thing once or three times a year, we now have the chance to ask a better question:
What would it look like to do the right thing instead?
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