“By shifting to this adaptive model,” Sterling continued, his voice booming, “we project a 30% increase in standardized test throughput and a significant reduction in staffing costs over five years. We are removing the variable of subjective bias.”
Subjective bias.
That was the phrase that made me stand up.
My lower back popped. My knees groaned. I wasn’t trying to make a scene; I just couldn’t sit there and let him call my life’s work a “variable.”
“Excuse me,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but in the dead silence of that room, it carried.
Dr. Sterling stopped mid-stride. He looked at me, shielding his eyes from the stage lights. “We’ll have a breakout session for questions later, sir.”
“I’m not asking a question,” I said, stepping into the aisle. “I’m offering a correction.”
I walked toward the front. I don’t walk fast these days, but I walk with purpose. I could feel the eyes of the young teachers on me—the ones who are drowning in paperwork and fear, the ones who are quitting within their first three years.
“You used the word ‘bias,’” I said, facing the stage. “And you talked about ‘frictionless’ learning. I want to tell you about friction.”
I turned to look at the room, then back at Sterling.
