My inclination to research grassroots activism opposing urban school closure was more visceral than intellectual, even though school closure and urban education are not part of my educational experience. I thought of the devastation of losing one’s school and, in particular, how deeply confusing it must be for a child, on the one hand, to regard school as a positive, safe space (or, at the very least, as a familiar space) with adults who care about them and, on the other hand, to hear powerful adults saying that their school is no longer worthy of existing.

As I researched mass school closures in Chicago, New York City, Philadelphia, and D.C., my reading affirmed that conversations and decisions about school closure, like all urban education issues, are situated within discourses about racial, economic, and social justice, privatization, and community voice. While I do not feel particularly hopeful about the current progression of urban school closures, this research affirmed that many communities greatly  appreciate and value their local public schools and that, even though many schools have been closed, something intangible and significant is created when the school community bands together and holds tight to the memory of the school in its former life.

• Schools and communities are “live” entities.
  I first learned the term “palimpsest” in a history course; the noun describes a manuscript that has been erased and reused but still holds traces of earlier writings. We were introduced to “palimpsest” as a metaphor describing cities like London that have a layering of historic influences, writings, and voices. The article entitled “Documenting disappearing spaces: Erasure and remembrance in two high school closures” led me to think about schools in this manner, as entities and spaces that are not solely bounded in a physical sense, that can be revised, recast, and influenced by past, present, and future individuals.
  I gained a sense of hopefulness by reading of grassroots activist work before school closure seems imminent, when messages about the goodness of particular public schools seem powerful and potent against closure proposals. After watching videos of very young children testifying in support of their public schools, I noticed their ownership of their own school experience and their sense of partnership with their school, acknowledging that their satisfaction with school was impacted by their attitude, by the work of their teachers, and by their trust that the school would hold all of these considerations close. This was a welcome reminder of how important it is for school spaces to be safe, trusted places and how wonderful it is for students, teachers, parents, and school community members to feel as though they are part of the school, that there is a merging of values, and that the community feels that they have ownership and control over the happenings of schools.

  Unfortunately, this image is quickly overshadowed by school closures in urban communities and the reality that, with school closure comes erasure and denied access. Ayala and Galletta (2012) write that “erasure not only removes bodies, space, and memory, but it also decenters neighborhoods and detaches youth and their families from buildings that hold meaning and tradition.”^{3 (p. 152)} They also write that school “closing denies communities a public institution and space that holds the capacity for rebuilding and redefining oneself.”^{3 (p. 152)} For the most part, closure prevents schools from being the palimpsests they once may have been and disconnects any shared relationships the local community felt toward the school institution and school community.

  In some cases, students are able to “rebuild” their connection to a new institution; Ayala and Galletta write of students who “felt like their accomplishments in band, athletics, model UN, and other curricular and extracurricular activities [in their new small school] were not just their own but contributed to the greater good of the school.”^{3 (p. 151)} However, much of the resources did not follow students who experienced school closure into their next school and I predict that entry into new school spaces does not always follow this trajectory.

• When school closure happens, it does not negate activist efforts.
  Ayala and Galletta write that “acts of erasure… can remove the necessary psychological space, individually and institutionally, for questioning, productive conflict, and ongoing transformative educational change” and “productive conflict…is necessary to generate substantive educational change and to reassert the notion of the public sphere.”^{3 (p. 154)} Despite the physical erasure of closed schools, I would argue that the activist work I saw through this research is made up of “productive conflict” – that transformative educational change is not confined to particular institutions, and that public education still exists with the possibility of further transformation somewhat viable.

  Finnigan and Lavner remind us that “because recent school closings originate from local district and state decisions in relation to federal school accountability policies, they do not reflect community will or activism.”^{2 (p. 152)} While this is generally true, after reading Ayala and Galletta’s article, which mentions a high school closure in the 1990s prompted by parent outrage at the school’s failure and the school system’s failure to improve conditions, I wonder about activist-induced school closures, which likely are not influenced by corporate or private interests, may not be unfairly targeting particular communities, and may appropriately address a real community need for quality schooling. I would like to learn more about whether community-induced school closure occurs with any frequency in large urban districts and whether community members are heard in a meaningful sense.

  On a related note, I am curious about situations in which multiple schools are slated for closure, closure of at least one school seems inevitable, and activists end up advocating for one school over another school. Finnigan and Lavner mention this situation in their article. My prediction is that some of the grassroots organizations I researched would not support one school over another but instead would continue to resist closures for any schools, citing general divestment in public education and arbitrary favoring of certain statistics over others when selecting which school(s) will close.

• Social media presents numerous advantages and a few significant limitations.
  My own interests in literacy’s role in identity development, agency, and voice intersect with this research venture, since activist work depends so heavily on being informed about issues, being connected to reliable news sources, being connected to allies and advocates, and feeling secure in one’s beliefs and able to speak and write with power and influence. Finnigan and Lavner write about the research that the community ad hoc committee was supposed to read and relay the findings back to the school board to “incorporate” community voice. Committee members commented that the materials often were dense, sophisticated, academic, and difficult – beyond the comprehension of people who did not speak English or did not know English well.^{2 (p. 138)}

  While social media offers so many opportunities, I feel a similar conflict concerning the digital divide and the resources required to have reliable mobile access to the Internet and to spend time routinely searching education news forums. I believe we still have work to do before significantly disadvantaged individuals and communities can easily access activist circles and modes of operation.