Abstract
The school-to-prison pipeline (STPP) describes in shorthand the problematic relationship between some students’ school experiences and their subsequent incarceration. One summer, in response to vocal concerned parents, a suburban school board adopted a zero-tolerance policy for smoking and vaping. Through the combined effects of the zero-tolerance approach, exclusionary punishments, the presence of SROs (school resource officers), racially disproportionate disciplinary practices, and a culturally nonresponsive school setting, 90 students were introduced to the criminal justice system in one school year. This case helps school leaders examine the elements of the STPP and how they work together to damaging effect. The questions and activities will guide readers to develop multiple ways to forestall and/or repair STPP supporting policies and practices.
Introduction
This case brings the school-to-prison pipeline (STPP) metaphor to life. The STPP describes in shorthand the problematic relationship between some students’ school experiences and their subsequent incarceration. Not a single system or policy, the STPP represents a “pervasive pattern” of systems and policies that push students away from school success and instead pull them toward involvement with the criminal justice system (Okilwa et al., 2017, p. 3). Critics of the STPP heuristic rightly argue that talking about a school to prison connection ignores what are potentially larger pipes funneling certain citizens into the criminal justice system (Ward, 2017). Other critics argue that the STPP is a myth, that the data on specific policies that have been linked to the STPP do not necessarily describe a marked causal relationship (McGrew, 2016). However, neither the presence of other prison push-ins nor the complexity of the STPP absolves schools from an urgent examination of their role. School leaders must understand the intersectional, subtle, and/or layered impacts of a program or policy on their school community. In this case, readers will be challenged to unpack these nuances of the STPP and create better policies and practices.
Case Narrative
In the summer of 2018, several families with students attending Barrow High School alerted their school board about a safety problem. Barrow Independent School District is a small suburban school district in the Southwest comprising eight schools, about 7,000 students, including Barrow HS. Barrow’s largely affluent population has a median household income 14% higher than the median for the bordering urban hub, and only a handful of students receive free or reduced-price lunch in the district. Most students are White, not Hispanic (71%). There is also a sizable Latino/a population (24%) and a small number of Black (1%), Asian (2%), and students who identify with two or more races (3%). The school leadership and board are all White, non-Hispanic, and the faculty is overwhelmingly White, non-Hispanic (84%). Barrow has for several years received very high marks (“B+” and “A”) through the state’s assessment process.
The concerned parents spoke passionately to the board about how unsafe their students felt going into certain bathrooms on campus because of students loitering to smoke. The board sympathized with the parents and adopted a zero-tolerance policy for smoking and vaping. Having recently contracted with the county sheriff for a third deputy to serve as school resource officer (SRO), the board decided that, moving forward, any student caught with smoking or vaping material was to be cited by law enforcement and sent to the Disciplinary Alternative Education Program (DAEP) for the state-mandated minimum of 30 days. This change was reflected in all appropriate policy documents, including the student code of conduct shared with parents and students electronically at the start of the new year. In the school’s jurisdiction, these class C misdemeanors required a court appearance and US$300 in fines and court costs.
The first students punished under this new zero-tolerance policy were cited during the second week of school, having been caught vaping by faculty witnesses. However, as the year progressed, there were occasions when the SRO brought a principal’s attention to a student they suspected of vaping, providing the “reasonable suspicion” needed for the principal to search pockets and backpacks. There were other occasions when a principal’s search yielded material that provided “probable cause” that the student’s car had illegal material and required a police search.
A few months into the school year, the principals recognized that a student, AJ, caught vaping was high. AJ, an 18-year-old senior, and the principal had forged a positive relationship in AJ’s time at Barrow. This close relationship meant that the principal readily noticed that AJ was not acting normal and was able to pull them into his office for a conversation. AJ admitted that their vape device contained a tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) product. At that time, state law classified the possession of any amount of THC oil a felony offense, and felonious conduct required school expulsion. The first felony vaping arrest at Barrow resulted in part from the connectedness between student and administrator and a normal disciplinary meeting. AJ was sent to the juvenile justice center for classes and excluded from the Barrow campus for the remainder of their high school career, disconnected from teachers and peers.
This first felony arrest sent shock waves through the well-connected families in the small community, who began to put pressure on the school board, local judges, and county sheriff to stop this policy that was “ruining lives.” Two important changes in how police, principals, students, and parents approached these events followed. First, the county sheriff began to express his disapproval for the deputies being deployed this way. He pointed out that when the deputies worked in the community over the summer they would very rarely cite a juvenile for smoking, but rather give an unofficial warning and friendly health advice. More formally, the sheriff informed the district superintendent that he did not have the lab budget to test every vape pen from the high school. The SROs, who as county employees were to follow the instructions of the sheriff, not school administrators, were advised to limit testing requests to the materials of those most concerning. When asked how they determined which were most concerning, the SROs explained it was largely based on previous experience with the student, student reputation, and student attitude, “you can just tell.” Among a 71% White student body, the Latino/a and Black students already drew an outsized portion of disciplinary action. Similar to the majority of the faculty and administration, the SROs were White, not Hispanic, shifting Latino/a, Black, and Asian students further into numerical minority. In the previous school year, 43% of the out-of-school suspended students were Black, Latino/a, or of mixed ethnicity, and 50% of expulsions were Latino/a. Undoubtedly, this racially disproportionate approach to discipline put Black and Latino/a students under a cloud of suspicion, which in turn meant their vape pens were more likely to be tested for THC.
The second shift was in parents’ reactions to the vaping incidents. Suddenly, the student code of conduct, available only in English, was being downloaded more than ever before. Students whose parents had the social and financial capital taught their students not to consent to any searches. Students were refusing to meet with principals without a parent present and parents were hiring lawyers, thus keeping their children out of the juvenile justice center while their cases were adjudicated. Some White parents, with the resources to risk a felony arrest, began claiming the vaping pens found at school and any traces of THC were from their own use, hoping to protect their children from the legal consequences of THC use.
More concerned about other dangers many Latino families encouraged their students to respect the principals by admitting their misdeeds. These families continued to operate as though a trip to the principal’s office for vaping was no different than a trip to the office to talk about tardies or dress code violations, and expected the administrator’s discretion and latitude to operate more forcefully than a written policy they had never seen. These different approaches resulted from a complex mix of financial and social resources, and differences in cultural values and communication styles. Families that operated comfortably within White structures and systems could navigate this intersection of the school and legal systems more successfully.
By the end of the 2018–2019 school year, the school’s dropout rate had doubled as 90 students, that is, 61% Latino/a, 38% White not Hispanic, and 1% identified as two or more races, had received these vaping citations and had to appear before the court with their parents. Nine of the incidents resulted in felony arrests, comprising six Latino students and three White male students, including two arrests of 18-year-olds (not juveniles). If convicted, these incidents result in records, fines, potentially jail time, along with severely restricted access to scholarships, college financial aid, and even college admission.
Teaching Notes
STPP
The STPP channels children away from positive opportunities to engage as educated citizens and instead sends them on a “journey” toward prison (Wald & Losen, 2003, p. 3). Some key components suggested by research include the following: zero tolerance and exclusionary discipline policies (Justice, 2018; Skiba et al., 2014), school discipline decisions that disproportionately affect minoritized students (Darensbourg et al., 2010; Raible & Irizarry, 2010), surveillance and school-based law enforcement officers (Johnson et al., 2018), and culturally nonresponsive pedagogy (Darensbourg et al., 2010; Okilwa et al., 2017). This case challenges leaders to tease out these components in the narrative and identify the points in time where a different practice or policy could have turned off the STPP tap.
Zero-Tolerance and Exclusionary Discipline
Zero-tolerance discipline policies trace back to 1980s concerns about youth crime and the war on drugs (Potter & Boggs, 2017). Proponents often subscribed to the broken windows theory of policing that suggested that criminal behavior arises when people perceive a lack of social control as signaled by smaller offenses (Livermore, 2008). According to this theory, quickly addressing minor challenges to the social order with predetermined consequences for offenders prevents larger problems. In educational settings, this translates into zero-tolerance discipline practices defined by punitive predetermined consequences applied without consideration of context or mitigating circumstances (McCarter, 2016). The zero-tolerance approach began as a response first to drugs, and then guns, in schools (Monahan et al., 2014) but “morphed into an overarching, systematic attempt to deal with all violations to a school’s code of conduct” (Potter & Boggs, 2017, p. 41). Because this philosophy appealed both to policy makers with a hard law-and-order stance (Mallett, 2016) and also some with an interest in the socially just application of like consequences for like offenses (Skiba & Peterson, 1999), schools adopted zero-tolerance exclusionary discipline rules with speed. Unfortunately, neither zero-tolerance policies nor exclusionary discipline, or their combination, supports better student outcomes or a positive school climate. In an analysis of national data, Schollenberger (2015) demonstrated a strong correlation between school suspension rates and subsequent criminal justice involvement. This finding tracks with more localized analyses conducted in Missouri (Nicholson-Crotty et al., 2009) and Texas (Fabelo et al., 2011), which found direct links between the rate of exclusionary school discipline and juvenile court referrals. Skeptics might argue there is a chicken-and-egg question in these findings; intuitively, it follows that individuals who misbehave in school are the same individuals who misbehave out of school. However, research demonstrates that school discipline punishments cannot be perfectly predicted by negative student behavior (Rocque, 2010; Rocque & Paternoster, 2011). In fact, Schollenberger (2015) found that a substantial portion of boys who had received school suspensions did not participate in delinquent behavior, and only a very few exhibited violent behavior, “it is possible that schools’ actions [exclusionary discipline] might increase their [disciplined male students’] risk of involvement in more serious delinquency and illegal activity later on” (p. 40).
Many schools offer disciplinary alternative programs (DAPs also called DAEPs) to mitigate the consequences of “putting students on the street” through school suspension and expulsion. DAPs, designed to allow removal of students while continuing their education have grown increasingly common across the nation (Tajalli & Garba, 2014). Student outcomes are less than promising (Brown, 2007). A meta-analysis concluded that the programs were “ineffective at improving disciplinary sanctions, academic performance, and truancy in the long-term” having found no significant positive effect on any measure of student success (Novak, 2019, p. 433). Rios (2017) found that participation in an alternative disciplinary program developed self-identities as deviant and even criminal, which match with findings in criminal justice research about programs that aggregate young offenders (Dishion et al., 1999). Students recognize that high rates of exclusionary discipline track with low expectations and supports (Mattison & Aber, 2007), which may help explain Lee et al.’s (2011) finding that exclusionary discipline policies correspond to higher dropout rates and other poor student outcomes.
Disparities in Discipline
The STPP demands attention because of its particularly adverse long-term impact on children with minoritized identities. Whatever their intention, zero-tolerance and exclusionary discipline policies have not, in practice, created a more equitable distribution of school discipline (Anyon et al., 2018; Barnes & Motz, 2018). An analysis of discipline data demonstrates that African American and Latino/a students are significantly more likely to be disciplined for discretionary violations and more likely to receive exclusionary punishment, including assignment to DAEP, than their White peers (Fabelo et al., 2011; M. W. Morris, 2016; Tajalli & Garba, 2014). Children of color receive more and harsher punishments in school than White students, by a factor of 2 for Latino/a and Native American children and a factor of 7 for African American children (Bal et al., 2019).
LGBTQIA (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, and asexual) students are also disproportionately disciplined with harsher punishments for the same behaviors than their cisgender and heterosexual peers (Snapp et al., 2015) and are more likely to be referred to the criminal justice system (Palmer & Greytak, 2017). These discipline consequences track perfectly with queer youth’s experiences of disproportionate negative involvement with the criminal justice system (Himmelstein & Brückner, 2011; Mallory et al., 2015).
Students identified as disabled also experience higher rates of school discipline than their nondisabled peers (American Psychological Association [APA] Zero Tolerance Task Force, 2008; Christle et al., 2005) and specifically experience more exclusionary disciplinary consequences (Slaughter et al., 2019; U.S. Department of Education, 2014). Other researchers have investigated the complex ways this identifier intersects with other marginalized identities (Anderson & Ritter, 2017; Mandell et al., 2008). African American, Native American, and Latino/a students are more often excluded from the learning environment for disciplinary causes, but they are also more likely to be labeled as emotionally disturbed, a label that alone significantly increases school discipline rates (Bal et al., 2019; Hernandez Jozefowicz-Simbeni, 2008). Dembo and LaFleur (2019) discovered a correlation between the over-disciplining of special needs students with the medical resources in their surrounding communities, pointing to another intersectional factor of disability status and socioeconomic level.
School-Based Law Enforcement
Interest in community-oriented policing spawned lucrative federal grants to support the placement of police officers in schools (Counts et al., 2018). Combined with increased concern over school shootings, school districts across the nation moved toward placing school-based law enforcement officers, often known as SROs, on every campus (Coon & Travis, 2012; O’Murphy, 2013). Although the data about SRO placements is not systematically collected (James & McCallion, 2013; Weisburst, 2018), we do know that the number of schools with SROs has grown exponentially (Carreon, 2015; Musu et al., 2018). The National Association of School Resource Officers (NASROs) identifies as best practice that “The School Resource Officer should NOT [emphasis theirs] administer formal school discipline such as detentions, suspensions, or expulsions” and state law in several jurisdictions follows suit (NASRO, 2020). For example, in Texas, legal code requires that SROs may not assign or require as duties of a school district peace officer, a school resource officer, or security personnel routine student discipline or school administrative tasks; or contact with students unrelated to the law enforcement duties of the peace officer, resource officer, or security personnel. (Texas Education Code [TEC], §37.081)
However, in practice, SRO functions and duties vary widely and often involve high levels of participation in normal school activities (Coon & Travis, 2012; Fisher & Devlin, 2019).
Critics warn that an increased police presence will necessarily increase student involvement with the criminal justice system (Flannery, 2015; Thurau & Wald, 2009). Whereas some research argues that this not a problem (May et al., 2015), most research suggests this concern is warranted (Fisher & Hennessy, 2016; Owens, 2017; Theriot, 2009; Weisburst, 2018). Curtis (2013) cited alarming statistics from Georgia and Alabama, demonstrating that when SROs are placed on campuses, student referrals to law-enforcement increased more than 10-fold. This increase may be aberrantly outsized, but other studies identify a relationship between increased SRO presence and increased juvenile arrests (Na & Gottfredson, 2013; Owens, 2017; Theriot, 2009; Weisburst, 2018). Kupchik (2016) explained this phenomenon: “I observed many instances where caring SROs worked hard to define misbehavior as a criminal act so they could make an arrest” (p. 32).
The increased presence of SROs also complicates the protection of students’ civil rights. School students’ Fourth Amendment search and seizure rights have received particular attention in court cases and, as a result, are governed by special and unique parameters (Theriot & Cuellar, 2016). Schools retain possession of, and the unimpeded right to, search lockers, desks, and school-owned digital devices. Student-owned property, for example, pockets and backpacks, may be searched by school personnel with “reasonable suspicion,” a lower bar than “probable cause” required for police officers. Neither school officials nor police are required to advise a student that they have the right to refuse consent. The courts have not reached a clear consensus about how to view SROs, whether as school personnel or police officers, in part because principals and SROs can, in practice, act as one another’s agents making the distinctions very murky.
Culturally Nonresponsive Campuses
Some explanations for disparate student discipline experiences include educators’ focused gaze on minoritized populations (Raible & Irizarry, 2010), school cultures defined by dominant cultural paradigms (Darensbourg et al., 2010), and a social interest in controlling certain populations (Hirschfield, 2010). Khalifa (2018) argues that failing to lead schools in culturally responsive ways results in students whose cultural background or identity falls outside of the dominant paradigm struggling to find success. School campuses that are not engaged in culturally responsive pedagogy and leadership are contributing to the STPP (Okilwa et al., 2017).
Culturally Relevant Pedagogy (CRP), as conceived by Ladson-Billings (1998), turns away from deficit-oriented beliefs and toward identifying the practices that support the success of students of color. Building on the CRP scholarship, Critically Sustaining Pedagogy urges educators to use the culturally relevant and responsive practices to underpin and even center a plurality of ways of being and knowing, inspired by the many cultures and identities that students add to the learning environment (Paris, 2012). Khalifa et al. (2016) take up the call to move cultural responsiveness/sustenance outside of classrooms into the school, school system, and community at large “through resisting exclusionary practice; promoting inclusivity, Indigenous youth identities; and integrating student culture in all aspects of schooling” (pp. 1296–1297).
School environments that do not engage in culturally sustaining practices design school policies, including student rules, which reflect the values of the dominant culture and thereby are more likely to trigger disciplinary action for students from other cultures (Blaisdell, 2016). Dress codes, for example, often codify a White, male, middle-class orientation to acceptable/professional self-presentation (Aghasaleh, 2018). As a result, students of color, particularly girls, and students outside the gender binary norm are more likely to be dress-coded and receive punishment for the violation (Glickman, 2016; E. W. Morris & Perry, 2017). Howard (2015) argues that police presence similarly conditions students, but most particularly students of color who are more likely to attend schools with SROS, to accept compliance and invasion of privacy as normal. “What seems to be clear is that while safety is the stated explanation for the presence of officers . . . across the U.S. Black students appear to [be] disproportionately targeted for police intervention” (Howard, 2015, p. 104).
Questions and Activities
Identify in the case narrative these components of the STPP: exclusionary discipline, disproportionate discipline, law enforcement presence, culturally nonresponsive practices. How could each component be addressed separately through policy or practice? How effective would each of those solutions be on its own in thwarting the STPP at Barrow that year?
Professional best practices, and often state law, prohibit SROs from being involved in ordinary school discipline. In this case, monitoring students during passing periods and checking bathrooms became part of the SROs’ activities. Is this ordinary school discipline? Is smoking in the bathroom a student incident that could be addressed through ordinary school discipline procedures? How can school leaders ensure that SROs’ functions and duties follow the law and best practice?
In pairs or small groups: Identify all adult activities in your school that can be described as an ordinary school discipline activity. List the student behaviors that cannot be dealt with through ordinary school discipline processes.
In pairs or small groups: Were Barrow’s students afforded their Fourth Amendment protections against illegal searches? The voluntary nature of a student’s consent is subject to legal scrutiny, and it seems likely that some of the students searched that year at Barrow could have felt coerced, but the onus to challenge a search lies with those students and their families. How can school leaders practice discipline and create policies that protect the Fourth Amendment rights of students? Draft a school policy statement to guide all school leaders and faculty about when and how searches can be conducted and what role SROs may play.
Perceptions of risk are influenced by race, gender, and cultural identity (Finucane et al., 2010; Gilbert et al., 2020). Review this Mott Poll Survey Report conducted at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic in August of 2020: https://mottpoll.org/reports/top-health-concerns-kids-2020-during-pandemic/. What do you notice about the concerns of parents? What does this mean for school leaders? How can school leaders be sure their safety program does not prioritize the voices of the most powerful and privileged stakeholders but more equitably responds to community concerns?
Footnotes
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The author(s) work was supported by a PEO Scholar Award.
