In the first week of the State Legislature’s session this year, Republicans delivered a major win on our longstanding promise to provide historic relief to millions of hard-working taxpayers in the form of a $1.1 billion tax cuts package. Our action follows years of escalating costs brought about by the failed policies of the Biden-Harris Administration, where Americans struggled to pay bills, put food on the table, and save for their children’s future. The plan would have aligned Arizona’s tax code with the federal reforms championed by President Donald J. Trump and congressional Republicans just this last year, targeting relief where it is needed most and reasserting the Grand Canyon State as one of the most affordable and competitive in the country.
Unfortunately, without much thought, Democrat Governor Katie Hobbs vetoed our package within hours of its passage through both chambers of the Arizona Legislature, denying real, practical relief to the taxpayers she took an oath to serve.
The governor’s veto was cruel and callous toward the people she claims to represent. It also came just weeks after she essentially claimed credit for the recently enacted federal tax cuts that were predominately due to Republicans’ foresight and execution. Her previous words rang hollow with one stroke of her pen, just as tax season is getting under way for Arizonans looking for real leadership from their state leaders.
Governor Hobbs’ veto was not so surprising; she has shot down a historic number of commonsense bills throughout her three-plus years in office. We had hoped, however, in the spirit of bipartisanship, doing the right thing, and putting taxpayers first, that the governor would sign this legislation. Unfortunately, the governor resorted to her partisan roots and adhered to the demands of the radical liberal extremists who control her every move in office.
The historic relief package sent to Governor Hobbs’ desk this month would have provided incredible results for Arizona families and job creators and again positioned our state as a national leader on this front. Our bill would have increased the child tax credit, created a new deduction for childcare expenses, and provided meaningful help for working families, seniors on fixed incomes, and job leaders across the state. Most importantly, the legislation would have given clarity to taxpayers looking to plan ahead and expecting consistency between their federal and state forms and returns.
All these efforts went for not, though, when Governor Hobbs immediately rejected this package.
The governor’s negative action on our bill shows yet again that there are inherent differences between our two parties on the all-important issue of taxes and spending. Republicans believe that Arizonans should keep more of what they earn, and that government should spend within its means—instead of inflating its budgets on the backs of hard-working citizens. Democrats, on the other hand, believe that they are entitled to more of your money to fund socialist projects and programs—like many of the ones in California, New York, and Illinois. There’s a reason why so many Americans are fleeing the aforementioned states (and others) and migrating to Arizona and other Republican-led bastions of freedom: it’s because our states are taking action to cut taxes for families and businesses alike.
In short, Republicans believe that government exists—and works—for the people who elect us at the ballot box. It’s your money, and it’s your government. We are the stewards of your hard-earned dollars, which means it is our job to ensure that government lives within its constitutional jurisdictions and sets up future generations of Americans for success and prosperity. These principles were at the heart of the Arizona tax relief package.
Despite this setback, Arizona legislative Republicans will not cease our efforts to lower taxes and keep our state affordable for all. Over the past two decades, we have authored and passed many pieces of legislation to cut taxes and reduce the cost of living, including a historic flat income tax, tax rebates, and relief for renters and small businesses—among many other cost-saving actions. We will not stand by and admit defeat when a Democrat governor places her special interest friends above hard-working taxpayers. Rather, we will redouble our efforts to put more money into the pockets of the proud men and women we humbly serve.
Contributors to this op-ed include: Senate President Warren Petersen, Senate Finance Committee Chairman J.D. Mesnard, Senate Majority Leader John Kavanagh, and Senate Appropriations Chairman David Farnsworth.
What’s being sold as a harmless planning document is actually a blueprint to fundamentally reshape how West Mesa residents live and move about their city. The MesaCONNECTED Transit-Oriented Development (TOD) Plan has been in the works since 2021. Funded by a federal grant from the Federal Transit Administration (FTA), the plan covers a five-mile “transit corridor” in West Mesa and is intended to guide future land-use decisions in that area. At first glance, it appears benign, seemingly focused on growth and beautification. City officials repeatedly emphasize that it is not a transit plan and does not initiate any specific projects. However, taken as a whole, MesaCONNECTED lays the groundwork to transform West Mesa into what is effectively a 15-minute city (or even a 5-minute city, by their own standards) without explicitly using that label.
The plan draws inspiration from communities in Oregon and California, as well as Arizona’s own Tempe Cul-De-Sac neighborhood, all of which follow planning models that prioritize density, transit-oriented development, and reduced automobile use. The stated goal is to create fully walkable areas centered around “transit nodes” while making existing transit easier to access. The section of West Mesa encompassed in the plan includes major hubs such as Mesa Riverview, the Asian District, Mesa Community College, Banner Desert Medical Center, Downtown Mesa, and surrounding areas.
A central objective of the plan is to increase density and place housing closer to employment to “reduce vehicle miles traveled” (pg. 5). This is not a neutral goal. It assumes driving is a problem to be corrected rather than a freedom to be preserved. In a city like Mesa where families rely on personal vehicles for work, school, church, medical care, and more, designing communities to deliberately discourage driving punishes the very behavior that allowed the city to grow in the first place. Rather than responding to how residents already live, the plan attempts to reshape daily habits by making driving less practical and alternative modes more “convenient…”
In 1952, Republican Governor J. Howard Pyle appointed a 24-member Underground Water Commission to recommend a new groundwater framework for Arizona. Every member was a farmer or rancher— people who lived and worked on the land and relied on groundwater to survive.
After nine months of work and thirteen public comment sessions, the Commission issued a 172-pagereportrecommending that the Legislature adopt “correlative rights” as the new groundwater law for the state, calling it the fairest and most equitable way to apportion subterranean rights among adjoining landowners on the surface.
Farmers agreed. One testified: “The principle of correlative rights gets closer to solving the problem than any water code.” Another said that courts should eventually recognize that landowners should own the groundwater beneath their land, so long as it does not harm others—like the ad coelum doctrine and “no harm” principle described in Part 1.
Yet, the Legislature failed to act. With Democrats holding 15 of 19 Senate seats and 50 of 80 House seats, lawmakers left the issue to the courts, which rejected correlative rights in favor of “beneficial use,” leaving landowners with no legal means to protect or conserve their supplies.
It didn’t have to be this way.
We can restore private property rights to groundwater
In 1953, the Arizona Supreme Court rejected correlative rights not because the Court thought it was unfair, but rather because the Court believed it was technologically infeasible, saying: “Apportionment of subterranean percolating water between adjacent landowners is often, if not always, impossible.”
Today, that excuse no longer applies. Advances in groundwater modelling have made quantifying and allocating rights to subsurface water completely possible—especially in Arizona’s alluvial fill basins like Willcox, McMullen Valley, and the Big Chino, where the tragedy of the commons is already unfolding.
In 2011, for example, the Arizona Water Resources Development Commission issued a statewideassessment, finding that the Willcox, McMullen, and Big Chino basins contained approximately 42 million, 14 million, and 10 million acre-feet (AF) of groundwater, respectively, to a depth of 1,200 feet, providing critical data that demonstrates that implementing correlative rights is entirely feasible.
Since it’s been over seventy years since we’ve meaningfully considered correlative rights, many residents today have likely never heard of this term and would naturally have questions about how it would work, how it would benefit them, and how it would help advance our shared goals of conservation.
Here’s how it would work—using Willcox as an example
Once a basin is closed to new pumping, the groundwater is quantified and allocated to landowners based on the number of acres they own. With 42 million AF underground and about 1.2 million acres on the surface, each landowner in Willcox would receive about 35 AF per acre as a one-time “lump sum.”
For a 4-acre parcel (the minimum lot size in Cochise County), a landowner would receive 140 AF. A 160-acre quarter section would receive 5,600 AF, and a full 640-acre section would get 22,400 AF. This is similar to the proportional share-based approach utilized in oil and gas regulation.
It is also similar to the approach utilized in Arizona’s transportation basins, like Harquahala, McMullen Valley, Butler Valley, and the Big Chino. In Harquahala, the formula is 6 AF/acre annually. More acres mean more rights.
For municipal providers, lump sums would be allocated based on the acres they serve. A larger service area means a larger groundwater allocation. When residents interconnect, their allocations would transfer to the provider—allowing the provider to manage their supplies on their behalf.
State trust lands would also receive allocations, which lessees would be entitled to use through their leases. The more acres leased, the more groundwater available. In transportation basins that have large amounts of state trust land, cities would know exactly how many acres they’d need to lease to secure an assured water supply.
Additionally, landowners would be credited a proportional share of the annual natural recharge. A person owning one percent of the acres would receive one percent of the natural recharge.
Over time, these credits would add up. After five years, a person earning 0.2 AF/year would acquire a full acre-foot, while a resident with 28 acres would earn enough water annually to meet all of their household needs from recharge alone, allowing them to live off their recharge without touching their lump sum.
For lump sums, a minimum 4-acre lot would provide enough water to last 424 years. Adding recharge makes supplies last even longer. Additionally, increased recharge from proactive investments would be credited to the investor, incentivizing the development of new recharge projects.
Because the basin is closed to new pumping, existing landowners would be protected against subsequent users, like prior appropriation but without the complications. Additionally, because rights are transferable within the same basin, economic growth is still possible. Newcomers can enter, but only if they purchase land or water rights from existing users first.
To enforce all this, annual reporting requirements would be implemented, ensuring that no one pumps more than his or her fair share. Meanwhile, minimum well spacing requirements would be implemented to help ensure an even distribution across the basin, reducing impacts to existing well-owners.
Well monitoring has been a controversial issue in the past, largely because it has been seen as the camel’s nose under the tent for greater bureaucratic control. Here, however, users get certificated private property rights that can never be revoked and thus more, not less, freedom in exchange for their trouble.
For residential well owners, shared infrastructure is already possible through the adoption of water districts. A shared well drilled to 1,200 feet can provide greater long-term security than 100 wells drilled to 120 feet—allowing each landowner to access their full supply but at a substantially reduced cost.
Lastly, there would be no “safe yield” requirement. While states like California have applied correlative rights to only annual recharge, this model would not work in Arizona. In fact, the 1952 Underground Water Commission specifically rejected the California model, noting it would not provide enough water in our arid climate.
Instead, a hybrid approach is required, one that allocates rights to both the subterranean resource and the annual recharge, thereby maximizing the amount of water granted to each landowner and ensuring that every drop is accurately accounted for. That is the approach described here.
Your water, your choice
The most intriguing aspect of correlative rights is that, once the groundwater has been allocated, it’s yours to keep—permanently. If you don’t use it, there’s no risk of loss; it will still be there 10, 20, or 100 years into the future.
This stands in stark contrast to the current free-for-all described in Part 2, where leaving groundwater in the basin simply leaves more for someone else to take. Because there’s no forfeiture, landowners are free to use, conserve, lease, or transfer their water within the same basin as they see fit. The choice is theirs.
For farmers, this creates new incentives. A 160-acre farm with a center pivot may have enough water to last several years, while others may need to scale back, shift to less water-intensive crops, or acquire additional rights from others. Commercial farming is still possible, but only if land and groundwater use align, encouraging open space and land conservation.
Thus, the motivation to conserve is simple: when the property is yours, you—and you alone—are responsible for maintaining it. Once an allocation is gone, it’s gone for good, forcing users to make tough decisions and encouraging wise use. That’s the power of private property: when you own it, you protect it.
Turning water into wealth
For many rural residents, correlative rights would instantly turn an uncertain water future into a secure financial asset, creating real value that can provide both long-term water security and financial independence.
With a single AF selling at roughly $400 today, a 40-acre parcel would suddenly hold $560,000 in water value—plus an additional recharge credit worth about $200 a year, acting like an annual dividend. For someone living on a fixed income, that’s transformative.
A 160-acre quarter section would receive $2,240,000 in water value, plus $800 in annual credits, while a 640-acre full section would sit on nearly $9 million and receive $3,000 in annual recharge credits.
With outright ownership, landowners could monetize their allocations or borrow against them without pumping a single drop. Here, water is not a commodity—it’s a currency: the currency of your future, allowing rural residents to build real equity and generational wealth.
The question is: what would you do with your share?
Correlative rights can save our aquifers, farmers, and ranchers—it’s time to adopt them
For over seventy years, Arizona tried top-down bureaucratic approaches to addressing the tragedy of the commons in groundwater—but to no avail. As discussed in Part 3, what Arizona needs now is the only solution that we haven’t tried but should have adopted when rural farmers and ranchers recommended it in 1952: correlative rights.
By closing our alluvial-fill basins to outsiders who seek to pump them dry for short-term profit at the expense of others, and restoring private property rights to the groundwater beneath our feet through correlative rights, we can unlock millions of dollars’ worth of groundwater that will last thousands of years and finally give landowners the legal right and incentive to protect and conserve their supplies for themselves and future generations.
The Legislature can act. As the Arizona Supreme Court itself said in 1953: “If any change in the law is necessary, it should be made by the Legislature,” including the power to “invest” groundwater with the “character” and “attributes” of “private ownership.”
The moment to act has arrived. Imminent cutbacks to our Colorado River supply mean that our state can no longer afford the inefficiency of centralized bureaucratic control over our most precious resource. It’s time to end top-down bureaucratic control, give private property rights to groundwater back to the people, and fix a generations-old mistake.
One of my grandfathers was a proud Arizona miner. Another was a hard-working grocery store operator in a small Arizona town. Although both of these men led vastly different lives, they both were united around one very important fact for the desert they called home and were cultivating for their children and grandchildren: water is integral to survival, progress, and prosperity.
Past generations of Arizonans have understood the importance of our water future—especially with a critical source in the historic and life-giving Colorado River. Each generation has successfully built blocks on each other of water conservation, security, and innovation, allowing future men, women, and children to grow up, work, and raise their families in an environment that could support the tremendous growth of this state over the last century. Yet, as we see all around us, the exponential Arizona growth continues. The small towns my grandfathers inhabited so many years ago are becoming larger by the day. Houses, businesses, and schools continue to be built. Thousands of people move to Arizona in search of a better future. All require water to fuel and sustain the efforts and migration.
In generations past, Arizona has risen to the challenge, made the right decisions, and paved a water future for our children and grandchildren. And yet we face a new fork in the road that will determine what kind of Arizona we will pass along to our descendants.
Decisions are being made right now about the Colorado River that will shape Arizona’s water security for decades. The current rules that govern how water is shared across the West are set to expire at the end of this year, but the states that rely on the water from this river have until February 14 to comprise an agreement on future management plans. The federal government has now released draft options that could define how the river is managed well into the future. I’m thankful for the Trump administration’s willingness to listen and work with the basin states—especially Arizona—throughout this process, yet this resource is too important to our future to leave it solely in the federal government’s hands.
As Chairman of the Arizona Senate Committee on Natural Resources, Energy & Water, I’ve been deeply involved in these negotiations with local, state, Tribal, and federal partners, continuing my longtime efforts to enhance the Grand Canyon State’s water future and security. Arizona has already stepped up. We’ve conserved water, made real reductions, and passed commonsense laws to protect our long-term supply. Our farmers, cities, and businesses have done their part—and then some. The next agreement must be fair. Arizona families, farmers, and communities should not be asked to carry a heavier burden while other states avoid meaningful commitments. I’ve been clear about that in discussions with federal officials and other basin states. Cooperation remains the goal, but it has to be balanced and enforceable. The alternative is more uncertainty, more litigation, and higher costs for everyone. That’s a future I won’t leave behind for the next generation of Arizonans.
My grandfathers knew the importance of water to our state as they worked throughout their lives to build the foundation of our family and community. Their dedicated efforts are why I’ll continue fighting for a solution that protects the river, preserves Arizona agriculture, and secures a stable water future for our state. Future generations of Arizonans deserve nothing less from their public servants.
T.J. Shope is the Arizona Senate President Pro Tempore and represents Legislative District 16.
Writing at Axios, energy writer Amy Harder says “The climate agenda’s fall from grace over the past year has been stunning — in speed, scale and scope.” Harder quotes oil historian and S&P Global vice-chairman Dan Yergin as saying, “There’s no handwaving about how ‘We want to cooperate on climate.’ It’s, ‘We’re slamming the door on that issue.’ We’ve gone from over-indexing it to zero-indexing it.”
Polling has never shown climate change as being an issue of primary concern to American voters. Americans have consistently been more worried about issues that impact their daily lives today than about warnings from modern-day P.T. Barnums like U.N. Secretary General Antonio Guterres about some nebulous “highway to hell” and “the age of global boiling. The issue had been slowly losing its effectiveness during the Biden years even as that administration tried to memorialize the movement’s objectives in policy.
Even Democrat politicians have quit talking about the so-called “climate emergency” which used to be a central plank in their talking points list. When was the last time you heard New York Democratic Rep. Alexandria Ocasio Cortez, co-author with Massachusetts Democratic Sen. Ed Markey of the “Green New Deal” introduced in 2019, talk about the supposed need to force ordinary citizens to give up their cars, flying, and vacations and spend trillions on a nationwide network of high-speed rails to save the planet? When was the last time you heard any Democrat utter the phrase “Green New Deal,” for that matter? It simply doesn’t happen anymore.
One of the motivators for the political abandonment of the climate scam by Democrats came from a pre-election analysis from the center-left Searchlight Institute last November. That memo advised Democrat candidates to avoid using the term “climate change” entirely, and to focus on the supposed cost savings to be obtained by switching to green energy solutions. Never mind that such cost savings are a myth: The truth doesn’t matter. What matters is the ability to influence voters with the message.
Therein lies the central existential threat to the movement’s survival in the coming years.
For decades, liberal politicians and climate advocates were able to advance the climate alarm agenda by creating, well, alarm among the public that the world is going to end if we don’t stop putting too much carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. Always the messaging had a deadline claiming, “We only have X number of years to stop burning fossil fuels before it’s too late!” Over the past 40 years, that deadline to act has given the term “moving the goalposts” a new green meaning.
AOC claimed the drop-dead date was only 12 years in the future as she rolled out her ambition to control everyone’s daily lives in the name of climate alarm in 2019. But the very next year, in 2020, child activist Greta Thunberg moved the goalposts to a mere five years. But wait: Just a year later, Joe Biden read a script from his teleprompter that set the deadline at 10 years. It’s all so darn confusing.
No doubt, these politicians and activists wish they could erase their past claims from everyone’s memory. Their trouble is, the Internet is forever.
Advocates were even successful in convincing Barack Obama’s EPA to dummy up an Endangerment Finding declaring that carbon dioxide is in fact a “pollutant” that must be regulated under the Clean Air Act in order to save the planet. Never mind that CO2, otherwise known as plant food, the foundational basis for all life on Planet Earth: The truth doesn’t matter.
Now, it appears that the movement is inheriting the wages of decades of deception with a sudden and stunning fall from grace. It could not happen to a more deserving bunch of people.
David Blackmon is a contributor to The Daily Caller News Foundation, an energy writer, and consultant based in Texas. He spent 40 years in the oil and gas business, where he specialized in public policy and communications.
In a previous op-ed, I argued that Arizona’s district school system is no longer failing quietly or at the margins; it is failing in concrete, measurable ways that any citizen can see. Districts are sitting atop tens of millions of square feet of unused facilities, fleets of underutilized buses, and continued academic declines, even as families vote with their feet for charter schools, private schools, and homeschooling. I suggested that this mismatch between assets and enrollment is not primarily a failure of effort by teachers or even of management by principals and superintendents. It is, rather, a structural failure—a failure of the political governance model that was built for a different age and has now grown badly out of step with a landscape defined by choice and specialization.
That first piece only sketched the deeper questions. If Arizona’s district schools are governed by locally elected boards precisely so that they can respond to the public interest, why do they so consistently struggle to respond to the public itself? Why do boards that are supposed to safeguard public funds preside over billions of dollars in underutilized assets? Why does a structure designed to protect the common good now preside over persistent scandal, fiscal mismanagement, declining enrollment, and widespread frustration among teachers, administrators, and parents alike? To answer those questions, we must look beyond current headlines and follow the longer arc of how we came to equate “public” with “politically governed” in the first place.
A Short History
The political governance model that structures Arizona’s districts did not descend from heaven fully formed. It emerged in the early twentieth century as a particular way—one way—of securing community oversight of local schools. The assumption was simple: if citizens chose board members at the ballot box, then “the public interest” would be represented in school decisions. Over time, that prudential, albeit contingent, arrangement hardened into dogma. Political representation came to be treated not only as a means of protection, but as the necessary and exclusive guardian of the public good, public funds, and the formation of the next generation. To question the structure itself began to sound, in some ears, like questioning public education altogether.
Yet a careful look at both history and experience suggests that this is far too narrow a view. Arizonans know as well as anybody we must distinguish between the health of a society and the reach of the state. Our southwestern culture has long insisted that families, churches, associations, and voluntary institutions represent the public and serve the common good, often more effectively than formal political bodies. We know that political power is not the sole guardian of the public interest; it is one instrument among many and must be judged by its fruits. Therefore, we also know that if a particular form of political governance routinely frustrates educational excellence, wastes public resources, and subjects schools to the whiplash of partisan cycles, it is not sacrilege to reconsider it. It is an act of enlightened stewardship.
Arizona did not begin with today’s sprawling unified districts and five-member boards. In the territorial period, the basic unit of public education was the local school district, often consisting of a single schoolhouse serving one community. Territorial law in the late 1860s and 1870s required each district to elect a small board of three trustees, who oversaw the teacher, maintained the building, levied modest local taxes when necessary, and kept a simple census of school-age children. Early political governance of schools in Arizona was rudimentary and intensely local. The trustees were neighbors, the school was usually the only option for miles, and the questions before the board were concrete: hire a teacher, repair the roof, stretch a short budget a little further. And parents were close and connected to every operation of the school.
With statehood in 1912, the picture began to change. The Arizona Constitution established a State Board of Education and charged the new state with maintaining a system of common schools, while statutory law gradually formalized local districts as political subdivisions of the state. Over time, those simple boards of trustees evolved into today’s “governing boards,” recognized in Title 15 of the Arizona Revised Statutes as the governing body of each school district, typically consisting of three or five members serving staggered four-year terms and elected on the regular general-election ballot. What began as lay oversight of a single schoolhouse was thus absorbed into the broader machinery of state and county elections and invested with a much wider portfolio of powers.
Through the middle of the twentieth century, Arizona followed the national trend toward consolidation and unification. Numerous small districts were merged into larger common and unified districts, each with a single governing board responsible for K–8 and high school operations across multiple schools and neighborhoods. State law now gives these boards dozens of specific powers and duties—from hiring and evaluating the superintendent to adopting curricula and policies, issuing bonds, and managing the district’s substantial real estate portfolio. In effect, and by necessity, school boards shifted from being small committees of trustees to quasi-legislative bodies whose decisions shape complex organizations serving tens of thousands of students and stewarding hundreds of millions of public dollars. With this growth, parents became more like mere bystanders.
Political = Public?
From a legal standpoint, Arizona’s embrace of political representation as the default mode for “real” public education is baked into its constitutional and statutory architecture. Article XI of the Arizona Constitution charges the Legislature with creating a “general and uniform public school system” and vests the “general conduct and supervision” of that system in a State Board of Education, a state superintendent, county school superintendents, and locally established governing boards. District governing boards are thus conceived, from the outset, as political bodies—public offices filled by election, exercising delegated authority from the state to manage schools, steward funds, and set policy. Over the twentieth century, this framework was reinforced as boards took on larger consolidated districts, wider fiscal responsibilities, and explicit policy-making roles. In practice, “the public school system” came to mean the system supervised by these constitutionally recognized, electorally chosen officials.
Culturally and politically, this legal design was then wrapped in a powerful democratic narrative. State and national advocacy groups routinely describe elected school boards and district schools as the “cornerstone of democracy” and the essential vehicle for citizen oversight of government. In Arizona, governing-board candidates and education associations explicitly frame district schools—not charters—as the institution that embodies this democratic ideal and warn that parental-choice policies “attack public education” and threaten that cornerstone role. The result is that, in both rhetoric and policy debates, “public education” is habitually equated with electorally governed districts, while other public schooling arrangements (charters, open enrollment, and yes ESAs) are treated as exceptions or threats. Political representation by board election is no longer presented as one prudential way to secure the public interest; it is treated as the litmus test for whether a school is truly public at all.
The Results
Measured against its own stated aims, Arizona’s district governance model is not delivering. Start with the most basic metric of public confidence: whether families actually use the system they are taxed to support. Since 2011, district school enrollment in Arizona has fallen about 8 percent while charter enrollment has grown 87 percent; nearly all net growth in public-school enrollment over the past decade has come from charters, not districts. A recent analysis estimates that roughly 27 percent of Arizona’s 5- to 17-year-olds now do not attend a district school, and that close to 40 percent of incoming kindergarteners bypass their assigned district campus for charter, private, or home- and micro-school options. In other words, under the very governance structure meant to embody the “public interest,” a steadily shrinking share of the public is choosing the product offered—even before one considers the additional 7 percent (and growing) of students now educated via ESAs outside the district and charter systems altogether.
The picture is no more reassuring on fiscal stewardship. Arizona’s Auditor General recently warned that dozens of districts are on the verge of serious financial distress, and state financial investigators fielded 102 fraud-related allegations involving school districts and other public entities in 2024 alone. In the Isaac Elementary School District, mismanagement and budget overruns became so severe that the district could not meet payroll, prompting the State Board of Education to place it into formal receivership and triggering investigations by the Auditor General and Attorney General. The Nadaburg Unified School District has likewise drawn public accusations of “gross financial mismanagement” from the state treasurer, who urged an audit and potential receivership. All of this is happening in a system that, even as enrollment declines, continues to accumulate physical plant and capital costs: between 2019 and 2024, district enrollment fell 5 percent while gross square footage rose 3 percent, capital spending rose 67 percent, and square feet per student rose 9 percent, leaving districts operating at roughly two-thirds of their capacity while charter schools operate at about 95 percent. A governance model that presides over shrinking usage, growing fixed costs, and periodic fiscal crisis is, at a minimum, not obviously safeguarding public funds.
Nor is the system maintaining the confidence of its own professionals. A 2024 study from Arizona State University’s Morrison Institute found “deep dissatisfaction” among K–12 educators statewide, with nearly two-thirds reporting that they have considered leaving the profession. Separate reporting notes that more than half of Arizona’s public-school teachers say they may leave within two years if working conditions do not improve. Meanwhile, the Department of Education’s most recent survey shows the teacher shortage remains at a “catastrophic” level: since July 2025, more than 1,000 teachers have quit, over 4,000 positions are being filled by long-term substitutes or other stopgaps, and nearly 1,400 positions are entirely vacant. These are not merely human-resource headaches; they are evidence that the governance structure is failing at the elementary work of sustaining a stable, dignified professional environment for the adults on whom student learning depends.
Finally, academic results under this model are stubbornly mediocre. On Arizona’s 2024 statewide assessments, close to 60 percent of students were not proficient in English Language Arts and 67 percent weren’t proficient in math, essentially unchanged from the prior year despite significant pandemic recovery spending. On the National Assessment of Educational Progress, Arizona’s eighth-grade math score in 2022 was lower than in 2019 and not significantly different from its score in 2000; barely 18 percent of students reached “proficient,” and the share below “basic” was alarmingly high. Reading scores for fourth and eighth graders declined again in 2024, with only about a quarter of students proficient. After more than a century of elected-board oversight, the system is educating barely one in three students to grade-level standards in core subjects.
Taken together, these facts are not the story of a governance model quietly doing its job in a difficult environment. They are the record of a structure that has failed to retain families, failed to steward assets, failed to sustain its workforce, and failed to secure strong academic outcomes—even as alternative, non-political public models have expanded alongside it.
Beyond the Political Governance Model
The political cycle all but guarantees that Arizona’s district schools cannot build the kind of stable, long-horizon strategy that genuine educational excellence requires. Board elections, party primaries, and shifting legislative coalitions continually reset priorities, rewarding short term gestures that energize a partisan base rather than quiet, steady investment in students, families, and faculty. The incentives are clear: politicians and would-be board members gain more by fighting over the latest cultural controversy or signaling loyalty to party talking points than by aligning curriculum, staffing, facilities, and budgeting to a coherent, decades-long vision for student formation. In this environment, strategic plans are drafted to placate interest groups, messaging is crafted to survive the next news cycle, and superintendents are hired and fired according to political winds rather than educational competence. The result is a political strategic governance model, in which schools are treated as stages for ideological contest, rather than an educational governance model, in which decisions are anchored to evidence about what helps children learn, what sustains excellent teachers, and what builds strong, enduring school communities.
It is therefore time, not out of hostility to public education but out of love for it, that we rethink the political governance model that currently defines Arizona’s district schools. The interests of students, families, faculty, and staff are too precious to be chained to a structure that persistently frustrates their flourishing. If public education is truly a public good, then it must be governed in a way that safeguards that good by honoring scarce resources, attracting and retaining excellent educators, and treating children as persons to be formed rather than as data points in a political contest. Structures exist for the sake of these ends, not the other way around. To ask whether elected boards and partisan incentives remain the best guardians of our schools is not an act of heresy; it is an act of stewardship and, in a self-governing republic, a moral duty. A people that refuses to examine its institutions when they fail to serve their purpose is not defending the common good. It is neglecting it.
Erik Twist is the Principal Partner and President of Arcadia Education. He served as President of Great Hearts Arizona from 2017 to 2022.
