Why Principals Should Adopt a ‘No One Owns a School’ Approach

Educational leadership programs encourage principals to implement “best practices” and “turn around” schools as soon as they arrive. But taking action too quickly prevents leaders from truly understanding the strengths, and potential, of their schools—and also foments in-house resistance that can cause leaders to fizzle out on the job. It isn’t surprising that the average tenure for a principal is just four years and that their hard-fought interventions last only as long as they do. 

In my seventh year as a dual-language principal, I’ve had to remind myself that a master key can feel like a mandate, but in actuality it’s not. I’ve remained in my role by adopting a different approach to school leadership, which I call “No one owns a school.”

I believe “No one owns a school” cautions principals against the path of solitary leadership that they are often trained to perform. This doesn’t mean principals should absolve themselves of the responsibilities that come with their position—just that they should lead in ways that sustain and nourish what is endemic at schools. “No one owns a school” interrupts principals’ singular momentum. It’s a mantra that I say to myself in moments of frustration, when unilateral actions are especially appealing.

Instead of thinking of principals as the owners of a school, we can imagine them as editors, looking at and listening closely to the school’s community. The narrative of a school is not the solo work of any single author. There are many authors. I relinquish ownership daily by centering the school’s stories and storytellers. 

Here’s how to employ the “No one owns a school” approach, which is especially beneficial to new principals, as well as principals experiencing burnout.

Learn the story of the school

It’s common practice for an incoming school leader to review year-over-year academic, disciplinary, and attendance data, seeking opportunities for improvement. But that’s not enough on its own. Leaders should get to know the stories of their schools through constant, informal conversations with those who contribute to the narrative. I’m always attentive and listening closely during drop-off and evening events—not to snoop, but to construct and refine a schema of the school and the community I serve. This has helped me understand how people are connected to each other as neighbors, colleagues, and friends, further clarifying how ideas move through the building.

Sitting down with children is another powerful way to learn about the school’s traditions. During lunch, I like to ask children what they are most looking forward to that month. And I’ve found that seeking out the voices of those no longer at the school reveals parts of the narrative that can muddy over the years. Pausing at the grocery store with a former staff member is a perfect time to hear about a school’s founders or how community perception has changed. To that end, it’s also valuable to do a literature review of your local news outlet, tracking the tone of school coverage over time. Learning more about the public narrative helps deliberately build coherence in a school’s story and can clarify when it’s time to steer toward revisions.

Keep listening for the plot

School leaders sometimes front-load listening tours, rather than incorporating good listening practices into their day-to-day schedules. Principals should always listen for the “plot” of the school. One of my favorite active ways to do this is by working for a few hours a day from a small standing desk on wheels. This relocates me from my office to the interior of the school, where all the life is. I can better see patterns of class avoidance in real time and talk through a problem of practice with educators on their way upstairs to lunch. 

I also seek context beyond the building. When a child is sent to the office, for instance, I frequently call home to understand what else might be going on. Listening for the plot helps me tailor consequences to students and simultaneously guides me to remain receptive and supportive of them.

Often, the hardest stories to surface in a professional setting are the ones we most need to discuss. I make space to share these stories about conflicts or dissonances that arise at school. Recently, staff had a clarifying conversation about whether to suspend a recess soccer game altogether, or instead suspend a disruptive player. When we turn over stories together, we illuminate how the school operates and why.

Think like you’re editing a volume

I recommend that principals think of themselves as editing a volume, rather than considering themselves to be a school’s “author.” Aim to capture the complexity and heterogeneity of the school’s offerings; you’re highlighting its range, not controlling its narrative.

I love to follow formal observations in the fall with learning walks in the spring, carefully pairing educators to highlight and exchange strengths between them. This brings the veteran teacher with her ironclad essay template into the same universe as the new educator with ASMR brain breaks and one-on-one student-teacher writing conferences. There are so many excellent practices in any school building; the simple act of seeing what is working well next door can inspire us to take up and expand how we teach and how we lead.

Record the story carefully for the next leader (and yourself)

Legacy planning is the final act of love before a principal leaves, but it can also be a reflective practice, supporting a school leader’s longevity while instilling consistency and predictability into the school. Over the years of learning about where I work, I’ve built a scope and sequence, sharing month by month what makes up the rhythms of the school year. I write a summary of each event or tradition, including the letters, flyers, and surveys that go out to families and staff. I like to top each page with what the community has reflected back about it—what to keep, what to change.

These careful logs are my investment in keeping the story going. They integrate communal wisdom. They are a friendly reminder that no one owns a school. And they help make sure that a wide breadth of voices reemerge and remain a touchpoint in the life of the school.