Education in Alabama is not optional. It is compulsory. Every child must be educated. That is a settled expectation in our society not up for debate.
What is up for debate – and what deserves an honest, fact-based conversation – is this: Who controls the money used to educate our children, and who decides how it is spent?
In Alabama, public school funding averages roughly $15,000 per student each year. That is a substantial public investment in every child.
Yet most parents never see that number attached to their child. They never hold it. They never decide where it goes. It simply flows into a system on their behalf.
Now imagine if parents physically wrote the check or directed the money to an educational program. Would every family automatically hand it to their assigned public school? Or would some pause and ask whether there might be a better academic fit, a different instructional approach, or a structure better aligned with their child’s needs?
That is the real school choice debate. Not whether public schools should exist. They should. Not whether private schools should exist. They should. Not whether homeschooling is legitimate. It is.
The question is whether funding should follow institutions or follow children.
If the parent has the right to direct the education of the child, shouldn’t the parent also have the right to direct the funds allotted for their student to direct that education?
Alabama’s CHOOSE Act brought that question into sharper focus. Under the CHOOSE Act, scholarship amounts are significantly lower than public per-pupil funding – $7,000 for students attending private schools and $2,000 for homeschooled students, capped at $4,000 per family. And to be clear, the scholarship money NEVER flows directly to a parent’s personal bank account. It never will. The parents must direct the money to service providers and vendors for educational programs and resources.
This is not a dollar-for-dollar transfer. It is not a full redirection of public funding. It is partial portability – allowing families access to a portion of the investment already tied to their child.
Critics claim school choice is a scam or that it benefits only the wealthy. But that argument overlooks both math and reality.
Wealthy families have always exercised choice. They relocate to preferred districts. They pay $30,000 to $50,000 per year for private academies. They hire tutors and fund enrichment. A $7,000 scholarship does not subsidize elite privilege.
Wealthy people also send their children to public schools. They are getting the same per child funding as every other student. If we’re willing to fund one scenario, then the standard has already been set to fund that student without discrimination based on economic factors. We’re already funding all families of diverse economic backgrounds.
Funding portability does something different: it expands access for middle- and working-class families who previously had few meaningful options.
Let’s look at the classroom level for a moment.
Using conservative figures, if public funding averages about $15,000 per student and a classroom holds on average 18 students, that represents approximately $270,000 in annual investment tied to the students in that room. At 20 students, that number approaches $300,000.
This math prompts an important question: If almost $300,000 is associated with the students in a single classroom, why are teachers often underpaid? Why are parents frequently asked to supply basic classroom materials? Why do classrooms operate lean while administrative and compliance structures continue to expand?
This is not about attacking public education. It is about examining whether funding architecture prioritizes classrooms – or bureaucracy.
More importantly, it is about opportunity.
For generations, families trapped in underperforming schools have faced limited options. Academic stagnation can become cultural stagnation. Cultural stagnation can become economic stagnation. Cycles repeat – not because families lack desire, but because they lack access.
We all agree that we want our children to do better than we did. That is every parent's wish.
That aspiration transcends politics, income levels, and geography.
Breaking cycles requires more than talk. It requires action and opportunity, and opportunity is exactly the purpose of educational scholarships.
Funding portability does not eliminate public schools. It does not erase private schools or replace homeschooling. There is a need for all these options.
What it does, however, is acknowledge that children are diverse – and that educational structures should be flexible enough to reflect that diversity.
Another criticism is that private schools lack accountability. But accountability looks different when enrollment is voluntary. Whereas public schools receive funding through district assignment and taxation and continue operating regardless of individual family satisfaction, test scores, and outcomes, private schools participating in scholarship programs must meet program participation requirements and administer assessments. They survive only if families remain enrolled. If parents are dissatisfied, they leave. If the program isn’t meeting student needs, the parents leave. If enough leave, the school closes.
That is a form of accountability driven by choice rather than compulsion.
At its core, the resistance to funding portability is not about protecting children. It is about preserving control – control over resources, structure, and decision-making.
Alabama is at a pivotal moment. If Alabama taxpayers invest approximately $15,000 per child, who should decide how that investment is used? If we believe parents have the primary right to direct the education of their child, should funding reflect that belief?
This is not a fight against public education. Public schools have an essential role, as do private schools and home schools.
The goal is not elimination. The goal is empowerment for families and choice.
School choice is not about power for institutions. It is about power for parents and opportunity for children. It is about breaking cycles to allow a better future for our children.
Perhaps it is time to let all the money follow the child.
Jennifer Ludy is a veteran homeschool mom, a microschool owner in Jefferson County, an education advocate, and a curriculum developer serving Alabama’s non-public school sector.
The views and opinions expressed here are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the policy or position of 1819 News. To comment, please send an email with your name and contact information to [email protected].
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