Fishermen have an old saying: "Throw them back and get them when they're bigger." That strategy works; the ecosystem provides conditions that allow small fish to become larger ones.

In Arkansas, we sometimes treat our children the same way, but without protecting the ecosystem they need. In education, we often postpone investment while weakening the very systems children depend on.

We defer responsibility and tell ourselves the problems will work themselves out. Then, when those problems turn into crime, poverty, or incarceration years later, the money suddenly appears to manage the consequences rather than prevent them.

Sometimes the hardest task for adults--and for governments--is letting go of policies that once sounded sensible but no longer serve the public good.

I say this from personal experience. I am a dyslexic kid from Little Rock who went through Arkansas public schools, starting at Central High, then Parkview Magnet, and finishing at Metro Vocational. Those schools were not perfect, but they gave me a real chance. Dedicated teachers helped me find direction even when my grades were uneven and my future uncertain.

That experience makes the current debate over education policy in Arkansas hit close to home. From an anthropological perspective, education systems are not simply institutions--they are cultural choices about how a society develops its next generation.

Recently, my daughter--who is bright and dyslexic--was asked not to return to her private school. A recent evaluation confirmed she is capable and simply needs the kind of targeted support common for students with dyslexia. Instead of providing that support, the school determined she was not the right fit.

This situation brought into focus what worries me about where Arkansas education policy may be heading.

The LEARNS Act, signed by Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders, raises teacher pay and expands Education Freedom Accounts--essentially vouchers that allow families to use public money for private schools, homeschooling, or other educational alternatives. Supporters say the policy expands parental choice.

On paper, that sounds reasonable.

But choice only works if families have the resources to make it meaningful. Many vouchers do not cover the full cost of private education, leaving families unable to bridge that gap. Meanwhile, public schools--required to educate every child--lose resources. Class sizes grow, teachers stretch thinner, and support systems weaken.

The deeper problem appears when private institutions accept public funds.

Public schools must educate every child who walks through the door, including students with dyslexia, learning differences, behavioral challenges, or unstable home lives. They are required to provide support and services.

Private schools do not operate under the same obligation.

When they accept taxpayer dollars through voucher programs, they still retain the discretion to determine which students they will serve and which they will not. Public funds can end up supporting institutions that are able to decline students who require additional assistance. A policy described as expanding educational opportunity can quietly produce a system where public funds support selective exclusion.

That tension matters.

In any group of children, there will always be variations in how they learn. Some students need extra time, different approaches, or additional support. That variation is not a weakness; it is part of what makes communities resilient and creative over time.

When schools increasingly prioritize students who fit easily within narrow benchmarks, they may achieve short-term consistency. But they risk losing the broader strength that comes from cultivating different kinds of learners.

In one public elementary classroom I recently observed, more than 20 students were assigned to a single teacher. Papers were stacked on the desk, hands were raised across the room, and the teacher was doing her best to keep 20 different learning speeds moving in roughly the same direction. Everyone involved was working hard. But the system itself was clearly under strain.

Those are the classrooms that absorb the pressure when public resources shift elsewhere.

At the same time, Arkansas has been preparing to spend roughly $825 million on a new prison to address future incarceration needs. When the conversation turns to managing the results of social problems, funding appears quickly.

Where is that same urgency when it comes to preventing those problems in the first place?

Education is not simply a market transaction. It is public infrastructure--like roads, bridges, or clean water systems--upon which the entire society depends. Businesses need workers who can read, think, and solve problems. Communities need citizens who can participate in civic life.

When we weaken public education by treating it primarily as a marketplace, we risk making opportunity depend more on family resources than shared investment.

My daughter will adapt. Children often do. Dyslexia does not define a person's potential, and many successful adults follow learning paths that diverge from standard benchmarks.

But the larger question remains: When private institutions accept public funds, should they also accept a broader public responsibility? Taxpayer money intended to expand educational opportunity should not support systems that can simply decline students who require additional help.

Arkansas has a choice.

We can continue postponing real investment in our children and hope they somehow grow stronger without the support they need. Or we can recognize that strong public education is not a luxury--it is the foundation of a healthy society.

The real question is not whether we can afford to invest seriously in early education, smaller classes, and support for all kinds of learners.

The question is whether we can afford not to.

Because sometimes the hardest investment a society must make is not only financial. It is intellectual. We must unlearn the belief that problems neglected in the classroom can somehow be solved later at the prison gate.

And when we treat children like small fish we can throw back and deal with later, we should not be surprised when the future we catch is smaller than the one we hoped for.

Phillip Bruce McMath is a Little Rock native, public school graduate, and anthropologist.

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