Rethinking the School Closure Research: School Closure as Spatial Injustice

Justifications for Closure

Researchers note three main reasons that urban and rural school officials give for closing schools: cost efficiency, academic performance, and equality. In the context of nationwide budget crises, education stakeholders closed schools because they were constricted by funding or wanted to save public monies (Deeb-Sossa & Moreno, 2016; Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; DeYoung, 1995; Dodson & Garrett, 2004; Dowdall, 2011; Garnett, 2014; Khalifa, Jennings, Briscoe, Oleszweski, & Abdi, 2014; Larsen, 2014; Siegel-Hawley, Bridges, & Shields, 2017; Spader, 2007; Strange, 2013). For example, an examination of closures in Chicago, Detroit, Milwaukee, Kansas City, Pittsburgh, and Washington D.C. found that most officials cited budget crises as motivation for closure (Dowdall, 2011); Chicago’s deficit amounted to $1 billion, and Detroit faced a $326 million deficit, approximately 30% of the district’s total budget (Garnett, 2014). Officials in rural districts across the country also closed schools to counteract limited district or state resources (Deeb-Sossa & Moreno, 2016; Dodson & Garrett, 2004; Spader, 2007; Strange, 2013). Researchers observed that the 2007 recession seemed to further this motivation (Jack & Sludden, 2013; Lee & Lubienski, 2016; McMillin, 2010; Valencia, 2012; Wyckoff, Adelaja, & Gibson, 2011).

Policymakers have also closed schools for low-academic performance. Typically they labeled schools set for closure as “inadequate” (Bastress, 2003; Casey, 1998), “deficient” (A. W. Johnson, 2012; Thompson, Wood, & Honeyman, 1990), or academically “failing” (Buras, 2015; Ewing, 2018; Kirshner, Gaertner, & Pozzoboni, 2010; Pappas, 2016; Steggert & Galletta, 2018). Closure candidates usually had low test scores, attendance rates, or graduation rates, or some combination of the three (Briscoe & Khalifa, 2015; Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; Kemple, 2015; Khalifa et al., 2014; Kretchmar, 2014; Warner, Brown, & Lindle, 2011; Weiss & Long, 2013), but, in the studies and reports we found, officials typically closed schools in response to low test scores (Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; A. W. Johnson, 2012; Khalifa et al., 2014; Subramaniam, 2011; Weiss & Long, 2013). Policymakers often framed this rationale as furthering “accountability.” This accountability involved both threatening (or delivering) teacher punishment, with the threat of closure understood as an inducement to more effective teaching, and expanding student opportunity, with policymakers arguing that they would better serve students by sending them to higher performing or better resourced schools (de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Duke, 2012; Grant, Arcello, Konrad, & Swenson, 2014; Jack & Sludden, 2013; A. W. Johnson, 2012; Sunderman & Payne, 2009). Despite the objective framing of this argument, both district officials and researchers varied in the performance benchmarks they used to justify or examine academic closures, such as different or changing standards for “low performance” (Luppescu, Allensworth, Moore, de la Torre, & Murphy, 2011), making it difficult to determine the actual performance of “low-performing” schools targeted for closure. Still, this logic has been a key component of hundreds of school closings since the mid-2000s (de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Han et al., 2017; Steiner, 2009; Stuit, 2012).

Both the cost and academic performance arguments are often used to support a third, related justification: equality. Policymakers, district officials, and sometimes researchers invoked equality to argue that school closure could provide better educational opportunities to communities that are racially, economically, and/or spatially marginalized (Dowdall, 2011; England & Hamann, 2013; Grant et al., 2014; G. P. Green, 2013; Jack & Sludden, 2013; A. Jackson & Gaudet, 2010; Strange, 2013; Williams, 2013). For example, in Kansas City, Pittsburgh, and Philadelphia, policymakers claimed that closures—and, presumably, student reassignment—could allow “equal access to arts and athletics, up-to-date science and computer labs, well-maintained buildings, an array of course selections, and support systems such as counseling or tutoring” (Dowdall, 2011, p. 12). In rural communities, policymakers often argued that, because small schools do not offer the same educational opportunities as large schools, closing small schools and moving students to larger facilities can provide them with a better educational experience (G. P. Green, 2013; C. B. Howley, Johnson, & Petrie, 2011). Sometimes these closures and reorganizations were intended to facilitate desegregation and racial equality specifically. In rural Louisiana, for example, Williams (2013) found that officials closed and consolidated schools in an attempt to integrate and equalize Black and White students’ educational experiences.

While researchers have paid much attention to academic accountability as a motivation for closure—and several studies focused specifically on schools closed due to low performance (Han et al., 2017; A. W. Johnson, 2012; Stuit, 2012; Subramaniam, 2011; Weber, Farmer, & Donoghue, 2018)—academic performance is rarely the sole explanation for closure. Officials usually justified recent urban closures with a combination of cost efficiency and academic performance arguments. The emergence of the efficiency argument in urban closures is relatively new; in fact, though rural policymakers closed cost-inefficient schools throughout the 20th century (DeYoung, 2000; Haas, 1990), the first mention of urban efficiency closures did not occur in our sources until the early 2000s (McLean, 2003). A specific variety of the efficiency argument motivated these recent urban closures: the utilization of limited space. States and districts have pressed local schools to determine the best use of building space in tight urban environments (Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Dowdall & Warner, 2013; Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; T. L. Green, 2017; Meiners, 2016; Ozek, Hansen, & Gonzalez, 2012; Sunderman & Payne, 2009; Weber et al., 2018), leading district officials to examine building usage to identify and close underutilized sites (Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; Weber et al., 2018).

Our sources show that efficiency arguments have long defined rural closures (Bastress, 2003; Blauwkamp, Longo, & Anderson, 2011; DeYoung, 2000; Hendrix, 2013; Hyndman, Cleveland, & Huffman, 2010; Patterson, Koenigs, Mohn, & Rasmussen, 2006; Sell & Leistritz, 1997; Spader, 2007; Surface, 2011; Tholkes & Sederberg, 1990). Rural justifications, though, have focused on resource “maximization” across small populations, with officials seeking to expand options by closing schools and consolidating resources, whether physical resources like buildings (DeYoung, 1995), material resources like curricula and course offerings (Casey, 1998; C. W. Jackson, 2000; Mathis, 2003; Nachtigal, 1992; Self, 2001), or staffing resources like teachers and personnel (Dodson & Garrett, 2004; Warner et al., 2011).

In justifying closures, then, policymakers use common arguments, though their vocabularies vary by context. They focus on economic efficiency, whether through “right-sizing” schools or “consolidating” facilities; academic performance, by punishing low test scores and expanding academic and extracurricular offerings; and equality of opportunity, in arguing for equal access for all students, regardless of race, class, or location. These pro-closure arguments offer a set of values—tied to a neoliberal agenda, some researchers argue (Aviles & Heybach, 2017; A. W. Johnson, 2012; Lipman, 2007, 2014, 2018; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Slater, 2018; Waitoller & Super, 2017)—to motivate and frame a vast policy landscape.

Policies of Closure

Since 1990, a variety of national, state, and local policies have permitted or mandated closure across the country. Three key federal “accountability policies,” typically justified by arguments of academic opportunity and equality, have led to closures. The first was the 2001 NCLB Act, which required states to adopt school improvement plans for “low-performing” schools; the legislation permitted closure as a sanction for schools not making adequate yearly progress (Kemple, 2015; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Sherrod & Dawkins-Law, 2013; Steiner, 2009). NCLB, therefore, sparked a number of state policies mandating or permitting school closure as an academic sanction, such as a Texas law allowing the state’s commissioner of education to close schools with a history of low performance (A. W. Johnson, 2012) and a statute in North Carolina that permitted local school boards to close schools, as long as they considered factors like student welfare and financial impact (Sherrod & Dawkins-Law, 2013). The 2009 American Recovery and Reinvestment Act, a response to the 2007 recession, also promoted school closure. It included substantial funding for school reform through two grant programs: Race to the Top, a competitive state award for innovative reform plans, which could include closing schools and sending students to higher performing schools (Duke, 2012), and its School Improvement Grant program, which set aside $3 billion for grants to states that adopted approved school intervention models, one of which was closure (Dragoset et al., 2017; Kemple, 2015).

District strategic plans have also caused recent closures. Plans in cities like Baltimore, Chicago, and Philadelphia recommended closure in underenrolled or low-performing schools (Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Jack & Sludden, 2013; Lee & Lubienski, 2016; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Shiller, 2017; Steggert & Galletta, 2018). Chicago’s Renaissance 2010 is the most studied of these plans; it stipulated the closure of more than 50 schools, along with the opening of new charter schools (Caref, Hainds, Hilgendorf, Jankov, & Russell, 2012; Lipman & Haines, 2007). Similarly, New Orleans’s School Facilities Master Plan, adopted after Hurricane Katrina, reconstructed the city’s entire educational system, shutting nearly every school, firing all of the city’s teachers, and creating an almost entirely charter-based system (Buras, 2015; Lincove, Barrett, & Strunk, 2017). With these strategic plans, the closures were part of a larger vision for education and, some advocates and researchers suspected, for urban gentrification and racial exclusion (Buras, 2015; Caref et al., 2012; Lipman & Haines, 2007); as one report argued, these plans were often tied to a “political opening,” such as a natural disaster or budget crisis (Journey for Justice Alliance, 2014).

In addition to the federal, state, and local policies directly leading to closure, numerous other policies and processes have likely triggered closure more indirectly or incidentally. Several researchers linked charter school policies to urban closures (Steggert & Galletta, 2018; Waitoller & Super, 2017; Weber et al., 2018), though no study has established a clear causal relationship, possibly due to the variety of other circumstances surrounding closures. But growth in charter schools can reduce enrollment in traditional public schools, thereby prompting closures; researchers argued that this dynamic played into closures in Philadelphia, Kansas City, Milwaukee, Washington D.C., Chicago, New York City, and Detroit (Dowdall, 2011; Farmer et al., 2013; Garnett, 2014; Lipman, Vaughan, & Gutierrez, 2014; Jack & Sludden, 2013; Journey for Justice Alliance, 2014; Meiners, 2016; Weiss & Long, 2013). Others have suggested a fiscal link, with charter schools reducing funding available for traditional public schools (Null, 2001; Steggert & Galletta, 2018). The relationship between charter school openings and traditional public school closings is a developing issue, explored in more recent articles—perhaps an unsurprising trend, as recent federal policies have expanded charter schools (Duke, 2012). A couple of authors speculated that other choice policies, including interdistrict school choice and school vouchers, might also lead to closures by lowering enrollments or diverting funding (Jimerson, 2002; McMillin, 2010). Only one rural article (Null, 2001), a report on school funding in Ohio, described the possible link between charter schools and rural school closure.

School district consolidation is perhaps the most common, if also somewhat indirect, cause of rural closure. District consolidation—the collapsing of smaller districts into larger ones—is typically inspired by efficiency and equality arguments, and research shows that it often leads to school closure, as the new, consolidated board looks to save money by closing facilities, usually by targeting the schools in the absorbed or annexed district (England & Hamann, 2013; Hyndman et al., 2010; J. Johnson, 2006; Post & Stambach, 1999). District consolidation is mandated or incentivized through a variety of state policies tied to minimum enrollments or financial inducements (C. B. Howley et al., 2011; Thompson et al., 1990). Arkansas’s Act 60, for example, sets a minimum district enrollment of 350 students (J. Johnson, 2006), and a 2004 Nebraska policy gave onetime payments to districts with fewer than 390 students that merged to create larger jurisdictions (Bailey & Preston, 2007). These policies, along with facilities funding linked to enrollment and projected student growth (C. B. Howley et al., 2011; Lawrence, 2001), state aid formulas that penalize districts with low student–staff ratios (Thompson et al., 1990), and state consolidation frameworks that aim to equalize districts’ building usage (Church & Murray, 1993), create pressures that may make it more likely for small, usually rural, schools to close.

A final set of closure triggers, also inspired by efficiency arguments, is linked to budget constraints specifically. Unfunded curricular or staffing mandates appeared to spark closure, particularly in rural districts (Bastress, 2003; C. B. Howley et al., 2011; Salmon, 1990); these mandates contributed to a district’s fiscal distress, and small or poor districts, struggling to afford these requirements, closed schools in an effort to cut costs. School funding court cases, such as 1984’s Pauley v. Bailey in West Virginia, have also led to many efficiency-inspired school closures (DeYoung, 1995; Killeen & Sipple, 2000; Meckley & Hazi, 1998; Purdy, 1997; Spence, 1998; Strange, 2013). These decisions have forced officials to offset inequities in state funding and, to do so, they have sometimes created state agencies, including the Ohio Schools Facilities Commission and the School Building Authority in West Virginia. These agencies have issued facilities and construction regulations that incentivized or necessitated closing and consolidating small schools (DeYoung, 1995; Killeen & Sipple, 2000; Meckley & Hazi, 1998; Null, 2001; Purdy, 1997; Thompson et al., 1990).

Since 1990, a wide and complex set of policies and processes—some specific to particular districts, others stretching across states or the nation—have led to school closure. These policies and processes have required, incentivized, or allowed the closing of schools, whether directly or indirectly. Together, this varied collection of policies has provided a consistent source of closure triggers, with implementations often complex and political.

Implementation of Closure

The research on urban closures suggests a relatively common process of closure: state or district leaders decide that closures are necessary; they use academic and financial metrics like test scores, enrollment, or costs per pupil to select schools to close; they prepare for the closure, which can include gradually phasing out enrolled students, immediately un-enrolling students the year of the closure announcement, or shifting grade configurations in receiving schools; they close the school, usually at the end of the school year; they transition students from the closed school to an open school; and, sometimes, they sell surplus properties (Bifulco & Schwegman, 2019; Bross, Harris, & Liu, 2016; Brummet, 2014; Dowdall, 2011; Dowdall & Warner, 2013; Engberg, Gill, Zamarro, & Zimmer, 2012; Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; Jack & Sludden, 2013; Kemple, 2015; Khalifa et al., 2014; Lipman et al., 2014; Patterson et al., 2006; Siegel-Hawley et al., 2017; Steiner, 2009; Subramaniam, 2011). The rural research, like the urban, describes the processes by which officials choose schools for closure or consolidation; generally, these decisions originate in district or state meetings and offices (Deeb-Sossa & Moreno, 2016; Patterson et al., 2006; Ward & Rink, 1992). Unlike the urban literature, however, rural analyses rarely detail the steps policymakers take after choosing sites, such as preparation for closure, the transition of students, or the handling of properties after closure.

Some urban and rural policymakers have allowed for community input in the closure or consolidation process by putting the closure to public vote, holding open forums to gather input, and creating local councils or planning committees to oversee the process (DeYoung, 2000; Ewing, 2018; Good, 2016; Hendrix, 2013; Hyndman et al., 2010; Kirshner, 2015; Kretchmar, 2014; Pappas, 2016; Shiller, 2017). And sometimes this community input has yielded changes: For example, Chicago officials responded to community input by addressing transportation issues postclosure (Gordon et al., 2018; Graham, Keys, McMahon, & Brubacher, 2014), and, in another city, others attempted to initiate a more transparent closure process after initial plans for closing a school site were retracted (Finnigan & Lavner, 2012). A couple of rural districts assembled task forces of community members to weigh in on closure recommendations (Self, 2001; Warner et al., 2011), and another negotiated a compromise over new school sites (Blauwkamp et al., 2011).

However, residents often argue that these processes for “community input” are performative and that closure decisions are made with little regard for the immediate needs of those communities most affected (Buras, 2015; Freelon, 2018; Pappas, 2016). Most studies describing residents’ reactions showed that, even with votes or forums or committees, community members felt excluded from closure and consolidation processes: They did not close their schools—instead, their schools closed on them (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; Bard, Gardner, & Wieland, 2006; Buras, 2015; Chance & Cummins, 1998; Deeb-Sossa & Moreno, 2016; DeYoung, 1995; DeYoung & Howley, 1990; Ewing, 2018; Freelon, 2018; Gaertner & Kirshner, 2017; Kirshner, 2015; Lincove et al., 2017; Lipman et al., 2014; Null, 2001; Patterson et al., 2006; Siegel-Hawley et al., 2017; Shiller, 2017; Vaughan & Gutierrez, 2017; Warner et al., 2011). Residents sometimes felt unheard by school boards on the basis of racial discrimination (Briscoe & Khalifa, 2015; Desimone, 1993), and in other instances, residents contended that their schools were “set up” to fail by the district or state, whether due to inadequate resources for students with special education or language needs or to broader funding inequities (Freelon, 2018; Good, 2016; Kretchmar, 2014; Patterson et al., 2006).

In addition, closure processes are sometimes capricious and discriminatory; several case studies documented examples in which districts with explicit closure criteria closed schools serving mostly students of color that did not meet those criteria or overlooked schools that did. Finnigan and Lavner (2012), for instance, described how a district came to close a school, even though officials left open five other schools that, according to their own closure criteria, they had ranked as more deserving of closure. In California, district administrators decided to close a school due to budget “deficits,” yet they built a new school in a wealthier neighborhood in the same district (Deeb-Sossa & Manzo, 2018; Deeb-Sossa & Moreno, 2016). And, in Richmond, Virginia, officials closed a school that was both more cost efficient and stronger academically than other schools that remained open (Siegel-Hawley et al., 2017). Residents argued that these kinds of inconsistencies in implementation were a result of the political power of those with more education, wealth, political connections, or organizing capacity (Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; Pappas, 2016). In addition, some community members challenged whether or not their school was truly a “failure,” since they viewed evidence like students’ strong social and emotional health, rising college-going rates, decreasing arrest and suspension rates, and national awards as signs of its success (Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; Ewing, 2018; Kirshner, 2015; Welton & Freelon, 2018).

Closure is typically framed as a neutral process (Deeds & Pattillo, 2015), but its implementation is often politically fraught. Although scholars and administrators have recommended that states and districts propose and implement transparent closure processes with staff buy-in, transition plans for students, and oversight from committees with diverse representation (Hughes, 2003; McMillin, 2010; Sell & Leistritz, 1997; Sunderman & Payne, 2009), the research suggests that implementation processes often do not proceed in such a manner. Instead, they can be exclusionary and discriminatory. Together, these closure processes—justifications, policies, and implementation—reflect a broader agenda for education that, many argue, prioritizes competition and minimizes democratic participation in education (Aggarwal, Mayorga, & Nevel, 2012; Allweis, Grant, & Manning, 2015; Aviles & Heybach, 2017; A. W. Johnson, 2012; Killeen & Sipple, 2000; Lipman, 2007, 2014, 2018; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Slater, 2018; Waitoller & Super, 2017).

Distribution of Closure

A major focus of both literatures is the location of closures—that is, how they affect specific places. The research is inconclusive as to whether closures have a greater impact on urban or rural communities; studies by Billger and Beck (2012) and the University of Arkansas’s Office for Education Policy (Jensen & Ritter, 2010) showed a rural preponderance, but a 2017 study of academic performance-related closures across 26 states by the Center for Research on Education Outcomes (CREDO) found a larger urban share, at least for this type of closure (Han et al., 2017). Regardless, the geography of closures clearly matters to the students and residents affected, with some researchers arguing that the spatial location of closures serves to further marginalize already marginal places (Casey, 1998; de la Torre et al., 2015; Ewing, 2018; Good, 2016; Grant et al., 2014; A. W. Johnson, 2012; Lee & Lubienski; 2016; Lipman, 2007, 2018; Weber et al., 2018).

Tied to location is demographics, and closures are not evenly distributed. First, most research shows that closures are classed: They disproportionately affect poor students and communities (Bastress, 2003; Brummet, 2014; de la Torre et al., 2015; Engberg et al., 2012; Han et al., 2017; Jensen & Ritter, 2010; Sherrod & Dawkins-Law, 2013). For example, in an analysis of closures in a mid-sized city, Engberg et al. (2012) found that students displaced by closure were much more likely to receive free or reduced-price lunch than nondisplaced students, and CREDO’s national study determined that low-performing schools serving greater proportions of low-income students had a much greater likelihood of closure than similarly performing schools with wealthier students (Han et al., 2017). Mass closures hit places struggling with declining economies and high poverty, such as Milwaukee, Newark, and Appalachia (Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; DeYoung & Howley, 1990; Larsen, 2014; Spence, 1998; Thompson et al., 1990).

School closures also seem to disproportionately affect communities of color. A few cross-geography studies documented this racial unevenness (Billger, 2010; Gallagher & Gold, 2017; Han et al., 2017; Jensen & Ritter, 2010). CREDO’s national study tested for racial disproportionality specifically, showing that, holding other factors—like schools’ academic performance—constant, Black and Latinx students were most impacted by closures related to academic sanction (Han et al., 2017). This racial disproportionality is also thoroughly explored in the urban literature (de la Torre et al., 2015; Engberg et al., 2012; Journey for Justice Alliance, 2014; Lee & Lubienski, 2016; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Subramaniam, 2011). A number of large-scale quantitative studies and reports showed that closures tend to affect low-income Black and Latinx students (Brummet, 2014; de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Engberg et al., 2012; Journey for Justice Alliance, 2014; Lee & Lubienski; 2016; Subramaniam, 2011), and a variety of single-site studies, in focusing on the Black and Brown communities and students experiencing closure within specific cities, also reinforced this point (Bifulco & Schwegman, 2019; Caref et al., 2012; de la Torre et al., 2015; Ewing, 2018; Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; Good, 2016; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Lipman et al., 2014; Luppescu et al., 2011; Meiners, 2016). Some research explored nuances in which minoritized populations were affected, showing that the percentage of Black students in a school was a better predictor of closures than the percentage of Latinx students (Burdick-Will, Keels, & Schuble, 2013; Weber et al., 2018) and that the percentage of Asian students was not a significant predictor (Bifulco & Schwegman, 2019).

The rural literature says little about the role of race and class in school closures, making it difficult to identify who closures most affect. A few case studies and state reports, though, suggest that rural communities of color are at greater risk of school closure than rural White communities (Deeb-Sossa & Moreno, 2016; England & Hamann, 2013; Jimerson, 2005; J. Johnson, 2006). This disproportionality is shown most clearly in research on school closures in Arkansas (Jensen & Ritter, 2010; Jimerson, 2005; J. Johnson, 2006); one investigation of the impact of Act 60, which legislates the consolidation of small districts and has precipitated many rural school closures, showed that, in the annexed districts, closed schools served a higher proportion of African American students than those schools that remained open (J. Johnson, 2006). However, although most urban closures have affected communities of color, case studies indicated that many rural closures have impacted White residents, typically in rural places with high rates of White poverty, substantial outmigration, and declining economies, such as Appalachia (DeYoung & Howley, 1990; Spence, 1998; Talen, 2001).

A small number of studies complicate or refute these racialized and classed trends. A longitudinal analysis of the causes of Illinois school closures (excluding Chicago), for example, found that student demographics were not a predictor of closure (Billger & Beck, 2012), and a nation-wide descriptive analysis by the Urban Institute indicated that, though closed urban schools had higher student poverty rates than open schools and closed urban and rural schools had lower proportions of White students than open schools, closed rural schools had slightly lower proportions of poor students than those that remained open (Gallagher & Gold, 2017). Weber et al. (2018) showed that, while the percentage of Black students in a school was a very strong predictor of closures in the Chicago from 2003 to 2010, it was not for those from 2011 to 2013. However, the bulk of data showing race and class disproportionality suggests that these few studies may be exceptions, and methodological or specific contextual factors might explain the findings.

Urban and rural studies, using both quantitative and qualitative methods, identify a few other social and economic factors shaping communities facing closure; these factors are intimately related to their demographics and location. School closures happened in urban and rural places that were losing students (Billger, 2010; Billger & Beck, 2012; Brummet, 2014; Mills, McGee, & Greene, 2013), typically tied to broader trends in outmigration (Casey, 1998; de la Torre et al., 2015; DeYoung, 1995; Lipman & Haines, 2007; B. A. Miller, 1990; Salmon, 1990; Williams, 2013). In cities, gentrification often facilitated this outmigration, forcing out poor Black and Latinx families in Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York City (Aggarwal et al., 2012; Dowdall, 2011; Lipman & Haines, 2007). A study by Burdick-Will et al. (2013), for example, found that closed Chicago schools were located in “revitalizing” neighborhoods with changing demographics—specifically, high-but-decreasing proportions of Black residents and falling numbers of children. Similarly, research by Good (2016) showed that closures in Chicago occurred in neighborhoods with increasing property values, also suggesting a gentrification impact. Several case studies and ethnographies linked rural outmigration to the decline of rural industries (DeYoung, 1995; Hyndman et al., 2010; B. A. Miller, 1990), such as coal mining or timber, or the consolidation and mechanization of farming (Blauwkamp et al., 2011; Casey, 1998); these economic trends reduced jobs, limited state and local revenues, and furthered outmigration, leaving a smaller, older population less willing or able to support local schools (Blauwkamp et al., 2011). Tight state budgets (Dowdall, 2011; Duncombe, Miner, & Ruggiero, 1995; Schwinden, 1993) were also associated with closure, as were climbing tax rates (Billger & Beck, 2012; Lawrence, 2001; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Meckley & Hazi, 1998) and growing education shares of overall tax revenue (Billger & Beck, 2012). Finally, residential segregation and racial tension also shaped which urban and rural schools closed (Lee & Lubienski, 2016; Williams, 2013); White families sometimes successfully resisted closure of their schools, or they moved to Whiter districts or private schools, which can hasten the closure of schools serving the remaining students (Desimone, 1993; Garnett, 2014; Grant et al., 2014; Siegel-Hawley et al., 2017; Williams, 2013).

Together, these studies illustrate that, across geographies, closures affect particular rural and urban communities. Typically, these are places losing population, often with changing or struggling economies. The urban literature shows that, usually, the populations most affected by closure are segregated, low-income communities of color, and some initial research suggests that rural closures are also racially and economically uneven in their impacts.

Student and Community Reactions to Closure

Research indicates that most communities are opposed to school closures, often vehemently (de la Torre et al., 2015; DeYoung, 1995; Jack & Sludden, 2013; C. W. Jackson, 2000; Journey for Justice Alliance, 2014; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Lipman et al., 2014; Sell & Leistritz, 1997; Talen, 2001), with a handful of studies focusing on this opposition specifically (Deeb-Sossa & Moreno, 2016; Ewing, 2018; Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; Freelon, 2018; Good, 2016; T. L. Green, 2017; Pazey, Cole, & Spikes, 2017; Slater, 2018; Welton & Freelon, 2018). The reasons communities oppose closure are myriad: increased travel time or distance (de la Torre et al., 2015; Meckley & Hazi, 1998; Talen, 2001), damage to student/teacher relationships (Kirshner, 2015; Kirshner et al., 2010; Post & Stambach, 1999), erosion of direct democracy (Fontaine, 1998; Lipman & Haines, 2007), suspicion of racist motivations for closure (Briscoe & Khalifa, 2015; Ewing, 2018; Journey for Justice Alliance; 2014), and disagreements about whether the school was truly “failing” students (Buras, 2015; Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; Ewing, 2018; Pappas, 2016). Residents also fear the loss of an important symbolic and community resource, as schools can sustain local economies (Lyson, 2002), foster racial liberation (Ewing, 2018), and serve as sites for exercising local control and political voice (DeYoung & Howley, 1990; B. A. Miller, 1990; Sell & Leistritz, 1997); rural researchers, in particular, see closure as a threat to the economic, social, political, and cultural vitality of rural places (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; Casey, 1998; DeYoung, 1995; Fontaine, 1998; C. W. Jackson, 2000; Lyson, 2002; Surface, 2011). Also, several studies found that, even though opposition to closure is often predicated on equity arguments, exclusion and privilege can motivate this opposition (Aggarwal et al., 2012; Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; Ward & Rink, 1992; Williams, 2013). White or wealthier communities can resist losing their educational advantages or sharing their educational spaces—suggesting that opposition to closure, when successful, might sometimes further segregation and inequality.

Communities express this resistance in a variety of ways. A common response, particularly in urban areas, is organizing to register their opposition with officials, change the closure process, or halt the closure through mass demonstrations, including marches and hunger strikes, or coordinated legal actions like lawsuits and civil rights complaints (Aviles & Heybach, 2017; de la Torre et al., 2015; Ewing, 2018; T. L. Green, 2017; Jack & Sludden, 2013; Lipman, 2007; Lipman et al., 2014; Siegel-Hawley et al., 2017; Slater, 2018; Valencia, 2012). This kind of mobilization often involved building broad coalitions of students, teachers, and parents (Aggarwal et al., 2012; Conner & Cosner, 2014; de la Torre et al., 2015; Ewing, 2018; Valencia, 2012; Welton & Freelon, 2018). Other responses to closure are more individualistic in nature, like moving out of the district or seeking private or charter school options (England & Hamann, 2013; C. W. Howley, 2006; Lipman et al., 2014; Patterson et al., 2006; Pazey et al., 2017; Post & Stambach, 1999; Williams, 2013).

Research and strategic communication are tools often used in organized resistance, especially to oppose urban closures, perhaps due to the greater presence of university partners and media outlets in cities. A number of urban-focused reports sought to educate readers about the causes, processes, and impacts of closure (de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Journey for Justice Alliance, 2014; Lipman et al., 2014). A typical example is a 2014 report by the Journey for Justice Alliance, an alliance of 36 urban groups organizing to resist closures. This descriptive report, which documented urban closures and associated policies and demographic trends, was “writ[ten] . . . because we need the American people to know that the public education systems in our communities are dying” (p. 1); it called on policymakers to hear communities’ experiences of closure, establish a moratorium on closure, and end economic and education policies that perpetuate closure (Journey for Justice Alliance, 2014). Other studies could be classified as activist research (e.g., Kretchmar, 2014; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Valencia, 2012), with authors seeking to change closure policy or practice.

Compared with the urban literature, rural studies are relatively thin on the tools and mechanisms of resistance. Studies tended to simply note that communities were opposed to closure (e.g., Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; Bastress, 2003; Casey, 1998; C. W. Jackson, 2000), suggesting that rural communities less frequently engaged in active organizing to resist closures or change closure policies. Several described how residents reacted with smaller, quieter actions, such as voting to remove closure-supporting board members from office or to increase the tax rate or raising local funds to keep a school open (C. B. Howley & Harmon, 2000; Patterson et al., 2006; Ward & Rink, 1992). Researchers also noted how, in racially or economically divided rural settings, White, well-off parents registered their opposition to school closure by requesting reassignment or sending their children to private schools, while poor or Black parents often could not or did not seek this option (Desimone, 1993; England & Hamann, 2013; Williams, 2013). Several studies suggested that rural communities might be slow to realize the imminence of closure (DeYoung, 1995; Warner et al., 2011) or lack the political power to effectively resist closure (Bastress, 2003; Blauwkamp et al., 2011; C. B. Howley et al., 2011; Warner et al., 2011). However, a few rural communities have organized to collectively resist or respond to closure (Deeb-Sossa & Moreno, 2016; Null, 2001; Patterson et al., 2006; Talen, 2001). Deeb-Sossa and Moreno (2016) showed how undocumented mothers in rural California mobilized to testify to district officials about the excellence and importance of a threatened school. Null (2001) described the efforts of Rural Action, a group devoted to social, economic, and environmental justice in rural Ohio; it formed the Rural School and Community Organizing Project to educate residents about school funding and facilities and develop priorities for schools and local leadership. A number of reports cited here were also published by the Rural School and Community Trust (DeYoung, 2000; C. B. Howley, 2001; Jimerson, 2005; J. Johnson, 2006; Null, 2001), a rural school research and policy organization.

The urban literature also more carefully explores students’ and teachers’ role in opposing closure than the rural literature does. A handful of urban studies documented students’ organizing efforts, such as staging walk-outs, testifying at citywide or statewide hearings, campaigning for new school board members, or engaging in action research projects to investigate closures’ impacts (Buras, 2015; Conner & Cosner, 2014; Kirshner, 2015; Pazey et al., 2017). Teachers sometimes played a role in resisting urban closures, too (de la Torre et al., 2015; Jack & Sludden, 2013; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Reed, 2013; Valencia, 2012). In cities like Chicago and Philadelphia, teachers unions organized mass demonstrations (Jack & Sludden, 2013), joined large multi-stakeholder coalitions fighting closures (Journey for Justice Alliance, 2014), and sponsored research on the impacts of closure (Caref et al., 2012). In addition to concerns cited above, their reasons for opposition included job insecurity and disruption to pedagogical practice (Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009); rural teachers also worried about the difficulty of finding new employment in remote locales (DeYoung, 1995).

Urban and rural researchers argue that organized resistance is necessary to halt closures (Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; Kirshner, 2015; Strange, 2013), and some provide lessons or advice for how to mobilize in response (T. L. Green, 2017; Strange, 2013). However, studies noted the many barriers to effective organizing, including confusing, nonparticipatory closure processes; the sense of inevitability that can surround closures; and political or social divisions fracturing closure-affected communities (Aggarwal et al., 2012; Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; C. B. Howley et al., 2011; Pappas, 2012; Spence, 1998). The overall impact of this organizing is unclear. A few studies found that organizing efforts delayed a closing or reopened a school (Briscoe & Khalifa, 2015; Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; T. L. Green, 2017; Pazey et al., 2017), but more common outcomes included gaining representation on decision-making entities, winning small changes to closure processes, and building strong community organizations (Deeb-Sossa & Moreno, 2016; DeYoung, 2000; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Siegel-Hawley et al., 2017).

Closure has its supporters. In addition to many policymakers, administrators sometimes advocated for closure, and occasionally teachers did, too (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; DeYoung, 1995; DeYoung & Howley, 1990), which can create a rift between school officials and local residents. Support for closure was more frequent in rural places, sometimes among particular groups of stakeholders, like superintendents (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; DeYoung, 1995), or within particular rural communities (Ward & Rink, 1992; Williams, 2013). In these cases, support was associated with closures stemming from district consolidation and often came with a perception of greater academic opportunities for students.

But the widespread resistance to closure, shared by residents, parents, teachers, and students across geography, indicates that those most affected by closure neither view, nor experience, closure as policymakers do. As researcher Eve Ewing asked of the Chicago closures, “if the schools were so terrible, why did people fight for them so adamantly?” (Ewing, 2018, p. 1) Opposition to closure does have a variety of motivations, and sometimes these motivations relate to exclusion and opportunity hoarding. But many communities—particularly poor communities and communities of color—see closure as a targeted threat to their well-being and a source of inequality. And, as a growing body of research shows, they are often right.

Impacts of Closure

Empirical studies examining the effects of urban or rural school closure are remarkably limited, much fewer in number than sources documenting arguments for closure or motivations for resistance. However, this might be changing, at least for investigations of urban impacts, as a number have been published in the past few years. As these studies, plus the handful of older ones, show, the evidence is mixed, with surprisingly little support for many of the claimed benefits of closure. Here, in an effort to identify and distill documented impacts, we focus on empirical studies and, in a few places, include policy analyses with original or rigorously cited data and analysis.

The academic impacts of closure are most thoroughly investigated with urban closures, perhaps because these closures are often tied to academic underperformance, and in a few cross-geography state and national reports. The negative impact on students’ test scores or grade point averages in the short term—that is, the year preceding closure or immediately after—is well-documented by quantitative analyses (Brummet, 2014; de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Gordon et al., 2018; Larsen, 2014; Ozek et al., 2012; Sherrod & Dawkins-Law, 2013). However, the long-term effects are more mixed, and they seem highly related to the overall academic quality of the receiving school. Students sent to academically stronger schools showed academic gains (de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Engberg et al., 2012; Han et al., 2017). Oftentimes, though, students are not sent to a higher performing school, even when the closure is motivated by academic concerns (de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Ewing, 2018; Han et al., 2017; Lipman et al., 2014; Sherrod & Dawkins-Law, 2013). The CREDO analysis of academic closures in 26 states from 2006 to 2013 found that less than half of affected students landed in academically stronger schools (Han et al., 2017), and a descriptive analysis of recent closures in Philadelphia showed that the neighborhoods where closures took place also contained many other low-performing schools, leaving closure-affected students with few high-performing options (Jack & Sludden, 2013). Students sent to a similar or lower quality school experienced significant test score declines (Engberg et al., 2012; Han et al., 2017), though a couple of studies indicate that students’ scores can recover (Brummet, 2014; Larsen, 2014) and one found that future students—that is, those not directly experiencing closure—fare better than they would have in the closed school (Kemple, 2015). Research by Bifulco and Schwegman (2019) showed that, in New York, students who were already high performing were most likely to benefit from closure-related academic gains while low-performing students saw performance decreases. Also it was not just students from closed schools affected by these transitions; several studies documented negative “spillover” effects on the test scores of students in the receiving school (Brummet, 2014; Carlson & Lavertu, 2016; Gordon et al., 2018).

The rural literature is scant on academic effects. One survey of superintendents suggested that students saw academic gains (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005), and, when tied to consolidation into larger facilities, rural closure can increase access to a wider array of educational opportunities (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; Hyndman et al., 2010; Nitta, Holley, & Wrobel, 2010; Self, 2001; Sell & Leistritz, 1997; Surface, 2011). However, no rural research examined whether students made use of these opportunities, and an Arkansas study of closures following consolidation showed a negative impact on test scores for students that had experienced a closure (Mills et al., 2013).

Some urban studies examine other kinds of student impacts or effects on particular student populations. The evidence concerning the effects on graduation rates is mixed, with some studies finding district-wide increases (Luppescu et al., 2011) and others noting student-level decreases (Kirshner et al., 2010). The research on the effects of closure on student mobility (i.e., additional movement between schools) is also inconclusive; two quantitative studies indicated an increase (de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Kemple, 2015), but a third found no change (Ozek et al., 2012). The urban literature also shows that closure can be associated with student confusion and uncertainty, fractured ties to teachers and peers, and a loss of student voice (Conner & Cosner, 2014; Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; Gordon et al., 2018; Kirshner et al., 2010; Lipman et al., 2014; Shiller, 2017; Toneff-Cotner, 2015). However, one study described students’ emotional reactions as “complicated,” characterized by both a sense of loss and a feeling of opportunity (Steggert & Galletta, 2018). Several studies investigated the impacts on unstably housed students (Aviles & Heybach, 2017) and students with dis/abilities (de la Torre et al., 2015; Graham et al., 2014; McMahon, Parnes, Keys, & Viola, 2008; Vaughan & Gutierrez, 2017), finding that these students have unique transportation and staffing needs that are often overlooked with closures.

A few student effects have been shown in both urban and rural settings. Some longitudinal research documented an increase in student absenteeism across locales (Engberg et al., 2012; Larsen, 2014), though Engberg et al. (2012) found that the attendance effect faded over time. Both qualitative and quantitative studies indicate that urban and rural students affected by closure could experience longer bus rides, increased travel time, more limited school accessibility, and reduced safety; these effects were particularly pronounced for poor students and students of color (Conner & Cosner, 2014; Deeb-Sossa & Manzo, 2018; de la Torre et al., 2015; Graham et al., 2014; Hyndman et al., 2010; Killeen & Sipple, 2000; Lee & Lubienski, 2016: Spence, 1998). Perhaps it is not surprising, then, that closure diminished extracurricular participation (Graham et al., 2014; Lipman et al., 2014), even though, in some rural places, the number of available extracurricular opportunities expanded (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; Hyndman et al., 2010). Parent participation in school appeared to be negatively impacted by closure, too (Cochran et al., 2011; Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; Lipman et al., 2014; Spence, 1998).

Closure also affects school districts. Despite widespread efficiency arguments for closure, the actual impact of closure on a district’s bottom line was rarely investigated; in fact, we could not find any comprehensive evaluations of the financial effects of closure. However, what research does exist showed that closure did not save as much money as hoped or promised (Dority & Thompson, 2013; Dowdall, 2011; Finnigan & Lavner, 2012; Killeen & Sipple, 2000) or that the savings amounted to a very small fraction of the district’s budget—one percent, in the case of Philadelphia (Jack & Sludden, 2013). Closure has mixed effects for racial segregation. Some case studies showed increased segregation (England & Hamann, 2013; Siegel-Hawley et al., 2017), but a survey of rural superintendents noted more opportunities for integration (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005). For teachers, closure often meant job loss (Ewing, 2018; Hill & Jones, 2018; Lincove et al., 2017). An analysis of the impact of closures on the North Carolina teacher market found that, while many teachers affected by closure moved to another school in the same district, some left teaching for a while, others permanently (Hill & Jones, 2018). Those most likely to leave were stronger, more experienced, and twice as likely to be African American. Post-Katrina closures in New Orleans had similar impacts: Fired teachers were more likely to be experienced, locally educated, female, and African American—and they represented nearly a quarter of the total Black teacher population in Louisiana (Lincove et al., 2017).

Communities, too, are affected by closure. Closure can signify the loss of an important community institution (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; Chance & Cummins, 1998; Ewing, 2018; Lipman et al., 2014; Surface, 2011); as one Chicago parent said, “It’s like you just snatched the heart of our community” (Lipman et al., 2014; p. 15). The empty buildings often went unsold or unused (Dowdall, 2011; Spader, 2007), or, in urban areas, they were utilized to house new charter schools (Dowdall & Warner, 2013). The rural literature also investigated the economic impacts of closure on communities. According to interview and survey data, closure can undermine rural economies, closing businesses and furthering outmigration (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; Sell & Leistritz, 1997; Surface, 2011). Though Lyson (2002) did not study school closure directly, in an examination of small, rural New York towns, he found that towns without schools had lower home values, greater income inequality, and higher child poverty rates, and he argued that closure might bring about these kinds of economic effects. Closure can also lead to a sense of “despair” in rural communities (Chance & Cummins, 1998); as one superintendent noted, “it is like having your arm chopped off one inch at a time” (p. 4). The civic impacts of closure are mixed. In general, the top-down nature of many closure processes reduced communities’ political voice (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; Lipman & Haines, 2007; Pappas, 2012), though many communities did organize in response. When coupled with district consolidation, closures also diminished elected positions (Alsbury & Shaw, 2005; DeYoung, 2000; J. Johnson, 2006). In Arkansas, for example, district consolidation and school closure reduced the number of school board members (J. Johnson, 2006), especially Black board members (Jimerson, 2005).

It is also noteworthy that many of these effects occurred before the actual closure of a school. In the time between announcement and closure, students’ test scores suffered, and they often experienced a sense of uncertainty, anger, or loss (Brummet, 2014; de la Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Deeds & Pattillo, 2015; Kirshner et al., 2010; Ozek et al., 2012; Sherrod & Dawkins-Law, 2013). Also, many students left the closing school before its official closure (Han et al., 2017), and others vacated the receiving school, too (Gordon et al., 2018).

While the impacts of closures have not been fully investigated in either urban or rural settings, existing research mostly suggests mixed or negative effects. The academic impacts appear to depend on the quality of the student’s new school: If they are sent to a higher performing school, closure can yield academic gains. But often a student attends a similar or lower quality school, leading to lower test scores. And closure can also mean less after-school involvement, due to longer travel time, and severed relationships with peers or teachers. After closure, parents and guardians tend to be less involved, too, and, though the closure itself can incite civic action, communities lose a key social and political institution. The injustice of closure, then, seems to be of two kinds: related to the “trauma” (Lipman et al., 2014) of closure itself, and also tied to a reduction in access to an important institution. And this injustice could be long lasting, felt in lower education levels, reduced community capacity, less public accountability, and greater marginalization.