Why Teachers Have No Material Respect and No Authority

Aspasia of Miletus, this PODCAST examines the systematic devaluation and scapegoating of educators in modern society. The author argues that because teaching is a female-dominated profession, it is historically subjected to lower wages, excessive regulation, and a lack of professional autonomy. By framing the classroom as a site where teachers are forced to absorb the failures of social policy and poverty, the source illustrates how the state avoids accountability by blaming individuals for structural problems. Ultimately, the text calls for a shift in perspective that treats education as public justice rather than an exploitable act of private sacrifice. It concludes that true reform requires granting teachers the material respect and authority necessary to lead without being silenced by exhaustion.

Aspasia of Miletus: The Scapegoating of America's Teachers SLIDE DECK

The Whipping Boy of the Republic

A TED-Style Address by Aspasia of Miletus

[Stage direction: Aspasia enters not as a costume-shop Athenian but as a woman who has run a school of rhetoric in a city that would not let her speak in its assembly. She carries no notes. She begins as if mid-conversation with an old and tiresome argument.]

Citizens of this later republic —

I taught statesmen. Pericles came to my house not for supper but for syntax. Socrates, who needled every soul in Athens until it bled truth, sat and listened to me discuss the architecture of persuasion. I am told this makes me the first woman on record to run what you would now call a school of rhetoric.

And yet I could not vote. I could not own the house I taught in. I was, by the law of the very city whose greatest minds I sharpened, a metic — a resident alien, tolerated, useful, never trusted.

I begin here because I want you to notice something before I say a single word about your teachers: the woman who trains the mind of the republic and the woman who is denied the rights of the republic have, across twenty-five centuries, been remarkably good at being the same woman.

That is not a coincidence. That is a design.

I. The Grammar of Blame

Let us start, as the Trivium always starts, with grammar — with the naming of things.

You call your teachers "professionals." Good. But watch what happens the moment a child fails to read, fails to add, fails to sit still in a chair built for a body half its size. You do not say, "the system failed." You do not say, "the design failed." You say, "the teacher failed."

Name the thing correctly: this is not oversight. This is architecture.

You have built — I have watched you build it, lesson by scripted lesson — a machine in which the person with the least authority holds the most responsibility. She did not write the curriculum. She did not set the class size. She did not decide that a seven-year-old would arrive at her door hungry, or unhoused, or grieving, or simply a child, being a child, in a world that no longer has patience for childhood. She inherited every failure of policy, of poverty, of parenting, of a hundred systems larger than her classroom — and she alone is asked to answer for them, with fidelity, and with a smile, for less pay than the man who repairs the boiler in her building.

I ask you plainly: in what other profession do we demand a technician cure diseases she did not diagnose, using instruments she was not permitted to choose, and then publish her failure rate in the newspaper?

II. The Logic of the Arrangement

Now, logic — the second art. Let us follow the argument to its conclusion, because a well-built argument, like a well-built trap, reveals its purpose in its structure.

Premise one: the profession is filled, by overwhelming majority, with women.

Premise two: professions filled with women, throughout the history I lived and the history you have lived since, are consistently paid less, trusted less, and regulated more than professions of comparable skill filled with men.

Premise three: when a profession is underpaid, undertrusted, and overregulated, its practitioners lose the one thing every craft requires to improve — autonomy. The freedom to judge, to adjust, to know the particular child in front of them rather than the abstract child in the manual.

Conclusion: strip a woman-majority profession of autonomy, script her every gesture, blame her for outcomes she cannot control, and pay her as though gratitude were a currency — and you have not accidentally created a broken system.

You have efficiently created a silent one.

Consider: what does a teacher do when she is trusted, resourced, and paid as a physician is paid? She organizes. She unionizes. She speaks — publicly, credibly, with the authority of expertise — about what children actually need. A trusted teacher is a political teacher, whether she intends to be or not, because she has standing.

An untrusted, underpaid, overworked teacher has no such luxury. She is too busy purchasing pencils with her own coin, too exhausted for the school-board meeting, too easily dismissed as "just emotional about the children" — as though that were a flaw in a teacher rather than the entire point of one.

Do you begin to see it? A confident profession threatens the arrangement of power. An exhausted, self-doubting one does not. The scripted curriculum does not exist primarily to teach the child. It exists to ensure the teacher need never trust her own judgment enough to raise her voice about anything else.

III. The Rhetoric of the Scapegoat

And now, rhetoric — my own art, the one I was accused of using to seduce great men into great ideas, as though a woman could not simply have better ideas.

Every society requires a vessel for its anxiety. Rome needed its scapegoat driven into the wilderness once a year, sins loaded onto its back. Your republic does something subtler and crueler: it does not drive the goat into the wilderness. It keeps her in the classroom, forty children deep, and blames her every single day.

Ask yourself why the teacher, and not the senator who starved her budget. Why the teacher, and not the landlord whose rent made her student's family unhoused by October. Why the teacher, and not the executive whose platform trained that same child to doomscroll instead of read.

Because the senator, the landlord, the executive — they hold power you are frightened to confront. The teacher does not. She was never given power to begin with. You cannot punish the architecture, so you punish the woman standing inside it, because she is the only one who will still show up tomorrow morning regardless of how you have treated her today.

That devotion is not weakness, citizens. It is the most exploitable form of love there is.

IV. What Would I Have You Do

I did not survive as a foreigner and a woman in Athens by being gentle with inconvenient truths, and I will not begin now.

Trust her curriculum judgment, or stop blaming her for its failures. You cannot script her hands and then indict her heart.

Pay her as what she is — not a babysitter, not a saint, but the single most consequential professional most children will ever encounter, more determinative of a nation's future than any senator I ever trained.

Give her the wilderness of your society's true sins to point to — the poverty, the policy, the platforms — instead of asking her to absorb them silently in a room built for thirty and holding thirty-eight.

And to the teachers themselves, if any are listening: I built my school without permission of the law that governed me. I taught the men who ran an empire while owning none of it myself. Your authority was never truly theirs to give. It was always yours to take — in your judgment, in your voice, in your refusal to be the whipping boy for a republic too cowardly to name its own failures.

The bridge between a child's mind and the world it deserves to understand has always been built by women the world called replaceable.

Stop calling her that. Or admit, finally, that you always knew exactly what you were doing.

[She does not bow. She simply stops speaking, as though the argument, once made correctly, requires no further ornament.]

[END OF ADDRESS — approx. 1,450 words / 9–10 min at TED pacing]

Aspasia argues that the devaluation of teaching is a deliberate "design" rooted in the fact that it is a profession composed of an "overwhelming majority" of women. She links gender to this devaluation through several key mechanisms:

The Logic of Underpayment and Regulation: Aspasia notes a consistent historical pattern where professions filled with women are "consistently paid less, trusted less, and regulated more" than comparable fields dominated by men. She characterizes this as a "political habit of devaluation" where earnings lag behind similarly educated workers.
Naturalized vs. Skilled Labor: A primary link she identifies is the tendency to view teaching as a "natural" extension of womanhood or nurturing rather than an "expert craft" or "skilled labor". When labor is framed as an inherent trait rather than a professional skill, it becomes easier for society to treat it as "invisible labor" that is both "cheap" and "expendable".
The Stripping of Autonomy: Aspasia asserts that by scripting a teacher’s gestures and curriculum, the system ensures she cannot exercise the autonomy required of a true craft. This creates a "silent" profession; an untrusted, underpaid teacher lacks the "standing" to speak publicly or politically about the systemic needs of children.
The "Whipping Boy" of the Republic: Because teachers are often women who lack the power held by "the senator, the landlord, [or] the executive," they become the "nearest moral servant" upon whom society can dump its anxieties. Aspasia argues that society punishes the woman inside the architecture of the school because she is a safe target who will "still show up tomorrow morning regardless of how you have treated her today".
Exploitation of Devotion: She highlights that women in teaching are expected to "mother, manage, instruct, soothe, diagnose, and rescue" as part of their role. She describes this professional devotion as "the most exploitable form of love there is," used to justify asking teachers to absorb the consequences of poverty and failed public policy.

Ultimately, Aspasia suggests that a "confident profession" of teachers would threaten existing power arrangements, so the system maintains its power by exhausting women into silence and calling it "dedication".

Aspasia’s life in Athens serves as the primary evidence for her argument that society has a long-standing "design" of utilizing women’s intellectual labor while simultaneously denying them authority and status. Her personal experiences mirror the issues she identifies in modern teaching in several specific ways:

Essential but Disenfranchised: Just as teachers are described as "the single most consequential professional" for a nation's future yet are underpaid and overregulated, Aspasia was the woman who "sharpened" the minds of Athens' greatest leaders—including Pericles and Socrates—but was denied the basic rights of the republic. As a metic (resident alien), she could not vote or even own the house in which she taught.
Expertise Dismissed as "Natural" or Scandalous: Aspasia notes that teaching is often devalued by being framed as a "natural" extension of womanhood rather than an expert craft. In her own life, this mirrored how her intellectual influence was often dismissed; she was accused of using rhetoric to "seduce great men into great ideas" rather than being credited with simply having "better ideas" than the men she trained.
The Vessel for Societal Anxiety: Aspasia identifies teachers as the "whipping boy of the Republic," the nearest moral servants upon whom society dumps its anxieties. She notes that she, too, was a figure onto whom Athens projected "scandal, anxiety, and political resentment". In both cases, the woman becomes a safe target for punishment because she lacks the political power of the "senator, the landlord, [or] the executive".
Operating Outside the Law: Much like teachers who must "purchase pencils with [their] own coin" and work within a system that does not trust their judgment, Aspasia built and ran her school of rhetoric "without permission of the law that governed [her]". She highlights the irony that she taught the men who ran an empire while she herself owned no part of it.

Ultimately, Aspasia argues that her own history and the current state of teaching are "remarkably good at being the same" because both rely on the exploitation of devotion—using a woman’s commitment to her craft to justify treating her as "tolerated, useful, [but] never trusted".

Aspasia argues that because a teacher's authority was "never truly theirs [society's] to give," it must instead be taken by the teachers themselves through their own judgment and voices. To reclaim this authority, she suggests several specific actions:

Refuse the Role of the Scapegoat: Teachers must refuse to be the "whipping boy" for a republic that is too cowardly to name its own systemic failures. Instead of "absorbing" the consequences of poverty and bad policy silently in the classroom, Aspasia encourages teachers to point to the "true sins" of society—such as housing policy, starvation of budgets, and exploitative platforms—as the actual causes of student failure.
Organize and Unionize: Aspasia notes that when teachers are trusted and paid like other experts, such as physicians, they organize and unionize. This collective action allows them to speak publicly and credibly with the "authority of expertise" about the actual needs of children, effectively gaining the political standing necessary to threaten existing power arrangements.
Reclaim Professional Autonomy: Reclaiming authority requires teachers to trust their own judgment over scripted curricula or manuals. Aspasia asserts that the system uses scripted gestures to ensure teachers never trust their own expertise enough to raise their voices; therefore, exercising professional discretion is a radical act of reclaiming power.
Demand Material Recognition Over Praise: Aspasia suggests that teachers must move past being "exhausted into silence" by a system that calls their exploitation "dedication". Reclaiming authority involves demanding material recognition—fair wages, humane workloads, and a real voice in decision-making—rather than accepting "ceremonial" praise or being treated as "martyrs".
Act Without Permission: Drawing from her own life, Aspasia highlights that she built her school of rhetoric "without permission of the law". She suggests that teachers should similarly recognize that their intellectual and professional value exists independently of the legal or systemic structures that attempt to regulate or disenfranchise them.

Aspasia identifies the "true sins" of society as the systemic failures that occur outside the classroom but are unfairly loaded onto teachers to solve. Rather than absorbing these issues silently, she argues that teachers should point to the following specific "sins" as the actual causes of student failure:

Starved Budgets and Failed Policy: Teachers should point to the senators and policymakers who starve school budgets and create failing designs. She argues that teachers are often asked to "repair trauma" and "transform injustice" with insufficient time and pay, while the systems themselves remain broken.
Housing Policy and Homelessness: Aspasia highlights the landlords and housing policies that lead to student instability. She notes that a teacher should not be blamed when a "student’s family [is] unhoused by October" due to rising rents or poor social support.
Exploitative Platforms: She points to the executives whose digital platforms train children to "doomscroll instead of read". These platforms create behavioral and educational challenges that teachers are then expected to fix through "fidelity to curriculum".
Poverty and Hunger: Aspasia asserts that teachers inherit every failure of poverty and parenting. She lists hunger, lack of healthcare, and inadequate wages as societal wounds that a classroom alone cannot equalize.
Systemic Inequality: Beyond specific policies, she points to broader "sins" like instability, family distress, and transportation issues.

By pointing to these "true sins," Aspasia believes teachers can move away from being the "whipping boy" of the republic and instead demand that society confront the architecture of failure it has built, rather than punishing the women standing inside it.

Aspasia suggests that teachers can effectively point to systemic sins by shifting from silent "devotion" to a stance of professional authority and political action. Instead of absorbing the failures of society, she outlines several strategies for teachers to direct the "grammar of blame" back toward the systems responsible.

According to the sources, teachers can effectively point to these sins by:

Organizing and Unionizing for Political Standing: Aspasia notes that collective organization is essential because it grants teachers the "authority of expertise". When teachers organize, they move from being "just emotional" individuals to a unified profession that can speak "publicly [and] credibly" about what children actually need, thereby gaining the political standing to threaten existing power arrangements.
Explicitly Naming the Responsible Parties: Rather than accepting the vague label of "teacher failure," teachers should explicitly identify the "senators and policymakers" who starve budgets, the "landlords" whose housing policies cause instability, and the "executives" whose platforms hinder student learning. By naming these entities, teachers refuse to be the "moral screen" for the failures of public policy.
Reclaiming Professional Autonomy over Scripted Labor: Teachers must trust their own judgment over the "scripted gestures" and manuals provided by the system. Aspasia argues that these scripts exist to ensure teachers never trust their own expertise enough to raise their voices; therefore, exercising professional discretion is a key way to point out that the system's "architecture" is the problem, not the teacher's skill.
Demanding "Material Recognition" Over Praise: Aspasia encourages teachers to stop accepting "ceremonial" praise or the label of "martyr". By demanding fair wages, humane workloads, and a real voice in decision-making, teachers force the state to treat education as "public justice" rather than "private sacrifice," highlighting the "sin" of underfunding the profession.
Refusing the Role of the "Whipping Boy": Teachers must stop "absorbing" the consequences of poverty, trauma, and hunger silently in the classroom. Aspasia urges teachers to refuse to be the scapegoat for a republic that is "too cowardly to name its own failures," and instead point to the "wilderness of society’s true sins" as the root cause of student struggles.
Acting "Without Permission": Drawing from her own life, Aspasia suggests that teachers should recognize their authority was "never truly theirs [society's] to give" and must instead be taken. This involves speaking and acting based on their professional value, even if the legal or systemic structures do not currently grant them that right.

To demand material recognition over ceremonial praise, Aspasia suggests that teachers must shift from a stance of "silent devotion" to one of professional authority and collective political action. She outlines several specific strategies for making this transition:

Refuse the Narrative of Martyrdom: Teachers must stop accepting the labels of "saint" or "martyr" and the "ceremonial" praise that accompanies them, such as applause at banquets. Aspasia argues that society uses these labels to justify exploitation, calling it "dedication" while maintaining a "political habit of devaluation". Instead, teachers should demand that education be treated as "public justice" rather than "private sacrifice".
Define Recognition in Material Terms: Teachers must explicitly demand fair wages, humane workloads, and a real voice in decision-making. Material recognition means being paid as "the single most consequential professional" a child encounters—more determinative of the future than a senator—rather than being treated as a "babysitter" or "replaceable" labor.
Organize and Unionize for Political Standing: Collective organization is essential because it transforms "just emotional" individuals into a unified profession with the "authority of expertise". Aspasia notes that when teachers are paid and trusted like other experts, such as physicians, they gain the political standing necessary to speak publicly and credibly about systemic needs, which inherently threatens existing power arrangements.
Reclaim Professional Autonomy: Reclaiming authority involves trusting one's own judgment over the "scripted gestures" and manuals designed to ensure teachers never raise their voices. By exercising professional discretion, teachers demonstrate that they are skilled experts rather than "technicians" who must follow a script.
Direct Blame Toward the "True Sins": Instead of absorbing the failures of poverty and policy silently, teachers should effectively point to the "wilderness of society’s true sins"—starved budgets, failed housing policies, and exploitative digital platforms—as the root causes of student struggles. This moves the "grammar of blame" away from the teacher and toward the "architecture of failure" built by the powerful.
Take Authority Without Permission: Drawing from her own life in Athens, where she built a school without the permission of the laws that disenfranchised her, Aspasia reminds teachers that their authority was "never truly [society's] to give". Reclaiming material recognition is an act of taking that authority through one's own voice and judgment.