The childcare movement is rediscovering its power to make change

Last month, hundreds of childcare workers, families and children gathered in front of City Hall in Philadelphia for a Day without Childcare and a demand for better wages. It was a rousing, passionate event. A lead organizer of the event — and a third-generation childcare provider — Shineal Hunter, was thrilled. “This is a grassroots effort,” she said. “It’s just a beginning, a starting point to educate as many providers, parents and stakeholders and get them to jump on board. This whole opportunity is allowing me to see how much power we have to make change happen. We just have to join together and speak up.”

A month earlier, a group of childcare workers in the city, in session of a year-long leadership and advocacy fellowship, were discussing the topic of social movements. They were reflecting on the four roles of social change activists, laid out decades earlier by master movement strategist, Bill Moyer. Were they most comfortable in the role of helper, working directly with others to provide support or services? Did they identify most strongly as an organizer, bringing people together to work for change? Did they see themselves as advocates, using legal or political channels to represent those in need? Or were they rebels, drawn toward just saying no to injustice?

Previous Coverage

What role were you born to play in social change?

Not surprisingly, as a group, they identified most strongly as helpers. After all, that’s what they all did every day, with little reward beyond the satisfaction of helping their children, their families and their community. But many had joined the fellowship because of their interest in developing their leadership and advocacy skills. And there was rebel energy in the room as well.

The challenge of getting a better balance among these four roles may be a critical one for the field. Childcare has existed for far too long on the backs of women who have been willing to put their own economic interests aside on behalf of our nation’s children. The need for change is compelling. Just one data point tells the story: Almost half the national childcare workforce depends on federal assistance to supplement their wholly inadequate salaries.

The Worthy Wage Campaign

In the 1990s, a feisty movement of childcare rebels — the Worthy Wage Campaign — emerged on the scene with the slogan: “Parents can’t afford to pay, teachers can’t afford to stay, there’s got to be a better way.” With active groups in North Carolina, Philadelphia, Boston, Wisconsin and California, they chose May 1 as Worthy Wage Day for a focus for creative public action. They pushed strollers with life-sized homemade dolls in downtown parks. They made great life-sized cardboard silhouettes of those who couldn’t be present at a demonstration at the state office building because they had to work. They brought their children to neighborhood Worthy Wage picnics, with food and games, a little rally and a spirited march around the park, complete with signs and pots and pans to bang.

One Philadelphia mayor, Ed Rendell, got his first exposure to childcare issues through the rousing introduction a Worthy Wage leader gave for him at an early childhood conference in 1999. At another conference a young woman paraded the halls in a peanut suit, with a sandwich board saying, “We can’t afford to work for peanuts.”

Initially focused on the simple goal of being seen, energizing the field, and calling out the problem, these local campaigns began to turn their attention to making change. With almost all childcare provided by small business owners or nonprofits running on razor thin margins, there were no deep-pocketed profiteers from whom to demand those worthy wages. It would have to be the state.

And so those childcare networks and organizations that had been serving as the glue for the Worthy Wage movement began turning their attention to public policy. They wanted to know: Where in the state administration — and in the legislative potential of laws and budgets — was there opportunity to get more money into the hands of the childcare teachers?

Support Us

Waging Nonviolence depends on reader support. Become a sustaining monthly donor today!

Donate

The roles of organizer and, more particularly, of advocate came increasingly to the fore. Once advocates had identified likely targets of change, organizations could mobilize their colleagues to apply pressure. Yet with the advocates increasingly focused on the art of the possible in government — and increasingly separate from those helpers toiling in the fields — there were some unfortunate consequences.

Everyone cheered when a brilliant lawyer from a child advocacy group that supported the Worthy Wage campaign got appointed to lead one state’s new early childhood office. Her judgment call that the legislature would not allocate new monies for compensation without first being assured of an increase in professionalism and quality in the field, led her to create an impressive new systemic approach to assess, improve and communicate the level of quality in early education programs. Keystone STARS, Pennsylvania’s quality rating and improvement system, has indeed brought greater investment in the field. (In fact, Mayor Rendell, who was so impressed at the conference, brought his keen new interest in early childhood education with him to the governorship.)

This system has also led to a burdensome and bureaucratic environment. Rigid regulations thwart flexibility and stifle initiative and creativity. At the same time, the added expenses involved in attaining and maintaining those credentials and quality indicators keep programs operating on the same razor-thin margins — and still unable to pay a competitive wage. As a result of similar efforts across the country, more and more childcare workers have associate’s, bachelor’s, and even master’s degrees, and they are still out-paid by Amazon, Walmart and Target.

It would be simplistic and irresponsible, of course, to blame this outcome on the advocates, or on the organizers who followed their lead. But thinking of those four roles, it is clear that there needs to be more rebel energy in the room. And more of the helpers, who work day in and day out in service to their children and families, need to be called to the possibility of taking on these other roles. They are the ones, after all, with critical on-the-ground experience and relationships.

There are many ways this could happen. Childcare workers could inhabit their helper role with greater intentionality and power. At intake interviews, for example, some childcare programs invite new families to be helpers as well. In return for the program offering to support the families in meeting other educational and economic needs, they expect the families to support the needs of the program — including the quest for decent compensation. Childcare workers could experience the thrill of being advocates, walking the halls of the state capitol building and speaking to legislators as the real experts on childcare. They could organize their co-workers and parents to do the same. They could show up at City Hall and make some rebel noise.

A problem with these four roles is that they can easily reproduce the power roles in the society at large: The helpers become the worker bees at the bottom, while the organizers implement the agendas created by the advocates, who are closest to the powers-that-be at the top. (The rebels, meanwhile, remain on the outside, buzzing around like gnats.) This unaware ranking of power and prestige damages the entire movement.

Childcare Changemakers

The good news is that a new grassroots movement, Childcare Changemakers, has emerged, bringing many of the strengths of the old Worthy Wage Campaign back to the scene. Childcare workers and parents from all over the country gather on the phone every other Wednesday evening to strategize and plan together. They go for highly visible events, built around childcare worker schedules, organized for maximum media potential, with a strong focus on building morale.

This was the group that provided the impetus and support for last month’s “Day without Childcare” rally and work stoppage. Local advocates were only tangentially involved, judging that since it would not move the needle on the state level, where the budget was being negotiated, it didn’t warrant paid staff time. But those who took the lead in planning and who participated were hugely encouraged.

One local leader, Damaris Alvarado, who started out providing care in her home and now directs two centers, was initially unsure about participating, knowing that closing down would bring hardship to her families. But she decided that this was a time for showing up. “It was really important to provide a platform for families and for teachers. We were able to show a lot of people: Here’s who we are, standing in unity, family providers, centers and families fighting for the same thing — equitable access and higher wages.”

Another leader, Leslie Spina, agreed. “We’ve been talking about doing a Day without Childcare for at least 20 years. We just couldn’t get it off the ground. I had always worried about my working families, but I realized that the tiny short-term inconvenience to families could be worth it in order to make a statement that makes lasting change.” She did a complete shutdown of her program, and encouraged all her staff to come to the rally, bringing their children if they needed to. Reflecting on the sight of one woman who was holding a sign, entranced as she listened to the speakers, Leslie said, “It reminds me of women marching for their rights.”

Huge problems in the childcare system remain to be solved. But for that movement to be successful, everyone is needed. No one can be privileged at the expense of others, and none can be ignored. The Day without Childcare modeled this possibility, channeling rebel energy, bringing out new helpers and building on the experience of organizers and advocates, all at the same time.