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I recently received an email inviting me to contribute to a special issue of the Journal of School Choice in honor of one of my former mentors.
I had read his writing for years before I met him for the first time. I was speaking at an event in Washington, D.C. in 2002 when an elderly man approached me. It was Myron Lieberman. He was already in his 80s. He made it clear that I was making logical points but he also strongly criticized me.
I now regret I never told him that I was using his articles and books as talking points back when I was a student at the Harvard Graduate School of Education. At another speech, I referenced Mr. Lieberman, but he later gently took my argument apart. He was holding onto me as he was gently berating me.
He would always compliment me, figuratively feeding me medicine wrapped in candy, before also reminding me that I could do much more to make stronger arguments.
As I reflect on Myron Lieberman today, I know that I was one of his failed projects and proteges. He advised me, sharpened my arguments and had numerous suggestions for me, but we never quite connected. He called me one day and said we had to meet. I never asked him why. If he asked to meet, I would do it.
Over lunch, he insisted that I should run for the school board in Fairfax County, even as he criticized me. He offered to finance my campaign. He concluded by telling me: "Think about it."
I was humbled, but I didn't need to think about it. I knew I was an advocate, not a school board member.
Out of the blue, he asked me to critique a chapter in his new book, as he criticized me and my colleagues. He ended the email: "Think about it."
Despite his punch in the ribs to start most discussions, I was delighted. I read that chapter back and forth about 15 times. I sent him 14 points full of analysis and questions criticizing the chapter. I was laughing out loud at the thought of the student criticizing the teacher. I had learned there was nothing I could say that surprised him.
I waited for him to rip my points. He complimented me: "Good work. I will use some of the points you make." I didn't believe him. He gave me some advice about my career, then concluded: "Think about it."
I realized his "think about it" was based on decades of experience as a union leader, educator and consultant to the NAACP Legal Defense Fund during the 1950s.
He wanted to know if I would be willing to endorse his book by writing a blurb for the back cover. I was honored, but it was my turn to seek clarity. I would tell Mr. Lieberman that his push for for-profit education wasn't realistic. He wasn't happy about it, but he seemed pleased that I stuck to my guns even though he was telling me that I was wrong.
He had seen me blossom, with both joy and bitterness. During 2002-06, I played a prominent role in helping to get the Opportunity Scholarship Program passed and implemented. Through it all, Mr. Lieberman was telling me that I was wrong to create a school voucher program designed for low-income children. Voucher programs needed to be universal, the default in education needed to be for-profit.
He continued to insist I was wrong and a political victory didn't dissuade him. He knew he was right. We didn't talk about it much after that. Still, he remained a fan of mine, reminding me that I was making progress, but headed in the wrong direction at times. I was being heard but for the wrong reasons.
When I landed a political talk show on XM Radio, he praised me, without reservation. He said I could have the audience he never had. He gave me more advice, then suggested: "Keep a good record of your experience." I waited for his "but" point, but it never came.
Our last discussion was about a trip he was considering to South Korea. A South Korean citizen who had come across his writings later became his intern. Mr. Lieberman was delighted, telling me, "Perhaps I have a little visibility there." I had been encouraging him to start writing a regular column again, but he said his time had come and gone. I wish I had thought to tell him that many years before his writings had influenced me at a moment I was seeking clarity. I wish I would have concluded the conversation by telling him: "Think about it."
The writer is the director of international relations at Freedom Factory Co. in Seoul and the Asia Outreach Fellow with the Atlas Network in Washington, D.C. He can be reached at cjl@post.harvard.edu.
