Noble Intentions, Uncertain Execution: Inside Mitchell’s Controversial Policy 121

By: Brian Maxwell

– Founder, Editor-in-Chief “The Integrity Dispatch”

Mitchell, S.D. – On a warm summer evening in 2023, the Mitchell Board of Education unanimously passed a new rule they hoped would make local schools more welcoming for all. Labeled Policy 121: “Hate Speech on School Property,” the policy was introduced as a stand-alone measure against hateful language, separate from the district’s bullying policy. “It’s a policy essentially that is addressing hate speech on school property and at school events,” explained Superintendent Dr. Joe Childs when presenting it. Unlike bullying, which requires repeated offenses, Policy 121 targets even one-time slurs: “something that can create harm in one incident or one episode.” The Board’s intent was clear – to protect students from derogatory slurs and epithets that could wound with a single utterance.

Yet as the district’s first year under Policy 121 has shown, noble intentions don’t guarantee sound policy. What began as a well-intentioned stand against hate has since drawn serious questions about vague language, constitutional rights, and the proper use of power. Concerns quickly emerged that Policy 121’s wording is overbroad and ill-defined, potentially violating free speech protections. Outside constitutional experts stepped in, warning the district that the rule might do more harm than good if left unclarified. Community members voiced fears that, in trying to curb hate, the policy might also chill legitimate speech and sow confusion. Even national free-speech advocates like FIRE (Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression) sent detailed letters, cautioning that Mitchell’s approach “violates the First Amendment by banning ill-defined categories of speech” and urging the Board to reconsider.

This article is the first full-length investigative look at Mitchell School District’s Policy 121, written in the spirit of systemic inquiry that guides The Integrity Dispatch. As its author – Brian Maxwell, founder of The Integrity Dispatch – I will apply our hallmark analytical frameworks to dissect how Policy 121 was crafted and its consequences. Using the Integrity Nexus framework, we’ll assess the policy’s informational integrity (is it clearly defined or confusingly vague?), institutional integrity (does it uphold political integrity?), how did those in power wield authority in creating the policy?), civic integrity (has it built or eroded trust in the community?), and ethical power (does it educate or merely impose rules?). We'll also explore the emotional currents swirling around Policy 121 using the Emotional Ecosystem of Propaganda (EEP) framework to understand how fear, anger, and pride have shaped public discourse and behavior since the policy’s enactment.

No interviews have been conducted yet for this report. This analysis is grounded entirely in the public record – board meeting transcripts, official policy documents, community comments, and expert legal critiques. It is an investigative baseline, meant to illuminate what is currently known, highlight contradictions, and identify pressing questions. In the coming weeks, I intend to interview key stakeholders – from Board members like Deb Olson, Terry Aslesen, and Brittni Flood to students and parents – to seek their firsthand perspectives. For now, consider this a structural and emotional “audit” of Policy 121 as it stands, revealing the integrity gaps that merit further scrutiny.

A Policy Without Clear Boundaries: Vagueness and Ambiguity in Policy 121

From the outset, Policy 121’s language raised red flags about vagueness. The text of the rule is strikingly absolute – it “denounces and prohibits” the use of any racial epithet or slur by any student, staff, parent, or visitor on school property or at school events, “regardless and irrespective of context, user, audience, target, intent or lack thereof… or means of communication.” In other words, any utterance of a proscribed word is forbidden, no matter who says it, why they said it, or in what setting. The policy declares that slurs related to “race, color, national origin, sex, disability, or religion” inherently “create a disturbance in, and interference to, the educational environment” that outweighs any free-speech value. It makes no exception for quoting literature, attempting an educational dialogue, or even using certain derogatory terms in order to criticize or combat them.

Crucially, nowhere does Policy 121 define its key terms. What exactly counts as a “slur” or “hate speech”? The rule offers no glossary or specific examples within its text. It simply bans any words “that would have an offensive meaning if [they were] used by a member of a certain race [or other protected category].” This sweeping definition-by-implication is extremely broad – arguably too broad to be clear. Even Board members recognized this ambiguity during their June 26, 2023 meeting. One audience member, Steve Sibson, pressed the Board on this very point: “I was wondering how you define hate speech. There really isn’t a list of things that would constitute hate speech,” he noted, pointing out the policy provides no concrete guidance. In response, board member Matt Christiansen acknowledged the definitional gap but suggested they would “know it when [they] hear it.” Such an approach – essentially “I know it when I hear it” – is telling. (That phrase, famously used by a U.S. Supreme Court justice to describe obscenity, underscores a reliance on personal judgment in the absence of clear standards.)

Other board members seemed to assume that common sense would guide enforcement. Terry Aslesen gave an example: if someone unknowingly said something offensive, “they probably just need to be told” why it’s wrong, versus someone “up there with a megaphone denouncing a particular group,” which would merit a harsher response. “So we’re going to trust the judgment of our administration to make good judgments,” Aslesen concluded. On its face, that sounds reasonable – context and intent do matter in how offensive language is handled. But here lies a stark contradiction: the written policy explicitly forbids considering context or intent (“regardless… of intent or lack thereof”). In black-and-white, Policy 121 allows no distinction between an ignorant remark muttered without malice and a deliberate tirade. Yet the Board’s own discussion implies they expect administrators to use discretion and nuance. This disconnect – saying one thing in discussion and codifying another on paper – sets the stage for confusion.

No definitions, no guidelines: As passed, Policy 121 does not outline any specific punishment for violations, nor any hard definition of what constitutes a racial slur, leaving those crucial judgments entirely to administrators’ discretion. This kind of structural vagueness is a recipe for inconsistent enforcement. Students, teachers, and parents are effectively left guessing what language might cross the line. Where is the boundary between an acceptable comment and a punishable offense under Policy 121? The policy itself doesn’t say – it “says everything and nothing,” in effect, putting the onus on individuals to imagine what might be prohibited.

From an Integrity Nexus standpoint, this ambiguity undermines informational integrity – the honesty and clarity of information provided by the institution. A rule so unclear fails to provide transparent guidance about what is allowed or forbidden. Imagine a teacher preparing a history lesson that includes excerpts from Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail” (which contains racial slurs in quoting others’ bigoted remarks). Can they assign it, or would reading those passages aloud violate Policy 121? The policy doesn’t say. A student who wants to discuss a news story about the NFL team formerly named the “Washington Redskins” might likewise pause – could even mentioning that old team name get them in trouble? When rules are this vague, people can only err on the side of caution. That chill in the air is detrimental to an educational environment that should encourage open dialogue.

Indeed, Policy 121’s breadth sweeps up a lot of speech that isn’t outright harassment or bigotry. Because the ban applies “regardless of context… or purpose,” it could punish even clearly benign or constructive speech merely for containing certain words. The FIRE letter to the district enumerated striking examples of speech that, under a literal reading of the policy, would ostensibly be forbidden in Mitchell schools:

• A gay or transgender student describing themselves or their community using the word “queer” in a positive or empowering way. (That term, while once an epithet, has been reclaimed by many LGBTQ+ people – but the policy doesn’t acknowledge context, only that the word could be offensive if used by someone else.)

• A student referencing the “Slut Walk,” the actual name of a protest movement against sexual violence, during a class discussion. (The term sounds like a slur, but in context it’s the title of a feminist demonstration against victim-blaming.)

• A student reading aloud from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” which contains historical racial slurs as part of Dr. King’s recounting of others’ hateful language.

• A casual conversation where a student says their math homework drove them “crazy,” or calls a celebrity “crazy” – a term that, as FIRE noted, some mental health advocates find offensive.

• A discussion of sports history mentioning the former name of the Washington Commanders – “Washington Redskins” – which is a slur by today’s standards.

In each scenario, the speaker’s intent is not to harass or insult anyone present; often they’re either quoting, self-identifying, or discussing a matter of public record. Yet Policy 121, as written, makes no distinctions – all these utterances contain words that someone, in some context, finds offensive, so they would seemingly violate the rule. “Intent and context are essential” to understanding language’s impact, FIRE urged the Board, and treating all uses of certain words as equally punishable is inherently overbroad. Language is highly contextual – the very same word can be a vicious slur or a teachable moment, depending on how it’s used. By ignoring context, Policy 121 collapses these vital distinctions.

The practical effect of this ambiguity is an atmosphere of uncertainty – and with it, fear. If students and teachers know that any use of a “bad word” could bring punishment, many will inevitably self-censor to avoid any risk. As one community member (Steve Sibson) warned the Board, “People are afraid to say something because they might be accused of being a racist. So it has a chilling effect on free speech, which to me is problematic.” In the months since the policy passed, this chilling effect has been noted anecdotally in classrooms: some teachers reportedly tiptoe around certain subjects, and students hesitate before asking questions that might involve taboo words. An English teacher, for example, might skip important literature that contains slurs in historical context, for fear that a single offensive word – even quoted – could violate the rule. Such self-censorship may be unintended, but it is a predictable consequence of a vague, broad rule. When people police their own speech out of fear of punishment, open dialogue and trust suffer.

In this way, Policy 121’s vagueness doesn’t just pose a hypothetical problem – it strikes at the heart of the school’s social integrity. Classrooms should be places where difficult topics can be discussed honestly and safely. But when a rule is so broadly drawn that nobody is sure what’s allowed, the default is to say nothing at all. This kind of emotional and intellectual contraction of the learning space is characteristic of how authoritarian-leaning policies operate: they rely on fear to enforce not just the letter, but far beyond – encouraging people to stay well clear of any gray areas. While Mitchell’s Board certainly did not intend to turn classrooms into censorious places, the effect of Policy 121 has been to inject a measure of fear and uncertainty into daily interactions. That trade-off between safety and speech lies at the core of the controversy surrounding the policy.

 

Does Policy 121 Cross Constitutional Lines?

(Institutional Integrity and Legal Perspectives)

The United States has long struggled with the question of “hate speech” and the First Amendment. Public schools occupy a unique space in that debate. On one hand, schools can regulate certain student behaviors to maintain a safe learning environment; on the other, students do not shed their constitutional rights at the schoolhouse gate. Striking the balance isn’t easy. So when a public school district enacts a rule flatly prohibiting offensive speech, constitutional eyebrows are raised. In the case of Mitchell’s Policy 121, those eyebrows were raised not just locally, but nationally.

In January 2024 – about six months after Policy 121’s initial approval – the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE) sent an in-depth letter to Board President Deb Olson. FIRE’s verdict was unambiguous: Mitchell’s new “hate speech” policy violates the First Amendment and needed to be revised or rescinded. The policy, FIRE argued, bans broad categories of expression based on content and presumed offensiveness, without regard to the established legal standards for restricting student speech. Under Supreme Court precedent, public school officials cannot censor student speech just because it might cause discomfort or because they deem it offensive, absent a more specific threat to school functioning.

Tinker’s test: The governing standard comes from the landmark case Tinker v. Des Moines (1969), which upheld students’ right to wear black armbands in protest of the Vietnam War. In Tinker, the Court ruled that schools may only limit student expression if it would “materially and substantially disrupt” the work of the school or impinge on the rights of other students. Crucially, this cannot be a mere hypothetical or a response to the content alone – there must be a “specific showing” of likely disruption, not an “undifferentiated fear or apprehension of disturbance.” In plainer terms, you can’t forbid speech just because it might upset someone or because you fear something could happen. You need evidence or a well-founded expectation of a concrete disruption.

FIRE contended that Policy 121 flouts these Tinker principles. The district’s justification – that all racial, sexual, or religious slurs inherently “create a disturbance” in the school environment – is, in FIRE’s view, an unsupported assumption. It’s essentially saying: any time such a word is used, it’s automatically disruptive enough to outweigh free speech. That blanket claim doesn’t hold water under Tinker, which requires looking at context and actual effects. As FIRE pointed out, there is no evidence that every instance of an epithet necessarily causes a material disruption. Some certainly do – a slur hurled aggressively at a classmate in a crowded hallway will likely cause conflict and chaos, and schools can act on that. But Policy 121 isn’t limited to those scenarios. It bans even private or incidental use of forbidden words, in any context, without any requirement that school operations be affected. This goes beyond the narrow exceptions the Supreme Court has carved out for student speech (such as true threats, targeted harassment, or lewd speech in certain settings). In FIRE’s assessment, Mitchell’s rule is an unconstitutional overreach – it targets the content of speech (certain disfavored words) rather than the disruptive effects, and that is not something public schools can generally do.

Mitchell is far from the first educational institution to try a hate-speech ban. In fact, colleges in the late 1980s and early ’90s tried implementing broad hate speech codes – and those rules consistently failed in court. As First Amendment scholar (and current Berkeley Law dean) Erwin Chemerinsky has noted, “Every effort by the government to regulate hate speech has been declared unconstitutional.” Over 350 universities adopted hate-speech policies, and “every court to consider such a hate speech code declared it to be unconstitutional,” largely because the codes were “far too vague in terms of what speech was permitted and what was prohibited.” That description could almost be tailor-made for Policy 121. The very vagueness that makes enforcement tricky also makes the policy legally vulnerable: the First Amendment demands clarity when restricting speech, so people aren’t guessing at a law’s meaning.

Importantly, “hate speech” has no freestanding exception in American law. Unlike true threats or defamation or obscenity, offensive speech about groups or ideas is broadly protected. The Supreme Court reaffirmed this even in recent cases: in Matal v. Tam (2017), for instance, the Court struck down a ban on “disparaging” trademarks (the case involving an Asian-American band called “The Slants”), with Justice Alito writing that the government cannot ban speech simply because it’s offensive to many. In Snyder v. Phelps (2011), the Court protected the hateful, hurtful protests of Westboro Baptist Church at military funerals, emphasizing that speech on matters of public concern – however vile – is protected by the First Amendment in most contexts. For public school districts, this means policies must be very carefully tailored: they can punish harassment (especially student-on-student harassment that is severe or repetitive enough to impede a peer’s education) and they can punish disruption (speech that actually disrupts class or school operations). But they cannot simply forbid words or viewpoints because they are offensive.

Policy 121, as originally written and adopted, comes perilously close to a flat ban on offensive words, untethered from context. For students, this likely overshoots what courts allow a school to do. And it’s not just students’ rights at stake. Mitchell’s policy explicitly applies to staff, parents, and visitors as well. This is even more problematic. The school district has very limited authority over the speech of adults who are not students. For example, at a school board meeting (which is on school property), parents and community members speak during public comment. Could Policy 121 be invoked to stop a parent from quoting a racial slur that was said to their child, or to punish a community member for using charged language while expressing an opinion? The way the rule is written, yes – it applies to “any… visitor” on school grounds or school events. FIRE highlighted that the district would have “even less justification” for enforcing the hate-speech ban against adults not under school supervision. Outside of a K–12 context, the school cannot act in loco parentis (in the place of a parent). A parent or other citizen at a basketball game or meeting has full First Amendment rights. In R.A.V. v. St. Paul (1992), the Supreme Court struck down a city hate-speech ordinance that banned symbols likely to arouse “anger, alarm or resentment” on the basis of race, religion, etc., because it was a content-based speech restriction. By the same principle, a public school district has no general right to eject or punish a speaker solely for an offensive viewpoint at a public event. Policy 121 doesn’t acknowledge these nuances – it treats a student shouting a slur in class and a parent making an offensive remark in a school parking lot as violations of the same rule. That’s a constitutional wrinkle the Board appears not to have ironed out.

The free-speech concerns with Policy 121 speak to a lapse in institutional integrity – the obligation of a public institution to operate within the bounds of law and to respect fundamental rights. When the Board passed this policy 5–0 in 2023, it’s unclear if they sought any legal counsel or expert input on the First Amendment implications. There was no indication in meeting minutes that an attorney reviewed the wording. The Board forged ahead, perhaps trusting their instincts that “hate speech has no place in school.” But good intentions are not a legal defense. If the district were challenged in court, a policy that appears to violate students’ and others’ First Amendment rights would put the district on the losing side of the verdict. That exposes the community to unnecessary legal risk – and it suggests either a lack of due diligence in the policy’s drafting or a willful disregard of constitutional limits. Neither reflects well on institutional integrity.

(As a note: the Board did eventually revisit Policy 121, after months of public pressure. In the fall of 2024, more than a year after initial passage, the Board reviewed the policy’s wording. On September 9, 2024, they approved a revised version on second reading. However, those revisions were not broadly advertised, and from available reports, the core prohibition remained largely the same. No formal response to FIRE’s constitutional critique was ever published. In forthcoming interviews, I plan to ask former Board President Deb Olson and others how they considered FIRE’s letter and whether legal counsel was consulted in the revision.)

 

Power, Process, and Trust:

Assessing Political and Social Integrity

Why did the Mitchell Board of Education pursue a separate hate-speech policy in the first place? Understanding the political context and decision-making process is key to evaluating the policy’s integrity. By most accounts, there was no single precipitating incident—no headline-grabbing act of hate at a Mitchell school—that forced the Board’s hand. Rather, Superintendent Joe Childs characterized it as filling a gap: certain hateful expressions might not meet the definition of bullying (which requires repetition), so a standalone rule would give administrators authority to act on even one-off severe incidents. In principle, this is a sensible motive. School leaders have a duty of care to respond if, say, a student uses a racial slur to attack a classmate. Administrators already had some tools (general conduct codes, etc.), but a specific policy can underscore the district’s values. So, on the surface, Policy 121 was politically uncontroversial—who would publicly oppose an anti-hate measure? The Board passed it 5–0 with little fanfare or debate.

However, the Integrity Nexus’s lens on political integrity asks us to consider how power was used here. Did the Board engage in transparent, inclusive decision-making, or was this policy rushed through to score an easy win under the "anti-hate" banner? The record suggests the latter. The policy was introduced and approved on first reading in one meeting, then formally adopted at the annual meeting a few weeks later, with minimal public input beyond the required hearings. There’s no evidence of student involvement or broader community consultation in drafting the language. It’s quite possible that Board members felt political pressure to act swiftly—not due to a crisis in Mitchell, but due to the broader climate. Across the country, issues of racist or biased language in schools have been in the spotlight. Boards have faced criticism for not doing enough to protect minority students, and conversely, some have faced backlash for policies seen as curbing free expression. It’s a charged environment. In Mitchell, once the idea of a hate-speech policy was on the table, who on the Board would want to be the lone voice tapping the brakes, asking for careful rewrites or legal vetting? Such caution might easily be misinterpreted by the public as opposition to the goal of the policy. In small-town politics, as anywhere, nobody wants to be labeled "soft" on racism. The result? The Board may have rubber-stamped a well-intentioned but flawed policy to appear united against hate, without fully wrestling with its implications.

If that’s true, it was a short-term political calculation that backfired in the long run. By avoiding a deeper debate on definitions and limits (perhaps out of fear of political backlash for "nitpicking" an anti-hate measure), the Board created a policy destined to breed controversy later. Indeed, when FIRE’s letter became public and community members like Sibson started invoking the First Amendment, the Board had to revisit the policy anyway—under far more scrutiny, and with positions already hardening.

Social integrity, which concerns community trust and cohesion, has also been tested by Policy 121. On one hand, the existence of the policy likely reassured some families, especially those from marginalized groups. For students of color, LGBTQ+ students, religious minorities, and their parents, seeing the district take a stand "denouncing" slurs could feel affirming. "We just want [school] to be a comfort place for all students, where they feel like they’re taken care of," board member Brittni Flood said during the policy’s adoption, emphasizing the intent to ensure everyone feels safe and respected at school. This sentiment resonates with the families who have experienced or fear hateful remarks. To them, the Board’s action signaled, "We hear you, and we won’t tolerate hate." That can build trust—showing that the institution cares about the dignity of vulnerable students and is willing to act, not just talk.

On the other hand, some in the community viewed Policy 121 with skepticism or resentment. A segment of parents and community members—often those attuned to free-speech issues or wary of "political correctness"—felt the policy went too far. Steve Sibson’s comments at the board meeting captured this camp’s feelings: he agreed with the goal of respect, "the intent," but worried the policy would "have a chilling effect on free speech" and be applied with a double standard. In his words, "In the woke environment we’re living in, there seems to be two sets of rules—if you’re in a particular group you deserve to have rights, but if you’re part of the oppressor group—a white male Christian—you don’t have the same rights." While many would contest Sibson’s framing, it illustrates a perception of unfairness that some community members hold. They fear the policy could be used to punish certain viewpoints and not others, or that it’s a symbol of a school aligning with a "woke" agenda at the expense of their values. This perception erodes trust from that faction of the public. They begin to see school officials not as neutral educators but as ideological enforcers.

Thus, Mitchell’s attempt to bolster inclusivity has also inadvertently widened some divides. Instead of uniting the community against hate, Policy 121 became another front in the culture wars for a few vocal individuals. The Integrity Nexus view of social integrity would gauge how well the district is maintaining unity and mutual trust. Here, the outcome is mixed: heightened trust among those who feel protected by the policy, diminished trust among those who feel targeted by it. The ultimate social test will be how the district navigates these perceptions moving forward. Transparency and engagement are critical. If the Board openly acknowledges the concerns, clarifies the policy’s intent (perhaps by amending vague language), and applies the rule even-handedly, it could rebuild confidence over time. If not, the distrust could fester.

One glaring omission in the policy-making process was the lack of student voice. High schoolers especially are mature enough to contribute to discussions about school rules that will govern them. Yet there’s no sign that students were consulted or allowed input in crafting Policy 121. Ethical governance in a school context would ideally involve students in addressing issues of hate and bias—perhaps through student-led initiatives, advisory panels, or at least forums for feedback. By imposing this rule top-down, without student involvement, the Board missed an opportunity to educate by example in democratic process. Students learned about the policy only once it was a fait accompli (some likely learned of its details when controversy arose). Empowering stakeholders—in this case, the very youth the policy is meant to protect—is a hallmark of ethical use of power. That didn’t happen here. In future interviews, I plan to ask Board members if they considered involving the student voice or if any student feedback has emerged since implementation.

 

Fear, Anger, and Pride: The Emotional Ecosystem Surrounding Policy 121

Beyond the legal and structural analysis, it’s revealing to examine Policy 121’s emotional impact through the Emotional Ecosystem of Propaganda (EEP) framework. The EEP framework suggests that powerful emotions—notably fear, anger, and pride—often drive narratives and public responses, sometimes in manipulative ways. While "propaganda" might seem too strong a word for a local school policy, the truth is that once Policy 121 entered the public sphere, it became a symbol various groups used to stoke certain feelings.

Fear, as discussed, is a dominant emotion in this situation. There is, first, the fear that motivated the policy’s creation: fear for student safety and wellbeing. Educators feared that without explicit rules, incidents of hate speech could occur and hurt vulnerable kids. This is a protective fear—the compassionate worry of adults responsible for children. In the Board’s narrative, implementing Policy 121 was a way to alleviate that fear by proactively preventing harmful incidents. “Hate speech… can negatively impact students,” Dr. Childs noted, implying the policy would help stop such harm.

Then there is the fear induced by the policy itself—the chilling effect. Students and staff fear punishment or social ostracism if they misspeak. This kind of fear can be exploited (intentionally or not) to enforce conformity. In a classic propaganda ecosystem, authorities might promulgate a vague rule precisely to create uncertainty and fear, knowing people will over-correct their behavior to avoid crossing the invisible line. Mitchell’s leaders likely had no such nefarious intent; they weren’t seeking to brainwash or silence legitimate discourse. However, the dynamic that has emerged—people holding their tongues "just in case"—mirrors that found in environments of overt propaganda. Fear of being labeled a bigot or rule-breaker has led many to self-censor. As one teacher confided (on condition of anonymity), “I’m a lot more careful now. Even if I think an example from history is important, I sometimes skip it if it contains any slur, because you just never know.” That’s fear at work, subtly but powerfully shrinking the scope of education.

Anger is the next key emotion. We see anger on at least two sides of this issue. There is the righteous anger of those who champion Policy 121’s intent—anger at racism and bigotry. Community members who supported the policy, like Megan Luther (a parent who spoke at the June meeting), likely feel a form of moral outrage that hate speech even occurs in society and a corresponding determination that "not in my town, not in my schools." This anger at injustice can be a positive force, driving people to demand change and stand up for the oppressed. It’s the kind of passion that civil rights movements harness. In Mitchell, the policy gave that sentiment an outlet: the Board symbolically saying we will not tolerate hate.

Conversely, there is the anger of those who opposed or criticized the policy, which often stemmed from feeling that their rights or values were under attack. Steve Sibson’s heated remarks about a "woke environment" and an "oppressor group" losing rights are clearly rooted in anger—anger at what he perceives as a society tilting against people like him. His hyperbolic language ("that’s what’s been going on in our country for quite a while now") shows how Policy 121 tapped into a broader grievance narrative far beyond the halls of Mitchell High. For some, the policy became a symbol of everything they distrust about modern social justice efforts. It wasn’t just about one school rule—it was about "two sets of rules," fairness, and being cast as the villain due to one’s identity (in Sibson’s case, being a white Christian man). That anger can be politically useful to those who oppose such policies: it fuels turnout at meetings, letters to the editor, maybe even school board election campaigns. If someone wanted to stoke division, they could easily use Policy 121 as a rallying point, saying, "Look at what those people on the Board tried to do—infringe on your free speech!" Even if that’s a distorted take, anger doesn’t rely on nuance; it relies on perceived transgression. Here, the perceived transgression is against the First Amendment and against a certain group’s sense of fair treatment, which is a potent catalyst for outrage.

Finally, pride plays a subtle but important role. Pride often manifests as identification with a group or a set of values that one believes are noble—and the corresponding desire to defend them. Mitchell’s Board and supporters likely felt a degree of pride in taking a stand against hate. Passing Policy 121 was, in their view, the right thing to do, aligned with the community’s values of respect and inclusion. That pride is evident in Brittni Flood’s heartfelt statement about wanting all kids to feel safe and cared for at school. It’s a virtuous pride—the pride in one’s community for doing something admirable. After the policy passed, some in Mitchell no doubt felt proud that their town was leading on this issue, perhaps noting that other districts didn’t have such specific anti-hate provisions.

Meanwhile, those who bristled at the policy have their own forms of pride. Some take pride in American constitutional principles, like free speech. They see themselves as defenders of the First Amendment and proudly assert those rights. To them, pushing back on Policy 121 is a matter of patriotic principle—ensuring that their community stays true to the fundamental rights that define the nation. Others may feel group pride that was threatened by the policy: e.g., pride in being able to speak one’s mind plainly, or pride in not bowing to what they see as excessive political correctness. When Sibson spoke of being called a "white supremacist" as something he feels people have a right to say (and presumably, that he has a right to object to), there’s a complex interplay of personal pride and group identity. He doesn’t want special treatment, one might infer, just equal respect—and it angers his pride that a policy might imply he’s a potential perpetrator of hate by default.

In the emotional ecosystem, these elements can feed off each other. Fear of punishment can suppress one side of a debate, while anger energizes the other side, and pride stiffens everyone’s resolve not to yield. If not acknowledged and managed, this ecosystem can become a self-reinforcing cycle: one group’s proud stance against hate speech can be painted by opponents as overreach, fueling their anger; that anger can manifest in ways (perhaps hostile or insensitive remarks) that validate the first group’s fears and pride in having the policy, and so on. In Mitchell, we see the early signs of such a cycle. Policy 121 became more than a policy; it became a symbol onto which people project their deeper anxieties and values.

The challenge for the community and its leaders will be to channel these emotions constructively. Fear can be reduced through clarity and education—if students and staff clearly understand what the policy is and isn’t, and trust it will be applied fairly, the fear of inadvertent punishment will lessen. Anger can be addressed through dialogue—giving those who feel aggrieved a forum to be heard and perhaps adjusting the policy to address legitimate concerns (for example, adding definitions or safeguards, which could take some sting out of the free-speech objections). Pride can be harnessed for good—the community can be proud not just that they stood against hate, but also that they found a way to do so while upholding freedom. That dual pride—in both inclusion and liberty—is possible if the policy is refined in an integrity-conscious way.

 

Conclusion:

Noble Ends, Flawed Means

Finding the Integrity to Do Both Right

Mitchell’s Policy 121 stands as a cautionary example of how good intentions can overreach, undermining the very civic values of open discourse and rule of law that schools should cultivate. This investigation, guided by the values of The Integrity Dispatch, underscores that integrity in public institutions demands more than righteous aims – it requires clarity, consistency, legality, and engagement. Policy 121 highlights the importance of scrutinizing the means by which we pursue a noble end. Yes, protecting students from harm is essential. But as this case shows, doing so through vague, fear-driven rules can jeopardize informational integrity (clarity and truth), institutional integrity (lawfulness and fairness), and the community’s emotional well-being (replacing trust with fear).

The hope is that shining a light on these facets will encourage the Mitchell School District – and other communities grappling with similar issues – to seek solutions that uphold both dignity and liberty. There are paths to confront hateful behavior that do not sacrifice constitutional principles: clearer definitions, transparent enforcement standards, robust educational programs, and inclusive policy-making that involves students and parents as partners. By aligning our methods with our democratic ideals, we can ensure that efforts to combat hate do not unintentionally trample the values we aim to teach.

In the end, noble intentions and ethical execution must go hand in hand. Mitchell’s journey with Policy 121 is still unfolding, and it offers a vital lesson to educators, lawmakers, and citizens alike: Integrity is achieved not just by the goals we set, but by the way we pursue them. Only by demanding that our means are as just as our ends can we build a school environment that is safe, inclusive, and true to the spirit of free inquiry – in short, a place where every student can learn and grow in the fullest sense, unencumbered by hate or fear.

Brian Maxwell, Founder – The Integrity Dispatch

4/10/2025

 

Primary Sources:

Mitchell School District Documents:

  • Mitchell School District Board of Education Meeting Minutes (June 26, 2023). Includes formal adoption of Policy 121.

  • Mitchell School District Policy 121 official text (Adopted July 2023).

Public Statements by Mitchell School District Officials:

  • Superintendent Dr. Joe Childs' explanations on the intent and scope of Policy 121 during school board meetings (June 26, 2023).

Mitchell School Board Member Comments:

  • Deb Olson (Board President), Terry Aslesen (Board Member), Brittni Flood (Board Member), and Matt Christiansen (Board Member) public commentary and discussion on Policy 121 during the school board meeting (June 26, 2023).

Community Feedback:

  • Public comments supporting and opposing Policy 121, provided by community members during the school board meeting, specifically remarks by Megan Luther and Steve Sibson regarding potential chilling effects and protection of student speech.

Secondary Sources:

  • FIRE (Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression). Letter to Mitchell School District (January 11, 2024), expressing First Amendment concerns and highlighting potential constitutional overreach and vagueness in Policy 121 definitions and enforcement criteria.

  • Erwin Chemerinsky, constitutional scholar. Commentary in Vox analyzing judicial precedents on free speech and hate speech, emphasizing constitutional protections and implications for campus speech codes.

Local Media Reporting:

  • Mitchell Republic articles covering the adoption, community reactions, and district explanations of Policy 121. Articles include direct quotations from Superintendent Childs, board members (Flood, Aslesen, Olson, Christiansen), and community members (Luther, Sibson), providing insights into public and administrative perspectives on the policy.

Citation List

  • Mitchell School District Board of Education. "Meeting Minutes, June 26, 2023." Mitchell School District official website. https://www.mitchell.k12.sd.us/page/school-board-members

  • Mitchell School District. "Policy 121: Hate Speech Policy." Adopted July 2023. Mitchell School District official website.

  • FIRE (Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression). "Letter to Mitchell School District on Policy 121." January 11, 2024. https://www.thefire.org

  • Chemerinsky, Erwin. "Hate speech is protected free speech, even on college campuses." Vox. https://www.vox.com

  • Mitchell Republic. Coverage of Mitchell School District Policy 121. Multiple articles published between June 2023 and January 2024. https://www.mitchellrepublic.com