A school choice star is unborn

Corey DeAngelis: A Cautionary Tale of Ambition, Hypocrisy, and Grace

Corey DeAngelis is having a bad week. Once a leading voice in the school choice movement and a familiar face on FOX News, he has recently gone silent. Known for his vigorous Twitter advocacy against teachers' unions and his unapologetic promotion of school choice, Corey has found himself embroiled in controversy. While the details of his private activities are legal, they are heavily stigmatized, and this has led to his sudden fall from grace among his right-wing peers. But this isn't a story about his personal life; it's about the complex nature of public personas, hypocrisy, and the importance of extending grace.

When I first met Corey, I was struck by his youth, credentials, and command over school choice policies. He was articulate, pleasant, and seemed genuinely dedicated to the cause of improving education through school choice. As a fellow advocate, I felt a kinship with him—two warriors fighting for what we believed would be a more equitable education system. Corey's passion and commitment were undeniable, and he was eager to collaborate on podcasts, connect me with his network, and share ideas. Corey's message was clear in those early days: school choice was a policy to uplift all communities, especially those historically underserved by the public education system. He championed the idea that every family, regardless of background, should have the power to choose the best educational environment for their children. It was a cause that brought us together.

However, over time, Corey's advocacy took a wrong turn. He began aligning with a more extreme faction of the school choice movement, which used the rhetoric of culture wars to advance its agenda. This group wasn't interested in equity or justice; they saw school choice as a tool to isolate their children from minorities and LGBTQ families. Corey's public persona shifted from an educational reformer to a staunch culture warrior, echoing right-wing talking points about "radical gays" grooming children and pushing "gay porn" into schools. This was a significant departure from the Corey I had known. Although I never believed Corey himself harbored racist or homophobic beliefs, his ambition made him a willing participant in these divisive campaigns. He spoke on white supremacist podcasts, pandered to anti-woke evangelicals, and joined the chorus of those demonizing marginalized communities. Privately, he expressed support for the goals of Black and Brown families in education, but publicly, he became the face of a movement that often worked against those very communities.

As revelations about Corey's private life come to light, there is a sense of poetic justice among those he once maligned. Many in the LGBTQ community see this as karma for his previous attacks, viewing his downfall as evidence of his hypocrisy. After all, how could someone who aligned himself with anti-LGBTQ rhetoric now be exposed in a way that contradicts the values he publicly espoused? Yet, despite understanding the sense of betrayal those communities feel, I struggle to join in the chorus of condemnation. Corey's actions, while undoubtedly hypocritical given his alliances, don't erase the fact that he is human. He is not the monster that some paint him to be. I've seen his good nature and know him as a person who, at his core, sought to make a difference—even if his methods and alliances led him astray.

Corey's story is a cautionary tale about the costs of ambition. His desire to ascend in the ranks of the school choice movement led him down a path where principles were sacrificed for power and influence. He became a pawn in a larger game played by billionaires and ideologues, a figurehead for a movement that cared little for the communities it claimed to serve. It's a game I know all too well. I, too, was once targeted by right-wing factions when I broke ranks and spoke out against the racist underpinnings of the school choice agenda. They tried to cancel me, to silence my voice, and to discredit my work. But stepping away from that toxic environment was my best decision. It allowed me to realign with my values and find new allies genuinely committed to equity and justice in education.

While reveling Corey's supposed downfall would be easy, I choose not to. I no longer agree with his policy agenda or support his advocacy strategy, but I'm mindful of the dangers of losing my humanity in condemning him. The education policy world is too full of people who gladly turn on their own as punishment for insufficient compliance. It's transactional, not human. I refuse to be part of a cycle that celebrates personal destruction, no matter how justifiable it may seem. Corey's story is familiar. It's a reminder that the advocacy world is fraught with moral compromises and that good people can do bad things when driven by ambition and pressure from the wrong influences. While I vehemently oppose much of what Corey has stood for in recent years, I also recognize the importance of offering grace—even to those who might not extend it to me (because that's what grace actually is).

I don’t expect those hurt by his rhetoric and advocacy to share my heart on this. They aren’t wrong. I could be undercounting his harms because I know him differently than the public does. I might be too emotive about his status as a new dad, husband, and careerist.

Still, kicking Corey when he's down won't improve our education system or help one more child succeed. It won't undo the harm caused by the school choice movement's descent into culture war politics. But choosing not to pile on, instead extending a measure of understanding, might make us better people. And in a world that thrives on conflict and division, that's a choice worth making.