It Takes a Village

A very dear friend and colleague of mine signs off every email with the phrase, “It takes a village.”

For years, I smiled every time I read it. It felt warm, hopeful, and deeply rooted in what we do as music educators. We know teaching has never been something accomplished in isolation. Music education especially thrives on and in community. Ensembles depend on it. Students depend on it. Educators depend on it.

Lately, though, I have found myself wondering: what does a musical village or community actually need to thrive?

Not simply in the beautiful moments. Not just during standing ovations, successful concerts, or the joyful chaos of festival season. What does a village need in moments of despair, challenge, uncertainty, and adversity? What allows a community to continue moving forward when the emotional weight feels heavier than usual?

This year, I have heard numerous students and educators say exactly that: this school year has felt heavy.

Perhaps it is because the world around us feels heavy.

It is difficult to deny the emotional, financial, and safety concerns many people have experienced due to certain aspects of our political climate. Whether we want to admit it or not, it affects so many aspects of our students and their families, our colleagues, and our own lives. As educators, we might not always see or hear about the direct effects, but we certainly can feel them in our classrooms.

Discussions of school consolidation have created waves of uncertainty throughout communities across Vermont (State of Vermont, 2025). For many educators, students, and families, these conversations are not simply logistical. They are deeply personal. Schools are often the heartbeat of a community (VanDeusen, 2016). And, more fundamentally, music programs are often the space where communities gather, celebrate, and connect at the deepest level. The underlying question of whether a school and its music program will continue to exist creates undeniable tension.

At the same time, educators across the nation have felt increasingly devalued. The piecemeal dismantlement of the Department of Education and ongoing rhetoric surrounding public education have left many teachers feeling not only as though the profession is under scrutiny but also wondering if their work educating each generation is seen, heard, and valued as a profession (Harwin, 2024; Nittle, 2025). Despite advanced degrees, years of professional development, continuing education, countless unpaid hours, and unwavering dedication to students, educators are often no longer treated as professionals.

Add to all of this the traditional stressors and fast tempos of daily life alongside the plot twist of an occasional emergency or tragedy, and no wonder life feels significantly heavier.

That reality weighs on people.

And yet, every morning, educators continue to show up.

We continue to teach. We continue to create. We continue to hold space for our students.

Music educators in particular take pride in and focus on the communities we create within our classrooms (Hendricks et al., 2014). Music classrooms naturally encourage collaboration, communication, responsibility, empathy, and connection (Edgar, 2012; 2014). We tell students they are part of something larger than themselves. We remind them that every individual voice matters and that the ensemble only succeeds when people work together.

But recently, I have found myself asking another difficult question: What type of musical community are we actually building?

Because music communities often reflect our own understanding of community.

Students learn far more from us than notes, rhythms, and technique. They observe how we interact with one another. They watch how we respond to stress. They notice who we include in conversations and who we unintentionally leave out. They hear the comments we make in passing. They see how we navigate disagreement, frustration, and discomfort.

And perhaps most importantly, they notice whether our classrooms are spaces where people simply feel safe or spaces where people are encouraged to be brave.

For years, educational spaces have emphasized the importance of creating “safe spaces” (Hendricks et al., 2014). Safety matters deeply. Students deserve environments where they feel physically and emotionally supported. They deserve classrooms where respect, dignity, and care are foundational.

But I wonder if safety alone is enough.

A safe space can sometimes unintentionally prioritize comfort over growth. “Brave spaces,” however, ask something different of us (Arao & Clemens, 2013; Hendricks, 2025). Brave spaces encourage respectful discomfort. They invite honest dialogue, reflection, vulnerability, accountability, and growth. They acknowledge that meaningful learning and authentic community are not always comfortable experiences.

Often, we find we are challenged in brave spaces in unexpected ways because this level of growth requires vulnerability and asks us to reflect deeply (Hendricks, 2025). Through this depth, we often learn the unexpected about ourselves.

Music educators already ask students to be vulnerable through their musical learning every single day.

Performing requires vulnerability. Auditioning requires vulnerability. Making mistakes publicly requires vulnerability. Expressing emotion through music requires vulnerability.

So, what might it look like if we intentionally built brave ensemble spaces alongside safe ones?

What if students felt empowered not only to perform courageously, but also to communicate courageously?

What if students learned how to respectfully disagree, advocate for themselves and others, engage with perspectives different from their own, and navigate difficult conversations with empathy, all within our classrooms?

What if our music classrooms became places where students learned that community is not the absence of discomfort, but the willingness to move through discomfort together?

Of course, this type of shift does not happen accidentally.

It requires intentional change.

It requires educators to reflect honestly on the environments we create. It requires us to examine our own biases, habits, behaviors, and communication. It requires us to acknowledge that students are constantly learning from us, even when we do not realize they are watching.

Students observe our interactions outside of rehearsals and classrooms just as much as they observe our teaching. They notice how we speak to colleagues during meetings. They notice who we engage with at conferences, festivals, and professional gatherings and meetings. They notice whether we approach others with openness or judgment.

They are learning what a professional community looks like by watching us live it.

That realization can feel intimidating.

But perhaps, it is also empowering.

Because if we want our students’ communities to grow and expand beyond safety into bravery, maybe we first need to examine ourselves.

Maybe the first step toward creating brave spaces for students is creating brave spaces for one another as educators.

What would happen if music educators approached our smaller communities within our profession with greater curiosity instead of assumptions?

What would happen if disagreement did not automatically signal division?

What would happen if vulnerability among music educators were not viewed as a weakness, but as humanity?

Perhaps students need to see adults modeling what it means to navigate complexity with empathy and professionalism. Perhaps they need to witness respectful dialogue between people with different perspectives. Perhaps they need to see educators continuing to care for one another despite exhaustion, uncertainty, and frustration.

Because the reality is this: students will inherit the communities we model for them.

Music education has always been about more than performance.

Yes, we teach musical skills. Yes, we teach artistry. Yes, we teach discipline and excellence.

But we also teach people how to exist alongside one another. We teach students how to listen and communicate both verbally and non-verbally. We teach them how to support others while still contributing their own voice. We teach them that individual parts matter, but collective understanding matters too.

Maybe this is why the energy in music classrooms feels so powerful.

A music classroom has the potential to be one of the clearest examples of what a village can look like through the continuous nurturing of brave spaces.

Not because everyone is identical. Not because everyone always agrees.

But because people commit themselves to creating something meaningful together.

Not through perfection. Not through avoidance.

But through courage, empathy, accountability, and the willingness to continue showing up for one another through communal, musical learning.

Perhaps now more than ever, it takes a village.

Particularly, a brave one.

Christy Papandrea is a music educator and a doctoral candidate at Boston University pursuing a DMA in Music Education. Her dissertation examines Restorative Practices and Compassionate Music Teaching in secondary instrumental ensembles. She holds an MM in Music Education with an emphasis in Instrumental Conducting from The Hartt School, a BA in Music Education from Castleton University, and additional graduate coursework in Ethnomusicology and World Music at Liberty University.

As Music Educator and Band Director at Proctor Junior-Senior High School (VT), she directs grades 7–12 instrumental and general music programs and leads multiple ensembles. Her work earned Music for All’s 2024–2025 Advocacy in Action Award and recognition in the University of Vermont’s restorative practice initiatives. Active in the Vermont Music Educators Association and Green Mountain District V, she publishes and presents on music education, restorative practices, and student engagement at the state, national, and international levels.

Resources

Arao, B., & Clemens, K. (2013). From Safe Spaces to Brave Spaces: A New Way to Frame Dialogue Around Diversity and Social Justice. In The Art of Effective Facilitation: Reflections from Social Justice Educators (pp. 135–150). Stylus Publishing.

Edgar, S. (2012). Approaches of High School Facilitative Instrumental Music Educators in Response to the Social and Emotional Challenges of Students [Doctoral Dissertation].

Edgar, S. (2014). Approaches of a Secondary Music Teacher in Response to the Social and Emotional Lives of Students. Contributions to Music Education, 40, 91–110.

Harwin, A. (2024). Teachers Say the Public Views Them Negatively. Education Week. https://www.edweek.org/teaching-learning/teachers-say-the-public-views-them-negatively/2024/10

Hendricks, K. S., Smith, T. D., & Stanuch, J. (2014). Creating Safe Spaces for Music Learning. Music Educators Journal, 101(1), 35–40. https://doi.org/10.1177/0027432114540337

Hendricks, K. S. (2025). Daring to Care with Music Education. Oxford University Press.

Nittle, N. (2025, March 20). “A dark day” for American children: Trump issues order to kill the Department of Education. The 19th. https://19thnews.org/2025/03/trump-executive-order-department-of-education/

State of Vermont. (2025). Act 73 of 2025 | Agency of Education. Vermont.gov. https://education.vermont.gov/vermont-schools/school-governance/act-73-2025

VanDeusen, A. (2016). “It Really Comes Down to the Community”: A Case Study of a Rural School Music Program. Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education, 15(4), 56–75. https://doi.org/10.22176/act15.4.56