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When school closures persist long past a crisis’s resolution, it’s not just a logistical failure—it’s a systemic failure of power. The quiet closure of Li schools, once framed as administrative necessity, now reveals deeper fractures in how authority, accountability, and governance intersect in education. Power must return—immediately—not as a demand, but as a prerequisite for any meaningful reopening.

Beyond the surface, the prolonged closure of Li schools reflects a dangerous inertia: decisions made in boardrooms and district offices, disconnected from classroom realities, dictate student fate. In 2023, over 1,200 schools in China’s rural and under-resourced regions remained shuttered, not due to health emergencies, but because bureaucratic inertia outlasted the original justification. This is not just about buildings—it’s about the erosion of trust between policymakers and communities.

Power, in this context, operates on multiple planes. First, **institutional power**—the authority to reopen or extend closures—has become frozen in procedural limbo. Second, **community power**—the voice of parents, teachers, and students—has been systematically silenced. Third, **political power**, wielded through opaque decision-making, shields administrators from accountability. When these forces misalign, reopening becomes a symbolic gesture, not a solution.

The hidden mechanics are clear: reopening requires more than health clearance or infrastructure repair. It demands **restored agency**—the power to respond dynamically to evolving conditions. In provinces where schools reopened only after sustained community pressure and transparent reassessment, reentry rates climbed by over 35% within 90 days. Conversely, in zones where closure power remains centralized and unresponsive, student disengagement deepened by 40% year-over-year.

This is not a call for chaos. It’s a demand for recalibration. Power must return not as a reward, but as responsibility. When closure decisions are made in isolation, reopening becomes performative—schools open, trust collapses, and the cycle repeats. But when power is distributed—when local educators, families, and public health experts co-govern reopening protocols—resilience follows.

Consider the case of a district in Guizhou: months after a closure order, a grassroots coalition of teachers and parent leaders initiated a data-driven reopening plan. They mapped infection risks, verified ventilation systems, and piloted staggered schedules. Their intervention, rooted in local knowledge and shared authority, enabled safe reentry without lockdowns. The lesson is stark: power without accountability is hollow; power with accountability is transformative.

Yet resistance persists. Bureaucratic inertia, fear of liability, and political risk aversion create powerful headwinds. Administrators often cite “precautionary closure” as a default, even when evidence suggests recovery is imminent. But this mindset is unsustainable. A school closed for 18 months loses not just momentum, but credibility—making reopening exponentially harder, not easier.

So what must happen? Power must return through three levers: transparency in decision-making, local empowerment in reopening protocols, and real-time feedback loops between schools and communities. Only then can closure status reflect reality—not inertia.

The stakes extend beyond education. When power returns to the people, it rebuilds trust in institutions. When it remains locked in distant offices, it deepens disenfranchisement. The closure of Li schools is not an isolated incident. It’s a symptom. Fixing it requires redefining power—not as control, but as shared responsibility. Until then, every day of unresolved closure is a day lost to students, families, and the future.

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