Six Years Later: How COVID Reshaped Crisis Communication

March 17, 2020.

Do you remember where you were? I do. I remember the way information was changing by the hour. I remember the words we kept using—pivot, unprecedented, out of an abundance of caution—until they stopped meaning anything at all. I remember sending families home thinking it would be two weeks. Maybe three.

I remember the moment we realized that no amount of careful planning could prepare us for what was coming.

Six years later, it feels like a lifetime ago. And somehow, like yesterday.

As school communicators and leaders, we learned so much during that crisis. Things we swore we'd never forget. But here's the harder question: how much of it are we actually applying right now?

Because—and it's difficult to say this out loud—we're in crisis mode again. It looks different. The specifics have changed, the headlines are different. But whether you're navigating political polarization in your schools, managing budget shortfalls that demand significant cuts, responding to safety concerns, or dealing with student behaviors that may be lingering consequences of shutting everything down six years ago, the uncertainty is back. And communicating through it is hard.

But this isn't a story about the hard. It's a story about what we proved we could do—and a reminder that we can do it again.

In 2020, we didn't simply survive a crisis. We built systems overnight. We clarified decision-making processes under impossible pressure. We strengthened relationships with families when everything felt like it was falling apart. We learned to lead with transparency, empathy, and consistency in circumstances none of us had trained for.

Those weren't temporary skills. They were defining ones.

So let's revisit them. Not to look backward—but to remember what we're capable of.

Lesson 1: Communicate Early and Often (Even When You Don't Have All the Answers)

In March 2020, we didn't know when schools would reopen. We didn't know if our plans would still be valid the following day. We didn't know much of anything for certain.

But we communicated through it anyway.

We said things like: "Here's what we know right now..." and "Here's what we're still trying to figure out..." and "We'll update you again on Friday, whether we have new information or not." We got comfortable with transparency into our decision-making process—even when that process felt messy and incomplete. We got comfortable saying, "We really don't know right now. But as soon as we do, we'll share it with you."

That lesson still applies. You don't need all the answers before you start communicating. In fact, waiting for certainty often means waiting too long.

If you're facing budget cuts, don't wait for the board vote to start the conversation. Tell families you're navigating financial challenges. Explain the timeline for decisions. Be honest about what you know—and what you don't. If there's a safety concern, address it quickly. Even if you can't share every detail, you can share that you're aware, you're investigating, and you're taking it seriously.

Silence in a crisis doesn't comfort people. It sends them to their own conclusions—and usually, those are worse than the truth. Plus, if you're not telling your story, someone else already is.

Lesson 2: Transparency Builds Trust (Even When the Truth Is Hard)

The districts that maintained community trust during COVID were the ones that were honest about how difficult things were. They didn't pretend remote learning was going smoothly when it clearly wasn't. They didn't gloss over quarantine protocols or staff shortages. They named the struggles openly—while also sharing what they were doing to address them. They still celebrated wins. They just didn't pretend the hard parts weren't happening.

That's what your communities need from you right now, too.

If you're cutting programs or staff, be honest about it. Don't bury the news in bureaucratic language about "realigning resources" or "strategic prioritization." Say what you're cutting and why. If you're dealing with a teacher shortage that's affecting class sizes, acknowledge it—don't pretend everything is fine when families can see 32 kids in their child's classroom. And if you made a decision that didn't work out the way you hoped, own it. "We tried this approach and it didn't give us the results we wanted. Here's what we're doing differently now."

People can handle hard truths. What they can't handle is feeling like you're not being straight with them. They may not always like what they hear—that's a different story. But when you build a consistent habit of transparency, your community learns that information coming from you is accurate. That trust is everything when the next crisis arrives.

Lesson 3: One Message, Multiple Channels, Constant Repetition

During COVID, one email about a policy change was never enough. You sent the email, posted on social media, updated the website, mentioned it in the newsletter, had principals share it in building communications—and then you probably sent it again.

Because people were overwhelmed. And that part hasn't changed.

Information overload is still real. People miss things. They skim. They read it once and forget. Repetition isn't annoying in a crisis—it's necessary.

If you're communicating something important, plan to share it at least five to seven times across multiple channels over several weeks. Budget information shouldn't live and die at one board meeting—it belongs in newsletters, community forums, building-level communications, and everywhere else your community gathers. Policy changes need to be announced, explained, reminded, and reminded again.

And here's the key: say it the same way each time. Don't shift your wording or your framing. Consistent messaging is how people actually absorb information—not just encounter it.

Lesson 4: Empathy Matters As Much As Information

I'll never forget reading certain district communications during COVID that were just… cold. Bullet points about policies. Announcements about procedures. No acknowledgment of how hard this was for real families with real children trying to figure out an impossible situation.

And then there were the communications that got it right:

"We recognize that these decisions are affecting real children and real families. Here's why we had to make this choice and what we're doing to minimize the impact..."

Be the latter.

Before you send any communication right now, ask yourself: have I acknowledged the human impact of this situation? If you're announcing budget cuts, acknowledge that this affects real teachers and the programs families love. If you're changing a policy, acknowledge the disruption for families who'd already made plans. If you're asking your community for support, acknowledge what you're asking and why it matters.

People don't need you to be perfect. They need you to be human—to recognize that you're communicating with other humans, and that the decisions your district makes ripple outward in ways that are wide and real.

Lesson 5: Over-Communication Is Better Than Under-Communication

Here's what COVID taught me with certainty: in a crisis, there is no such thing as too much communication. There is only poorly timed or irrelevant communication.

When you're sharing important, timely, relevant information, people want to hear from you. What they don't want is to be left wondering.

If you're navigating a sustained challenge—and most districts are—commit to a regular communication rhythm and stick to it. Maybe it's a weekly update from the superintendent. Maybe it's a monthly e-newsletter. The specific format matters less than the consistency. When people know they'll hear from you every Friday at 4 PM, they stop anxiously refreshing their inbox at random hours. They trust that if something important happens, you'll tell them. That trust is worth more than you might realize.

Lesson 6: Your Staff Needs to Hear From You First

When teachers find out about major decisions from the news or from parent emails, you've lost their trust—and it's hard to get it back. Your staff should never be learning about changes at the same time as the community. They need a heads-up. They need context. They need to feel like valued members of the team, not afterthoughts.

Before any major announcement, brief your staff. Even if it's just 30 minutes before the family email goes out, give them the courtesy of knowing what's coming. Better yet, involve them in the process where possible. If you're making cuts, talk with affected staff before you announce publicly. If you're changing a policy, get input from the people who will actually implement it.

This doesn't mean staff have veto power over every decision. It means you respect them enough to keep them informed—and to genuinely consider their perspectives as part of how you lead.

Lesson 7: Address Misinformation Quickly and Directly

During COVID, rumors spread faster than facts. "I heard they're never opening schools again." "I heard they're going to require masks forever." "I heard they're firing teachers who won't get vaccinated."

None of those things were true in the districts where I heard them. But by the time official statements arrived, the rumors had spread so far—and so deep into communities that trusted neighbors over institutions—that facts couldn't keep up.

Monitor what's being said about your district in community spaces. When you see misinformation spreading, address it quickly and directly. You don't need to respond to every random comment on Facebook. But if you're hearing the same rumor across multiple conversations or multiple spaces, it needs a clear, direct response. Name it. Correct it. Don't dance around it or be vague hoping it fades. It won't.

Lesson 8: You Can't Please Everyone (And That's Okay)

This might have been the hardest lesson COVID gave us: no matter what decision you made, someone was going to be angry about it.

Close schools? Some families furious. Keep them open? Other families furious. Require masks? Half the community upset. Make masks optional? The other half upset.

The districts that maintained their credibility—and their sanity—accepted that pleasing everyone was never the goal. Making informed decisions and communicating them clearly was the goal.

Make decisions based on what's best for your students and your district, not on who's going to be upset. Communicate those decisions clearly. Explain your reasoning. Stand by them—not defensively, not combatively, but with quiet confidence. "We know this won't be popular with everyone. We've considered multiple perspectives, and we believe this is the right path forward for these reasons..."

Some people will still be upset. That's okay. Your job isn't to make everyone happy. It's to lead well and communicate clearly.

Lesson 9: Take Care of Your Communicators

I watched so many communications directors burn out during COVID. Sending updates at midnight. Responding to angry emails at 6 AM. Monitoring social media around the clock. Never really getting a break. And for nearly a year, those doing the communicating—most of whom weren't the ones making the decisions—were under constant fire.

If you're in a sustained crisis, you cannot maintain crisis-level communication efforts indefinitely without breaking your team. Set boundaries. Establish clear roles. Create sustainable rhythms. Support your communicators with resources, backup, and genuine appreciation.

Your communications director can't be "on" 24 hours a day. Neither can you. Build systems that allow for consistent, meaningful communication without requiring anyone to run themselves into the ground. The work is too important—and so are the people doing it.

Lesson 10: Crisis Reveals What Was Already There

Here, perhaps, is the most important lesson of all: COVID didn't create problems. It revealed them.

Districts that already had strong community relationships weathered the storm better. Districts that already had clear communication systems adapted faster. Districts that had trust in the bank were extended more grace when they made mistakes—and everyone made mistakes. And districts with poor communication habits, weak relationships, or low trust? The crisis made all of that worse, in ways that some are still feeling six years later.

If you're struggling with crisis communication right now, the issue might not be the current crisis. It might be that the foundation wasn't in place before the crisis arrived.

So ask yourself honestly: Do we have strong relationships with our community? Do we have clear, reliable communication systems? Have we built trust through transparency and follow-through? Do families feel informed and genuinely valued?

If the answer to any of those is no, that's your work right now. Not just for this crisis—but for the next one.

Because there will be a next one. There always is.

What We're Facing Now

Let's be honest about what many districts are navigating right now. Political polarization that turns every decision into a minefield. Budget crises driven by expiring federal funds, enrollment declines, and economic uncertainty—and cuts that are going to hurt. Safety concerns that seem to bring something new to worry about every week. Staff shortages that aren't resolving, with exhausted leaders trying to hold it all together.

These aren't small challenges. They are crisis-level issues that require sustained, strategic, thoughtful communication. But here's what I want you to hold onto: the lessons from COVID apply directly to what you're facing right now.

Applying the Lessons: What This Looks Like in Practice

Establish your communication rhythm and stick to it. Pick a schedule you can actually maintain and commit to it—weekly superintendent updates, monthly community newsletters, quarterly forums. Whatever you can sustain, do that consistently.

Be proactive, not just reactive. Don't only communicate when something goes wrong. Share good news. Celebrate wins. Tell the stories that build positivity alongside the hard stuff.

Segment your audiences. Not everyone needs to hear everything. Staff communications should look different from family communications. Your board needs different information than your broader community. Be intentional about who needs what, and when.

Create channels for dialogue, not just announcements. Listening sessions, community forums, surveys, office hours—create space for two-way communication, not just one-way broadcasts. And don't forget to actually listen.

Acknowledge the exhaustion. Everyone is tired. Your staff is tired. Your families are tired. You're tired. Name it. "We know this is a lot. We're feeling it too. Here's how we're trying to make this more manageable..."

Be human. You don't have to have all the answers. You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be honest, consistent, and caring.

You've Already Proven You Can Do This

Six years after COVID shut down our schools, we're still in crisis mode. It just looks a little different now.

The question is: are we applying what we learned? Are we communicating early and often? Are we being transparent even when it's hard? Are we showing empathy alongside information? Are we taking care of the people doing the communicating? Are we building the relationships and trust that will carry us—and our communities—through whatever comes next?

If you're reading this feeling overwhelmed, I get it. Crisis communication is exhausting. Sustained crisis communication is even more so.

But here's what I also know: you've done this before. You navigated COVID. You figured out how to communicate through unprecedented uncertainty. You built systems under impossible conditions, strengthened relationships when everything was falling apart, and came out the other side with skills you didn't have before.

Those lessons are yours. They belong to you. And they matter right now, in this moment, as you navigate whatever your district is facing today.

So take a breath. Remember what you learned. Remember what worked in your community—and what didn't. And then apply those lessons to what's in front of you.

You've got this. You've already proven it.

Now go communicate. Keep being honest. Keep showing empathy. Keep building trust. Keep showing up—even when everything feels like it's falling apart. Especially then.

Because that's what crisis communication is, at its core: showing up, telling the truth, and staying connected.

And it will pass. It always does.