by Amy Trask
They asked us to pray. To bow our heads and believe in mercy. To trust in grace. Then they broke it.
Dr. Sarah Rockwell made a mistake. One comment, that many disagree with, posted on her personal page, was ripped from context, inflated by outrage, and weaponized. It was a moment of human error in a lifetime of service. She apologized — publicly, repeatedly, and sincerely. That’s more accountability than many elected officials show after voting against school lunch programs. (Ed. Note: Rockwell’s controversial comment related to her feelings about WWE wrestler Hulk Hogan’s death. Hogan was a Trump supporter involved in union busting. Rockwell was not a fan.)
We’ve entered a moment where outrage has become currency, and too many are spending it without asking what it’s costing us. Instead of reflection or dialogue after her comment was made, we saw retaliation. She became the unwilling face of a culture war that had already been raging. She made national news and received thousands of death threats. She was mocked, humiliated, and threatened on a national scale. The comment was never the real issue — it was the excuse, and the pitchforks were raised.
At the next Board meeting, after apologizing yet again, she stepped back from her role as Chair, handed the gavel to the Vice Chair, and listened. Twenty-eight parents spoke in her defense. Two dissented. One of those dissenters, Jeremy Clepper, had already disrupted the meeting twice. During his comment period, he insulted board members by name, raised his voice at the gallery, and referenced a convicted Newberry sex offender being “castrated and hung in the town square.” He continued speaking aggressively after his time expired, and deputies were asked to remove him. The attorney intervened. Clepper was allowed to stay, but left voluntarily, and is suing for a First Amendment violation that never occurred.
The Florida Department of Education saw an opening. Florida commissioner of education Anastasios Kamoutsas sent a letter demanding Rockwell’s presence at a Board of Education meeting. He suggested she not reapply for her teaching certificate that he wanted to revoke and floated a fine equivalent to the Board’s salaries. The Governor posted the letter under the banner of “accountability.” Kamoutsas commented “we’ve got your back, brother” on Clepper’s own post. The Mayor of Newberry, who defended Clepper, called the situation “war,” demanded “surrender,” and mockingly asked me if I was the “sentinel for peace” when I requested he condemn the death threats. His response? “It’s only been a week and you’re already crying. How weak.”
This wasn’t metaphor. It was messaging. The verdict had already been written.
Let’s pause here.
If this is “war,” then who are the generals? The man they’re rallying behind isn’t just a litigant — he’s a known extremist. His public posts include antisemitic rhetoric and white supremacist ideology. That’s documented. Yet the governor and commissioner amplified his narrative and signaled support.
What message does that send? It tells educators, advocates, and survivors that the state will not only tolerate extremism — it will reward it, if the optics serve. It tells women in leadership that their apology will never be enough if their existence threatens the status quo. And it tells every citizen that due process is no longer a principle — it’s a performance.
We must reject that message. Not just because it’s politically dangerous, but because it’s morally indefensible. Because democracy demands better. And because silence, in moments like this, is complicity.
Kamoutsas’ alignment with Clepper — while targeting a Jewish public official (Rockwell) facing thousands of death threats and requiring police surveillance — raises grave concerns. Not just about impartiality, not just about abuse of power, but about the misuse of office to reward ideological extremism. When officials mischaracterize Rockwell’s speech as an “official act” or frame her trauma as “war,” they’re not seeking truth or accountability. They’re seeking retribution. A takedown.
Then came the Board of Education meeting. We bowed our heads and prayed. They spoke of mercy, grace, and the importance of teachers, but the weight of hypocrisy was palpable. We all felt it: the slow twist in the gut as each civil word dripped with poison. The real cruelty wasn’t even in the words — it was in their comfort saying them.
Then came school board member Tina Certain’s interrogation. This wasn’t deliberation. It was performance. The agenda falsely claimed parental rights had been violated. Rockwell was told she’d be asked how she had “restored” rights that were never infringed. The questions were pointed, leading, and designed to condemn.
Then came the video clips: one over a year old, one about book bans — neither relevant to the incident under review. The footage from the meeting had been edited to exclude Clepper’s aggressive behavior preceding — and during — his commentary, and spotlight the outrage that followed. Context was erased. Narrative was engineered.
In any quasi-judicial role — whether on a school board, commission, or bench — impartiality is not optional. It’s a foundational, legal, and ethical requirement. The Florida Supreme Court has made that clear: administrative hearings must be neutral, procedurally fair, and anchored in due process. So when a Commissioner publicly aligns with a litigant, or a Governor amplifies one side’s narrative before the facts are heard, the process isn’t just compromised — it’s rigged. Under Caperton v. Massey, that violates due process outright.
Splicing in unrelated clips while omitting the instigating behavior of a known extremist? That seems like constructive defamation. It’s narrative engineering dressed up as evidence. Florida’s Code of Ethics demands impartiality — not selective storytelling. When public trust is weaponized to serve a prewritten script, it’s not just unethical. It’s unlawful.
Let’s revisit the legal standards governing Dr. Rockwell’s speech. In Pickering v. Board of Education, the Supreme Court affirmed that public employees retain First Amendment rights when speaking as private citizens on matters of public concern. Lane v. Franks reaffirmed that principle. Rockwell’s comment, while uncomfortable for some, falls squarely within that protected category. It was citizen speech on a public issue. Full stop.
The state’s response — threatening her livelihood, demanding apologies, and orchestrating public shaming — doesn’t just overstep. It creates a chilling effect. It weaponizes institutional power to silence dissent. It undermines the very freedoms it claims to uphold.
This isn’t about ideology — it isn’t “red jersey vs. blue jersey.” It’s about integrity. When public officials distort legal processes, amplify extremist rhetoric, and weaponize their platforms against vulnerable communities, they don’t just cross ethical lines — they bulldoze them. They compromise the principles of limited government, individual liberty, and constitutional accountability. They erode the very foundations of institutional legitimacy and betray the public trust entrusted to them by all Floridians, regardless of political affiliation.
We have a right to be angry. Righteously, morally, unapologetically angry. We have a right to demand better. To demand that institutions live the values they recite. To demand leaders who protect — not perform. To demand due process and respect for the law. To demand that people not be treated as disposable the moment they falter — for, if we tear down every public servant who slips, we will have no one left standing. We deserve better than performative hearings and partisan vendettas.
Dr. Sarah Rockwell has done more good than most of her critics will ever attempt. She’s protected students. Built policy. Shown up when others stayed silent. But this moment is bigger than one woman. It’s about every educator who wonders if their words will be weaponized. Every citizen who fears extremism will be rewarded. Every person who still believes due process should — and still — means something.
We will not bow our heads to injustice, nor to the erosion of due process. Not to partisan warfare disguised as governance. Not in our schools, our hearings, or our communities.
This isn’t isolated. It’s a pattern — one we’ve seen attacking autonomy and home rule, one we’re watching take root in our federal institutions, our state agencies, and our public discourse. Silence is what’s being counted on.
We can’t afford apathy. We can’t afford fatigue. We can’t afford to be silent or to look away. We won’t. We can’t. Not now. Not ever.
Amy Trask is a legislative bill author, civic educator, public speaker, and former Landscape Analyst with Harvard Safra Center for Ethics. She specializes in conflict resolution and constructive dialogue, strategic planning, and legislative policy, with a focus on empowering individuals and communities to navigate complex institutional dynamics.