The Old Guardian — TDSB Part 3B
The Silencing Phase
“When transparency dies in silence, power doesn’t sleep — it multiplies.”
— North Star Accord
1. From Oversight to Occupation
The Ford government called it supervision.
Toronto District and Catholic boards were told it was a fiscal safeguard.
But five months later, the pattern is unmistakable: trustees dismissed, public meetings erased, and community consultation quietly replaced with supervision by decree.
Independent audits by Deloitte and PwC found no mismanagement — yet appointed supervisors now rule from closed offices. Accountability has been inverted: citizens answer to bureaucracy, not the other way around.
2. The Transparency Collapse
Parents and educators describe a darkness settling over the system.
As Trustee Michelle Aarts put it:
“In Ministry-supervised boards there are no longer public meetings. No agendas posted and no mechanism for the public to be informed about what decisions are being made about their local education system.”
Livestreams once allowing citizens to observe Special Education Advisory Committee (SEAC) and Parent Involvement Committee (PIAC) sessions have been ordered shut — no reason given.
These are not procedural tweaks. They eliminate the only remaining civic windows into how funding, staffing, and policy are decided.
Aarts calls SEAC and PIAC “the last place left for families to get any transparency.”
3. The Arsonist–Firefighter Cycle
Crisis is manufactured, then exploited.
The province frames dysfunction, declares emergency, assumes control — and emerges as saviour of the disorder it designed.
Crank to 100, back to 80. Crank to 120, back to 100. Each swing normalizes the reach.
The same rhythm underlies Bill 33, the so-called Strong Boards Act, which critics warn is blueprinting permanent centralization across Ontario’s education system.
Teachers’ federations and trustees alike now describe the process as “democracy replaced by administration.”
4. The Manufactured Saviour
This is the arsonist-firefighter model of governance.
Set the blaze, arrive with the hose, and demand gratitude for saving what’s left.
It is control disguised as compassion — paternalism rebranded as reform.
5. Stockholm Governance
Public exhaustion has become political capital.
After years of crisis headlines, Ontarians now equate control with safety.
It’s a slow conditioning: when transparency feels chaotic, silence feels calm.
This is how citizens begin to defend the very hand tightening around them.
6. The Forgotten Students
Lost in the noise are the students supervision was supposed to protect.
A 2025 study cited by The Conversation found that many autistic students across Ontario are still denied a full education due to inadequate staffing and training.
Aarts again:
“Staff training must be comprehensive, mandatory and ongoing, centred on understanding the needs and strengths of autistic and neurodivergent students… A stable workforce of skilled staff with specialized training who are compensated competitively is essential if inclusion is to be a reality and not just a slogan.”
Yet under supervision, even the SEAC meetings where such issues were raised have been labelled “unwanted politics.”
Inclusion without oversight is an empty promise.
7. Centralization by Attrition
The cuts no one can see are the ones that redefine a system:
Special-education classes merged or eliminated.
EA coverage left vacant.
Parent emails rerouted to generic inboxes.
Local programs frozen “pending review.”
Each quiet reduction erases a voice. Each missing meeting erodes a safeguard.
Toronto’s trustees call it what it is: attrition by design.
8. The Pattern Behind the Curtain
Across Ontario — from Thames Valley to Ottawa-Carleton — the script repeats:
deficit declared, autonomy revoked, decisions centralized.
Supervisors release statements after the fact.
No consultation. No vote. No sunlight.
This isn’t fiscal repair. It’s occupation by paperwork.
North Star Conclusion
Accountability without access isn’t accountability — it’s theatre.
When elected trustees are silenced, parents excluded, and students with special needs reduced to line items, the system ceases to be public in anything but name.
The province can call it modernization.
The press can call it management.
But history will record it as the quietest power grab in Ontario’s education system.
With communications controlled and access cut off, the system’s messaging became its shield.
→ Read Part 4: The Message Lockdown.
