Public schools do not work for everyone. But options have increased since 1922, when Oregon tried to ban private education. The Supreme Court shut down that scheme fast. But now, after more than 100 years, political insiders are rallying again to stop a new source of choice.

The target this time is microschooling, a Covid-era alternative that has outlasted the pandemic. Key players in the movement will gather May 8–9, 2025, at the International Microschools Conference in Washington, D.C. I will join them.

Most likely, I will meet educators running all kinds of programs in all kinds of community spaces. Microschools blur the lines between home, public, and private schooling—combining elements from all three models.

The result is a fourth category of schooling that hinges on flexibility. Some parents pool their resources and hire outside instructors. Other groups rotate teaching duties among themselves, gathering daily or perhaps only once or twice per week. These are the do-it-yourselfers. Professionals also get involved with standalone enterprises and national networks.

Alternative labels include “outsourced homeschooling,” “learning pods,” “tutorials,” and “co-ops.” What these enterprises have in common is size. Microschools are tiny by design, averaging just 16 students each.

In terms of facilities, the norm is a single classroom like the one-room schoolhouse portrayed in the 1970s television series Little House on the Prairie. When considered alongside a public school campus, the difference is like a hand-pulled fruit cart compared to a Wal-Mart Supercenter.

The microschool footprint is small. Yet industry insiders see a big threat.

The Center for American Progress, a Washington, D.C.–based think tank, worries about discrimination and accountability. Teachers unions have their own concerns, mostly about money.

The Wisconsin Education Association Council, the state’s largest teachers union, did not try to hide its agenda in 2021 when state lawmakers considered Assembly Bill 122, a failed measure that would have legalized microschooling for up to 20 students from five families.

“While at this point the bill does not shift tax dollars to these schools, as happens in the voucher programs, local public schools would lose per-pupil state funding for students who leave to attend microschools,” the union warned.

State lawmakers have heeded the call, doing what they can to stifle the movement. The most common tactic is to define even the tiniest enterprise as a full-blown school.

The threshold in Wisconsin is any “instructional program provided to more than one family unit.” The threshold in North Carolina is more than two families, while the cutoff in Iowa is any group that includes more than four unrelated children. Parents in New York, meanwhile, cannot collaborate more than half the time.

Vermont enforces its own limits on teamwork, but parents need a flow chart to figure out the law. The state defines “a home study program” as something offered to children from one family plus others “not residing in that home who either are two or fewer in number or who are from one family.”

Try saying that three times fast.

The most likely interpretation is that two Vermont families may collaborate no matter how many children they have. But if three Vermont families work together, at least two of those families must be limited to one child each. Maryland and North Dakota also have confusing laws.

Once parents cross the line—no matter how fuzzy it might be—they face a host of one-size-fits-all regulations designed for much larger schools. Additional hurdles include mountains of paperwork, multiple on-site inspections, and demands for hundreds of thousands of dollars in unnecessary building and fire safety upgrades—even for a one-room schoolhouse.

Failure to comply can turn both educators and parents into criminals. Most states start with warnings and then escalate to fines and jail time. Penalties in Wisconsin include a $500 citation and up to 30 days behind bars.

Microschools often crumble under the bureaucratic weight, and industry insiders applaud. Teachers unions and charter school operators control about 84 percent of the K–12 market, commanding $857 billion nationwide. But they want more.

What they overlook is the Constitution, the document that tripped up Oregon once the Supreme Court got involved in 1925. The landmark decision, Pierce v. Society of Sisters, and a 1923 ruling, Meyer v. Nebraska, affirm a basic principle: Parents have a right to direct the upbringing and education of their children.

States cannot interfere without good reason. If they do, my public interest law firm, the Institute for Justice, stands ready to defend microschools with free legal services. Yet litigation should not be necessary.

Competition drives innovation and keeps service providers sharp. States win when they get out of the way and let enterprising individuals test their ideas.

Florida, Georgia, and Utah already have gotten on board with microschool laws that treat parents as allies instead of criminals. But many other states are still stuck in the pre-Covid era. They tolerate home and private schools but cannot seem to make room for microschools.

This moment calls for looking forward, not clinging to the past. Instead of crushing the conferencegoers in Washington next month, regulators should see what microschools can really do.

Erica Smith Ewing is a senior attorney at the Institute for Justice in Arlington, Virginia.