There was a time—not so long ago—when schools were for learning facts, not filtering feelings. You showed up, did your worksheets, maybe bombed a math quiz, and if you had a question? You asked it. Nobody gasped. Nobody ran to HR. And certainly nobody called it a hate crime.
But fast forward to 2024, and suddenly, asking a simple, legally accurate question can land you in the principal’s office, suspended, and stamped with the scarlet label of “racially insensitive.” That’s exactly what happened to a 16-year-old North Carolina student named Christian McGhee—who had the audacity to ask if a teacher meant “space aliens or illegal aliens who need green cards.”
For those keeping score, that’s six words. Six entirely legal, courtroom-approved words. But to the bureaucratic overlords at Davidson County Schools, it might as well have been a war crime.
Instead of treating the comment like a clarifying question (because that’s what it was), the school suspended McGhee for three days and slapped a note on his permanent record for—you guessed it—“racially insensitive behavior.” Over six words. No slurs, no name-calling, no malice. Just a kid trying to clarify what “aliens” meant in a discussion.
So, Christian and his family did what every free-thinking American should do when common sense dies in a public institution: they lawyered up.
Fast forward to July 2025. A federal judge in the Middle District of North Carolina finalized a settlement requiring Davidson County Schools to fork over $20,000, issue a public apology, and wipe the disciplinary record clean. The cherry on top? Former President Trump even penned a personal letter of recommendation to help McGhee snag a college athletic scholarship. That’s what we call a full-circle moment.
And let’s be clear: this wasn’t about some kid yelling obscenities or trying to stir up trouble. It was a teenager using language that the U.S. government still uses in immigration courts. The term “illegal alien” isn’t some backwoods insult—it’s the legal classification. Or at least it was, until school administrators decided to swap constitutional rights for feelings-based rulebooks.
Sarah Parshall Perry, a legal fellow at Defending Education, put it perfectly: “Students do not shed their free speech rights at the schoolhouse gate.” That’s not just a catchy slogan—it’s Supreme Court precedent. A little something called Tinker v. Des Moines. Apparently, Davidson County missed that day in civics class.
Now, some might argue that schools have to draw a line somewhere. Sure. Maybe don’t let kids curse out the faculty or start a fight club in the cafeteria. But asking if “aliens” refers to space travelers or undocumented immigrants? That’s not crossing a line—that’s reading comprehension.
What’s really happening here is part of a much bigger pattern. Schools, especially the public ones soaked in bureaucratic red tape, have become breeding grounds for speech policing. Administrators are less concerned with teaching kids how to think and more obsessed with teaching them what to think—and more importantly, what not to say.
They’re not educating students; they’re conditioning them to self-censor.
And while the $20,000 payout won’t bankrupt the school district, the hit to their credibility might sting for a while. Because if Christian McGhee can be punished this easily, how many other students are afraid to speak up? How many parents don’t even know it’s happening?
The message here is simple: when schools forget the Constitution applies to everyone, including teenagers in English class, the courts are more than happy to remind them—one settlement at a time.
Christian’s win should be a wake-up call for every parent, teacher, and taxpayer: free speech isn’t optional. It’s not a privilege. It’s a right—even in the classroom. Especially in the classroom.
So next time a student asks a question that makes a bureaucrat clutch their pearls, they might want to think twice before writing up a suspension slip. Because the next “troublemaker” might just be another Christian McGhee—with a good lawyer, a strong case, and a whole lot of backbone.