When former public school teacher Sharon McMahon posted her first Instagram video, she couldn’t have known what was coming. Having taught government and law for over a decade, she was concerned by the misinformation, misconceptions and outright lies she was seeing on social media during the 2020 election cycle. So she posted a simple, accessible explainer video about the Electoral College, without any partisan spin. “I am not a political pundit,” she says to the camera. “I am purely just going to give you facts.” 

Today, McMahon (no relation to Secretary of Education Linda McMahon) is still giving people nonpartisan explanations of politics and government. But in just a few short years, her audience has grown to 1.3 million Instagram followers—affectionately known as “Governerds.” Her Substack newsletter, “The Preamble,” reaches hundreds of thousands of readers. And in 2024, her debut book, The Small and the Mighty, became a #1 New York Times Best Seller. It’s no wonder admirers on both sides of the aisle have dubbed her “America’s Government Teacher.” 

With her no-nonsense, just-the-facts approach, McMahon is an oasis in a digital landscape full of political confusion and misinformation—and people are flocking to her content. The reason is simple: They know they can trust her. And as the nation’s faith in public institutions wanes, that kind of trust is hard to come by—especially for school districts. So how did McMahon earn the trust of millions, most of whom she’s never met? She believes the answer is as much in how she communicates as the information itself. We sat down with McMahon to learn how she fosters and maintains that trust—and to discuss how schools could follow her lead.

Schools often connect trust with real-life relationships—but I completely trust you, and we’ve never met. How do you earn that from people?

I think there are a few things. First, it’s not just what you say—how you say things matters. People don’t like being talked down to. They don’t like being told they’re idiots. Even subconsciously, if they perceive that you think they’re dumb, that automatically raises people’s hackles. So the tone in which you say things is super important.

But I do think one of the points of inflection with our distrust in not just schools, but institutions writ large, is that people have become weary of the overly polished, performative communications they receive from them. And I do understand why the polish is there—because things can be misconstrued and misinterpreted so easily that a slip of the tongue can be clipped and reshared. There’s this tremendous desire to filter communications through many layers, to make sure we’re saying precisely the right thing. 

But the flip side of that coin is communication that can feel inauthentic, and that inauthenticity can feel deceptive. It can feel like it’s coming from a used car salesperson, even when there is no deception taking place.

This is a big shift in the body politic of America: In the age of influencers, authenticity is king. That’s one of the reasons people have stopped watching news programs. It’s the reason people get their news from social media. It’s the reason people no longer trust time-worn institutions—they feel like, “This is all fake. This is all smoke and mirrors.”

So I think there’s a balance to be struck there. You don’t want a school communications professional to be like, “What’s up, guys? I’m sharing my outfit of the day,” right? But there’s a difference between that and, “Now I will read my prepared statement.” There has to be a balance between those two extremes, where people feel like, “Yeah, this person gets it, but they’re also a competent professional.”

Your content offers clarity around potentially intimidating subjects. How do you provide that clarity and avoid confusion?

I use a strategy that I would use in the classroom: I say what I want to say, but I explain the definitions along the way. I’ll give you one example. I was recently speaking in D.C. to a group of high school students, and they asked what advice I would give Gen Z or Gen Alpha. One of the things I said was, “You cannot give in to nihilism.” 

That’s the word I meant to use, and it’s a legitimate term people should know. But instead of just leaving it there, leaving people in the dark about what it means, I defined it. I said, “We cannot give into nihilism—which is really just the belief that nothing you say or do matters, that no effort will make a difference.” So I defined the word in a way that furthered the conversation, rather than made them feel dumb. High schoolers don’t like to feel that way, and neither do adults.

That’s a theme throughout my writing and verbal communications: scaffolding the vocabulary and concepts so that we’re all starting at the same place, but without the listener or reader picking up on what I’m doing. There’s a way to do it that doesn’t feel like, “Now, boys and girls…” Nobody wants that unless they’re literally five years old.

So you don’t want to talk to people in a way that makes them feel dumb—but if you’re talking over their heads, that also makes them feel dumb. For example, I don’t really understand physics, so if I went to a college physics lecture today, everything would be over my head. I wouldn’t leave that lecture feeling like I learned a lot about physics; I’d leave feeling like, “Well, I’m an idiot, and all of these 19-year-olds know way more than I do.” 

In an effort to not make people feel like children, you also can’t make them feel like they’re stupid adults—because they will tune out, and they will bristle against the way you made them feel.   

Consistency is a big part of your online presence. How important is consistency to building credibility?

It is important, especially as a school leader where parents are trusting you with their child. But I understand the challenges of implementation—believe me, I really do. 

In classrooms, we talk about the need to provide consistency in the environment—a consistently warm, authoritative presence in the classroom. Any teacher preparation program will tell you that. That means: "I’m in charge, I care about you, I’m here when you have questions, and I’m here to help you learn this material." That warmth—“I’m in charge and I care about you”—is a deep-seated human need.

I’m not in charge of the government or of what happens in the world, but I do consistently try to send the message: “I am here, and I care about you.” When people come into my DMs with questions, sometimes my answer is, “I don’t know”—but I say that in a way that’s like, “I don’t know either.” For example, all the rumors recently about Trump being dead—I don’t know! The White House doesn’t call me to update me on Trump’s health. So how would I know? That feels better to people than saying nothing.

If you ignore it, or act like they’re dumb for asking, that makes them feel dismissed. Saying, “Listen, I don’t know either. If I do know, I’ll let you know,” feels better. People think, “Okay, so I’m not crazy.”

There’s so much misinformation swirling around about public schools. What do you think is the best approach to handling it? 

The best inoculation against misinformation is the truth. But we can’t make a mountain out of every molehill. We can’t have a press release about every stupid Facebook post—that starts to seem petty.

This is where professional judgment comes in. There’s a balance to be struck. Sometimes, by talking about it, you actually draw more attention to it. But when something isn’t dying down, it’s important to address it. You have to gauge: How much public interest is there? How widespread are these rumors? How important is it to the everyday functioning of our school?

If you do decide the misinformation needs to be addressed, I think the best approach is to start with the truth, address what misinformation is being spread, then sandwich that with more information about the actual truth. For example, gender ideology is a very hot button issue for schools. You have people saying, “Y’all are trying to push being gay and trans onto students.” But I don’t know any public school teachers who are like, ”I hope every child leaves my classroom gay.” 

So as a school district, you can say: “We’re teaching children how to read, and one of the ways we do that is by reading a variety of different books. We don’t teach children how to engage with their sexuality. We don’t teach children that the only correct way to be is X or Y. What we do teach is X, Y and Z.” Rather than just saying, “We don’t do that,” you provide information. 

No matter how honest and upfront you are, some people are going to reject what you say just because it doesn’t match up with their worldview. How do you handle that? 

You don’t need to show up to every fight you’re invited to, but you do need to make sure that somebody’s real concern is addressed. Let’s say you check into a hotel and your room has bedbugs. There’s a difference between the manager quickly, speedily, legitimately addressing your concern and the manager going back and forth with you 25 times on TripAdvisor.

Administrators have to address people’s very real concerns, and they also have to demonstrate to the rest of the community that they have that authority that says, “You can trust me.” If you think about any of the world’s great leaders—the Abraham Lincolns and the General Eisenhowers and the Teddy Roosevelts, the people who really exhibited extraordinary leadership—they dealt with problems, but they did not waste their precious time going back and forth with individuals in a public way. That would create more distrust. 

People who seem easily flustered or riled up do not seem like sturdy leaders. Sturdy leaders deal with problems, but they don’t show up to every little skirmish that somebody wants to engage them in, because if they’re doing that, their eyes are not on their real responsibilities. You can’t continue your important work if you are being distracted by people whose goal is to distract you.

Even though your following is massive, it feels like a true community. How have you fostered that feeling of community online, and how can schools do the same?

I actively work to underline our shared identity as “Governerds”: the things that we believe and do. I think that’s a useful skill in any organizational setting: having a set of shared values that you constantly point back to. For example, saying, “Because one of our shared values is honesty and clarity, I want to share that we have a serious budget shortfall, and it’s going to mean laying off 25 teachers”—or whatever the case may be.

If you use that language of shared identity in communications, it doesn’t feel too heavy-handed. It doesn’t feel like people are being preached to. It underscores that you believe honesty and clarity are important, and so do I. This is our shared value.

So I recommend identifying what your shared values are and underscoring them constantly. Most schools already have stated values—and they’re repeated to students more often than to parents. Often the students are taught a little catchphrase, like, “When Huskies care about each other, we win!” or whatever it is. But what does it look like to establish those shared values with parents? 

You are great at creating a two-way dialogue with your followers. How can school leaders create similar space for dialogue online?

I often post a question box on my Instagram stories that asks, “How can I help?” School leaders could literally do the same thing. I do understand that they’re going to get trolling comments in there—that’s just how it is. But I think inviting conversation is an important part of building a community. Otherwise, it’s just a leader and followers, not everyone in it together.

So ask how you can help, or invite people to email you with whatever they’re thinking about when it comes to your school. If we only invite people to contact us when they have concerns,  they don’t always feel like they should contact us when something is going right. Complaints certainly need to be addressed, but a real community also has conversations about things that are going well. 

What if you asked, “What’s going well at Main Street Middle School? Is there a teacher that’s made a difference for your student?” That’s not just looking for praise; understanding what you’re doing right helps you do more of that thing. People feel like they actually are contributing to a more positive school environment if they have an opportunity to tell you where you’re getting it right.

As a former public school educator, what would you like to tell school leaders?

Despite the very fraught political environment, I would hope school leaders know that what they are doing matters. Even if it seems like you never have any wins, or you only hear from parents who are disgruntled or from a public who is demeaning—the children that you are helping to shepherd will change the world. I just want to offer a little moment of encouragement that what you are doing really does matter, even if it seems like no one ever tells you that.