‘Blank’: Minnesota Parents Say School Board Censored Them for Naming Staff Titles

Katy DeMarais had barely finished her first sentence when the voice cut in.

She was standing at the microphone during the public comment period of the Foley Public School Board’s June 22 meeting, trying to talk about her family’s experience with the district’s special education department. Before she could get to the substance, a board member interrupted: she would have to stop, the voice said, because people aren’t allowed to speak about people in the public meeting.

So Katy did something surreal. For the rest of her comment, every time she needed to reference the special education director, she just said the word “blank.”

Blake and Katy DeMarais are parents of a disabled, nonverbal special education student in the Foley district in Minnesota. Over the summer, they say, the district was failing to provide educational services to their son. When they showed up to public meetings to say so, they were censored — not for profanity, not for going over time, but for saying the job titles of the public employees they were talking about.

Later in that same June meeting, Blake DeMarais took his turn. He began reading aloud an email the district’s superintendent had sent the family. He got as far as the word “superintendent” before he was shut down. “Blake,” the voice said, “you’re done. You can’t talk about the superintendent. We already addressed this.”

Nearly two months later, at the August 17 meeting, it happened again. A visibly upset Blake DeMarais was reading from an email sent by the district’s lawyer. The moment he quoted the name “Superintendent Posthumus,” he was silenced mid-sentence. “Blake, I need you to stop at this point,” a voice interrupted. “When you start talking about staff members, that’s when we have to stop.”

“Do you know what viewpoint discrimination is?” Blake asked. “That’s what you’re doing to me right now.”

The Board’s Own Policy Says Otherwise

Here is where the story goes from frustrating to absurd. The Foley board’s own policy — adopted in August 2024 — states that personnel data considered public information includes both the name of the employee and their job title. It goes further, covering gross salary and even the existence and status of complaints against employees. The policy mirrors Minnesota state law, which likewise classifies a government employee’s name and job title as public data.

In other words, the board was silencing parents for speaking words that its own rulebook and state law say belong to the public.

There is a reason those details are public. Taxpayers fund these salaries. Parents entrust these employees with their children. As the reporting on the case puts it, how can families in Foley judge whether the adults running their kids’ schools are doing their jobs effectively, ethically, and constitutionally if they cannot even mention a job title at a public meeting?

None of this is to say a school board must allow unlimited speech. A government body can place reasonable, viewpoint-neutral limits on public comment — a time cap per speaker, a requirement to stay on topic. But the line the Constitution draws is clear: once the floor is open, the board cannot pick which viewpoints get heard. Cutting off a parent for naming the superintendent while presumably allowing praise of the same official is, as Blake DeMarais put it, textbook viewpoint discrimination.

What Happens Next

The DeMaraises have not backed down. According to the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression, which has taken up their cause, the parents returned to the microphone at the board’s September meeting. Katy DeMarais stepped up once more to advocate for her son — and to remind the board who it works for.

“Parents have a right to speak about their experiences — the good, the bad, and everything in between,” she said. “Advocacy is not harassment.”

That last line lands because it names the unspoken accusation behind the censorship: that a parent demanding services for a disabled, nonverbal child is somehow attacking staff rather than doing the job every parent is supposed to do. The DeMaraises’ story has struck a nerve well beyond Foley precisely because it sits at the intersection every suburban parent recognizes — the school board meeting, the microphone, the three minutes you’re given to be heard.

Whether the board revises its approach or digs in remains to be seen. What is not in dispute is the paper trail: the videos of the interruptions, the board’s own policy, and the state law that says a job title is public information. The next meeting will tell the rest — and this time, a lot more people will be watching the microphone.