Policy


My union’s gearing up. Without getting into details, I am ambivalent.

Unions are indispensible (check this out for what they’re doing for the service workers in Las Vegas– fascinating stuff.)

And, I believe there is credence to the argument that educational unionization as it now stands has contributed to the deprofessionalism of teaching.

Unions do the dirty work– negotiations, protection, grievances– and they do it well.

And, I’ve been concerned from the beginning about the fact that should I or any of my colleagues choose not to join the union for considered, thoughtful reason, in New York and 18 other states one is legally forced to pay them nonetheless. Additionally one is therefore tied, however indirectly, to union involvement in politics, which may or may not have anything to do with one’s own personal political convictions. (Try this for a thought-provoking criticism of teacher unions.)

Yet there is no power for justice, whisper Gandhi and ML King Jr on my one shoulder, unless it is the power of the unified.

And, I sleep at night with Thoreau and the Sierra Leone Refugee All Stars whispering on the other.

watch?v=eWcQFrJeEOc&feature=related

Why the All Stars?

One of my first ESL students was a tiny girl from Sierra Leone. And frankly, once you’ve met a kid who’s lucky to not have had her limbs macheted off, you can’t help but place the increasingly and inexplicably fraught contractual negotiations of your First World union and privileged school district next to the message of the All Stars: peace, in the face of arguably some of the worst violations of human rights on the planet. It makes you think hard about what real “diplomacy” is.

So yes, I’ll listen carefully to my union. But there is a deeper reality I must honor first, deeper than unified stances, worker’s rights, or socialist utopia: the human being’s inalienable right to think for herself. I’ll be thinking of this.

05-big-lesson

The whole All Stars documentary (and related lesson plans) are available here.

Thanks to Doug Noon for introducing me to all of the following, woven together in a lovely post that summarizes much of what I have been wrestling with this year:

  • The new think tank The Forum for Education and Democracy and their report released last week, Democracy at Risk. Stars such heavyweights as Linda Darling-Hammond, Gloria Ladson-Billings, and Deborah Meier.
  • Wellford Wilms’ disturbing piece on reform in a California high school, Liberating the Schoolhouse, cataloging the systematic destruction of a bottom-up, autonomous management model. Far more editorial than report, but still leaves one wondering. I wonder in particular what Ed Deci would have to say. Pair it with Henderson’s piece on hierarchical hard-wiring in the brain, and you may want a drink.
  • Structuration Theory. This is extremely tough going, only for die-hard intellectual freaks, but fascinating. (Try the user-friendly approach at Theory.org– I mean, you have to love an organization who makes trading cards and Lego figures for famous sociologists.) Stephen Smoliar succinctly applies one of ST’s central ideas to schooling with some scary implications. I have to do some more reading on this.

Check this out, on the high-philosophy blog Crooked Timber. Harry Brighouse is one of my heroes– his deceptively slim and devastatingly crystalline book On Education has kept me sane this year. I’m immensely grateful for his link back to The Line, which only happened because of the truly shocking success of this “send your heroes fan letters and ask for feedback” policy I seem to have developed for 07-08. Try it. It works.

More overarchingly, credit for the introduction to Harry Brighouse, and multiple other theorists who are now staples of my educational philosophy, is once again, and rapidly becoming as always, Joe Henderson’s.

1) Why all educators should tar and feather anyone who mentions schools and “competitiveness in the 21st century” in the same breath.

2) Why “high flyer” schools that defy poverty might not be doing anything of the sort.

3) Tell me NCLB measures something concrete. Tell me standardized exam scores reflect teacher prowess. And then tell me why New York State gives its English exam in January, smack between two teachers’ interaction with a cohort of kids. Please. Tell me. I’ve been asking for seven years now.

So at TMAO’s Teaching in the 408, I stumbled over his bludgeoning of a recent San Jose Mercury News article on how the attitude of “school is uncool” may be culturally transmitted, specifically by Latinos. And I said to myself: now here’s a nice, relaxing topic to blog on over Spring Break.

Some disclaimers before I continue. I have some experience in this area– I teach in the most racially and economically diverse district in our county outside our city, and have been an ESL teacher for some years—but I’m not even going to pretend this compares to TMAO’s teaching situation. So there’s that.

Nevertheless.

So someone says: it’s not cultural. It’s not in our students’ DNA, or in their baseline assumptions, or transmitted through Cinco de Mayo.

And someone else says: of course it’s culture, you idiot. What else do you call a communally and generationally propagated set of beliefs?

The blows begin, and the conversation ends. And I find myself wishing heartily that Socrates were around.

In his spirit, let’s start with a challenging statement from Gloria Ladson Billings, the former president of AERA and an educator I revere: that most teachers (and by extension, news reporters?) use the word “culture” as a catchall explanation for any anti-school behavior they cannot explain from their students. Dr. Ladson-Billings goes on to suggest elsewhere (and TMAO and his commentator Rebecca Bell agree) that the domino effects of socio-economic status should not be defined as “culture.” And it’s useful, and in many ways accurate, to narrow the definition of “culture” in this way, I think.

However, I now think about European Jews coming out of the unspeakable evil of the Holocaust. To say that such an experience did not become a part of Jewish culture, uniquely shaping their shared sense of history, priorities, and challenges, would be patently ridiculous. And while I would never wish to generalize the Holocaust’s unique horror, I don’t think it’s going too far to say that aspects of what many of our poor minority kids experience are analogous: the socioeconomic deprivation, the ghettos, the pervasive violence, the discrimination. Is it possible to state that the effects of a mass, long-lived injustice such as this are not, or don’t become, cultural for them? I wonder.

Next, consider TMAO’s important point in his post that culture is not a monolith, has dozens of facets and overlapping layers, and can not be treated as a singular thing via one or two quotes from kids who say what you want them to say so you can print your newspaper article. Right on.

However, now consider the flip side: the theory that among these many overlapping cultures, the young people we work with do have, in fact, an undeniable culture that is all their own. What is the community, after all, in which they physically spend most of their waking hours? It’s their peers– in school. (Linda Perlstein’s Not Much, Just Chillin does a lovely job of investigating a particular local kid school culture in Maryland.) Is it inaccurate, then, to suggest that kid-driven microculture—particularly ones in disadvantaged schools– might propagate school-negative attitudes? I wonder.

And I keep wondering. I wonder if the question is not, in fact, whether the attitude that “school is uncool” is “cultural”. For twist the arbitrary lens one way, and it is cultural; twist it another, and it isn’t. Given this, I wonder—truthfully, for the first time—if the whole debate of “what is cultural” is at base merely rhetorical slight of hand. And as such, with all due respect to the brilliant minds involved, I wonder if it is a waste of time.

I wonder if it begs for reframing: the asking of a much deeper, broader, harder question.

I wonder if the deeper question is this: whether the students and/or the communities who might take such anti-school attitudes are doing so by choice— and if so, whether that choice is justified.

The axis of that question, of course, being one of responsibility. And isn’t that the heart of hearts of any question of social injustice? Who is responsible?

Simple questions. Massively complex answers, involving a rubric several miles deep and wide. Getting into it would take a whole other conversation, involving a multiplicity of cooperative disciplines, each willing to pull no punches– especially on themselves. But I guess that’s my point.

For just one example, instead of throwing their muckrakes around, I’d like to see the San Jose Mercury News take on the American mythology of individualism, “hard work”, and pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps-against-all-odds success, and how that crashes up against the daily lived truths of our poor kids– especially non-native ones.

I’d like to see TMAO, in turn, take on the idea that this very mythology might inaccurately color his perspective on what might be accomplished for these kids by decent schools– or a talented, caring teacher such as himself—independent of much more sweeping socioeconomic change.

I’d like to see Gloria Ladson-Billings write a book specifically on whether there’s any truth at all to this dominant paradigm mythology, and where and how demanding its fruits of our students—and ourselves– is warranted.

And I’d like to see all of us junk any conversation that smacks of a soundbyte or a silver bullet, and talk about how we in public education might address, fruitfully, the entire nexus of influences that make up our children: individual responsibility; media; family; community; ethnicity; economics; nationality; history.

It ain’t pretty. It sure is harder than deciding whether “school is uncool” is “cultural.”

But it’s the only way we’re going to get anywhere.

I had a conversation with one of my English colleagues this past week. We both agreed that we would eventually wander the earth rejected by both neo-hippies and corporate executives alike, since we fundamentally disagreed with the content and the administration of the high-stakes establishment exam we were giving in two weeks, but were giving it anyway.

This blog post won’t be unique or brilliant, but I hope to use it in upcoming years to remind myself of why my friend and I don’t really belong in Purgatory.

First of all, I have to dismiss the idea that participating in an institution is de facto an unacceptable compromise of integrity. My fear is that because I have dearly held principles that are at odds with those of my workplace, and yet I continue to participate in that work, I have at best subsumed myself in passivity– or at worst, screwed up irredeemably. I have to move beyond this fear.

This is not easy. We are a nation born of plucky, underdog resistance to an unjust institution, and the glorification of individualized resistance is in our myths, our ads, our movies, the water—particularly for those Thoreau-worshippers (me) for whom resistance, in general, seems like a great idea. And for Thoreau-worshippers who are also teachers, there’s no arguing that our natural tendencies are given plenty of fuel in the current climate of one-size-fits-NCLB.

But unexamined radicalism is unexamined radicalism. In otherwords, entrenched institutionalists and Thoreau-worshippers can both spout junk. So I must examine my tendencies at their logical conclusion. Should we abandon our schools because we believe that moral compromise is indigenous to them as institutions? Should we teachers go it alone—say, as free market hedge fund managers? Certainly there are some former educators out there who have done so—I know a few. But I’ve yet to meet a thoughtful teacher, sticking it out, who is just a hedge fund manager in disguise.

These teachers know two things about the myth of The All-Mighty Individual, for starters.

First, they know that the concept of somehow achieving moral purity through individualism is false. The struggle to act rightly in schools is born of our humanness– and thus indelibly replicated in the microcosm of our selves. The 10X15 house beside Walden Pond won’t save you or me. (It sure didn’t save Ted Kaczynski.)

Secondly, teachers committed to schools know that the healthy individual is indivisible from community. (Thoreau knew this too, actually, and received friends and visitors nearly every day.) In addition, a mass of psychological research has demonstrated that individualism (the myth) and autonomy (the healthy reality where we are nurtured as individuals in balance with communities) are two entirely different things. I’ll be talking more about this soon when I (finally) get to Parts II and III on “Why We Do What We Do.”

And there’s one last theory I have as to why thoughtful teachers stick it out. I’ve started to think of it as “soft math.”

Soft math is the cost-benefit analysis of participating in institutions which we know are fundamentally flawed. It isn’t quantitative or qualitative, but a yeasty mix of both. Soft math asks the question: does the amount of good that I do—in my college, in my cubicle, my classroom—outweigh the amount of damage I do by enabling a broken system?

In my clear-eyed moments, I know that it is soft math that must be my guide. Soft math does not rule out either change or stability. It leaves room for multiple responsible reactions to one’s teaching circumstances. It requires vigilant observation and reflection in a way that ideological despotism does not.

And, perhaps most importantly, soft math rests on hope. It is accountable hope, to be sure: a hope that must borrow the hardness of diamonds from logic, from precision, from fact. But this hope is also feathered, and perches on the soul.

The poet Adrienne Rich has something to say here too.

Oh you,

who love clear edges

more than anything…

watch the edges that blur.

Yes! Believe! The moon is in the seventh house!…but perhaps the kids, the backed up laundry, the expired vehicle inspection, and switching to teaching mainstream seventh grade English have subsumed your civic informedness a bit. Me too. Try the hyperlinks below. Their primary purpose is to organize the vast amounts of information about the election.

1) For educators: Playlist of video of Presidential candidates speaking to the National Educational Association Representative Assembly.

2) Succinct one to half-page summaries of candidate positions: League of Women Voter’s Presidential Primary Voter’s Guide.

3) Washington Post’s Candidate Tracker;

4) And if you’re really stuck for time, take this quiz and The Post will choose your candidate for you.

Finally, if it’s all too much, consider voting for The Mysterious Congressman. “The Mysterious Congressman has earned a distinctive reputation during his two terms in office… for such unorthodox tactics as entering the Senate chambers by swinging on the chandeliers, and engaging in flashy, extended fencing matches with sinister congressmen found guilty of financial or professional misconduct. He is currently the only senator who casts votes via flaming arrow.”

I realized recently that I’ve been playing guitar for nearly twenty years now. (Have I been alive for twenty years?)

I’m a total hack– never took a lesson. I fake complexity in several nutty “Eastman School of What?” ways, including “alternate tunings.” Although that term implies gravitas that I don’t deserve. I basically just mess around with the pegs until something sounds good to me.

One of these tunings is formal, though: Open D. You tune your lowest and highest string to the note “D,” and when you strum without any fingering, out comes this lovely, resonant, deep thing, like a monk’s chant. It’s a dangerous tuning, though, has a life of its own. One misplaced finger when you do add chords, and the whole thing can fall apart– or, conversely, can take you on a wild musical trip you hadn’t planned at all.

Playing is a lot like that in general. Yeah, you practice, ostensibly so that you “get it right.” And you feel nervous at the idea of “messing up.” But this presupposes that your song is a static, unmoving body of knowledge. The fact is, though, that your “mistakes,” your missed strings, your off-beat strum, can actually end up being more interesting, more captivating, more truthful than what you were trying to do in the first place.

I’m not sure exactly what I’m trying to say here. That standardized tests and other school practices rob our kids of this organic kind of response to the world? That knowledge is just as much what happens in the unrepeatable moment as anything else? That “predictive validity” isn’t really validity at all?

Despite all these brave words, though, I have played for my students over the years exactly twice. But I hope to do something with one class mid-week, and if it flies I’ll unleash it on everyone else after the break. Working on it.

STAKE (from my goldmine http://www.etymonline.com): “post upon which persons were bound for death by burning”, recorded from c.1205.

Just a few hours ago I received an Excel spreadsheet for my student cohort of the results of what my district calls the “E/LA Pre-test.” This is basically the multiple-choice section of the NYS 7th grade English exam. (Yes– my district, being somewhat attuned to how tests actually are useful, has to administer and collate data from a second test because of the ridiculously slow turnaround and incomprehensibility of the results of the real one.)

I’m not going to discuss my kids’ results here, because they’re not actually the point. What struck me so powerfully was my reaction to the data. And people who know me might be surprised at what it was.

“Well. Look at this spread. Am I going to get in trouble? What’s the cut off point I need to worry about here? Let me get my calculator out. Hm. Looks like I’m safe. But maybe not. I’ll have to figure out which questions the kids messed up on and drill them. And I wonder if I did better than my other 7th grade colleagues in the building. ”

“I wonder if I did better…”?? Drills?

You know, I do think I am generally ego-balanced as a person. More importantly, I am steeped in a constructivist, collaborative, whole-child mindset. It is what works. It is what I believe in with all my heart. And I trust that I’ll recover my equilibrium here. But I can’t deny my discomfort.

My very first look at the “data,” and this is what comes out of me. This is what AYP and non-growth models engender. Punitive, isolating, vicious competition.

High stakes? I am tied to this stake now. Am I already burning?

Jump right in with me, won’t you?

I am grateful daily for the brilliant and brave people out there who are routinely calling out the No Child Left Behind Education Act. Here’s what some of them are saying.

NCLB’s testing validity is completely unproven and/or compromised: David Hursh

It doesn’t measure real literacy: National Council of Teachers of English

Its provisions for English Language Learners are damaging and discriminatory: Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development

Its hidden provisions are insulting and morally problematic: William Cala

It is radically unfunded: National Education Association

And me? I think about something closer to home.

My older brother was diagnosed in the early 70’s with a “speech-language disorder,” although the repercussions were much wider: affecting emotional intelligence, psychological development, and physical coordination. An evaluation today would probably reveal some degree of autism. He can drive, cook, crack a joke; and when it comes to music, he is a true Rain Man. He can accurately recite the publication history of his 500+ albums. He can identify a piece of classical music by name and composer within three notes. He is amazing. He also has a local high school diploma.

Joel does not have the cognitive ability to pass even the simplified versions of five Regents exams, as New York State would require him to do under NCLB. Luckily, in 1988, he didn’t have to. He has since been working happily as a hotel houseman. I wonder if he would be employed now, had he come of age after 2001.

In fact, within the entirety of his schooling Joel never experienced what Jonathan Kozol calls “being under siege.” I see what this high-stakes testing mentality does to my students. I can only imagine what it would have been like for Joel, one of whose greatest academic achievements was learning how to divide. (He glowed like he had won the Nobel.)

Who would he be now, having run the gauntlet of NCLB? The man who loves Mozart and takes satisfaction in a perfectly ironed shirt– or someone else? Someone more helpless– more hollow?

The future is unclear for Joel. He is easily manipulated. He has little sense of physical safety. He does, and will, require hands-on care. All of it will fall to me eventually, as his only sibling. I’m humbled and honored by this– and scared. And I find it very telling indeed that in light of this, I too once sought easement of my fear through testing.

I asked my parents if it wouldn’t be worth having Joel tested one more time, as an adult. My thought was that it might help us take care of him better in the future.

My mother refused—and refused so flatly that I will never forget it.

“Joel is who he is,” she said. “We know him. We’ll work with him, not his test results. That’s all.”

My mother is lot smarter than me. And NCLB.