Superintendent Tells Principals What to Think

Aphronesis, CA—In an emergency Sunday-morning meeting, Superintendent Regina Streng announced to 500 principals that they would henceforth be told what to think about subjects ranging from politics to pedagogy to pineapples.

“Many of you are under the mistaken impression,” said Streng, “that, as school leaders, you should be exercising independent judgment. Nothing could be further from the truth. Your job is to exercise the judgments we provide for you.” A murmur swelled up in the hall; she waited until it subsided.

“We need unanimity and teamwork,” she continued, “in order to move forward with reform. Remember that you are setting an example for classroom teachers, who shouldn’t be thinking on their own any more than you.”

“Isn’t teaching an intellectual profession by nature, and doesn’t intellect involve independent judgment?” asked a principal in the crowd.

Streng laughed. “In a few select cases, that might be true,” she said, “but let’s face it. We’ve invested significant resources in stripping the profession of its intellectual substance, and our efforts have largely paid off. Do you think a composer or physicist would want to spend all day teaching kids how to make ‘mind maps’ or how to choose the right multiple-choice strategy? Of course not. That’s the way it should be. Research has shown that effective teachers are not intellectuals, especially when the emphasis is on non-intellectual tasks.”

“But what about the students?” asked another. “Aren’t they supposed to be learning critical thinking? How are we supposed to teach it, if we don’t practice it ourselves?”

Streng nodded sympathetically. “I hear what you are saying,” she replied. “Many have raised that concern, and it’s a real concern, but it’s based on a misconception. You see, the kind of critical thinking we want kids to have is the 21st century kind–the kind that meets employers’ demands. That is, there should be no ‘thinking outside the box’ unless the instructions call for it explicitly. They will often call for it—don’t get me wrong—but they will specify just what kind of critical thinking it should be, how it should be structured, and what it should contain.”

The noise grew to such a level that the moderator, Susan Sandstrom, stepped up to the microphone. “Just a reminder that we called this meeting in order to accomplish essential tasks,” she said. “Superintendent Streng has given up her valuable personal time for this occasion. Now we must move on to the how-to part of the session.”

A website appeared on a large screen behind the superintendent. “We have created a database of correct opinion,” announced Streng, “which is one hundred percent current and searchable. If you are ever in doubt about what to think about a political candidate, for example, you need only enter his or her name in the search box—let’s see, I’m typing in Fred Berenger—and here you have the result. ‘Dangerous obstructionist. Not to be trusted or supported. Not to be mentioned by principals or teachers.’ We have staff continually updating the database, so that it includes the most recent issues, even the weather.”

“Oh, what are we to say about the weather?” cried a jubilant voice.

“Let’s see, let’s see. Weather, May 19, 2013. ‘The current weather does not affect performance on upcoming state tests.’ There you have it. But that reminds me of another feature of this website. It doesn’t just tell you what to think and say. It tells you how to say it.” She clicked on a link to “power words and acknowledgment phrases.” “Now you never have to be at a loss for words or send out mixed messages,” she said. “You can even display the ‘power word of the day’ on monitors throughout your school.”

Sandstrom returned to the microphone. “Thank you so much, Regina, for bringing us together today. Principals, let’s all give Superintendent Streng a triple ‘woot’! You will receive free login instructions on your way out.”

A few faint ‘woots’ were heard in the crowd, but they weren’t triple. Superintendent Streng commented later that a follow-up training would be needed, as many principals were still stuck in independent thought.

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by Diana Senechal on May 19, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by Diana Senechal on May 19, 2013

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“It’s All About the Brute Struggle,” Says Schools Deputy

rhinocerosLutte, NY–After receiving numerous requests, pleas, and demands for adequate resources and space in the public schools, Associate Schools Deputy Bruce Eris divulged the Department of Education’s philosophy at a crowded district assembly. “It’s all about the brute struggle,” he said proudly. “If the kids aren’t tearing each other to pieces, you’re still in la-la land. We can point you to plenty of schools that are dealing with the real thing. You’ll see the difference right away.”

Murmuring and shifting followed. The moderator called for silence.

“You guys are saying you can’t cram yourselves into tiny classrooms,” he continued, panning his glance around the crowded hall. “Well, some people do it day after day. They might not like it, but they do it. If you can’t do it, it’s your failing, not ours.”

The first parent at the microphone suggested that it wasn’t good for students to be toppling onto each other, pushing past each other, and competing with each other for bathroom stalls. “Good?” Eris guffawed. “What is good? You’ve got your idea of good, but I’ve got mine, and I can tell you, lady, mine is based on sending my work teams to hundreds of schools and reading their reports. Your view is of these walls right here. You say they’re too narrow. Well I say let them be narrow! I say let this come to a boiling point! We’ll be happy to close you down.”

A teacher brought up the difficulty of teaching a good lesson when things were at the “boiling point.” “In the classroom, students need some space so that they can focus,” she said. “If a kid pushes another kid, even by mistake, it can throw everything off.”

“That’s what ineffective teachers always say,” Eris snorted. “We know that line. You’ve got to look at effective teachers. Effective teachers never have kids pushing each other, even when there are fifty of them in a tiny room. For a long time we’ve been saying that if we get effective teachers in the classroom, virtually or physically, your kids will get a good deal, even if we have to double the class size.”

A student spoke next. “Mr. Eris, I see a contradiction in your worldview,” he said. “On the one hand, you say that the ‘brute struggle’ is the reality, and anything short of it an illusion. On the other, you say that ‘effective teachers’ restore peace and productivity instantly just by walking into a classroom or appearing on Skype. Are you suggesting, therefore, that the ‘effective teacher’ is an illusion?”

“I’m not an intellectual sort of guy,” retorted Eris, “and it sounds like you’re coming at me with some highfalutin learnings that aren’t on the state tests—something your school could cut, if it really cared about resources. But I’ll give it a shot—the only thing is I have to leave right afterwards.” He took a sip of water and looked at his watch.

”If you want to talk philosophy,” he said, “I’ll tell you our philosophy. It isn’t contradictory as you’re making it out to be, but it takes some effective thinking to put it together. Now like I told you, I am not an intellectual, but I know what effective thinking is, and I practice it every moment of the day. That’s why I’ve got the salary I have. Do you have my salary, kid? Do you?” He took another sip.

“What’s your answer?” someone cried out.

“All right, all right. This is a kind of a trade secret, but here it goes. You see, the brute struggle is going to reveal who’s effective and who isn’t. The effective ones will have these amazing, packed classrooms where the kids are doing something productive every second. The other classrooms will be in chaos. So we will separate them out. We’ll fire the bad teachers, get rid of the bad schools, and then start up some new effective schools, and then let them go back into strife when they get too crowded, so that we can close them down except for the effective few. Eventually everyone’s gonna get the message. Be effective or bust. Finally you know how it will work out? Every single damned school in this district will be effective. You’ll see a hundred kids in a room, all standing up, all straining to learn from a teacher who wastes no time and takes no excuses—and gets them to exert their own creativity and critical thinking. Anyone who doesn’t cut it will be gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” another voice called out. The room had grown loud; the moderator called for quiet.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he said. “As long as the ineffective folks aren’t in our face, they can go wherever they want. It’s a free country. There are other districts. Private schools. Prisons. Canada and Mexico. Jobs at Kinko’s. The sooner they get out of here, the better. Speaking of getting out of here, I have to go now. I have a dinner engagement.” Eris and his three attendants walked briskly out of the hall.

After a hush, a principal spoke up. “All right now, let’s follow Mr. Eris’s advice and get this brute strife thing going,” she said. “If you haven’t hit someone in this room, you haven’t done your duty. Let’s see some punches here.”

Strangely, no one hit anyone. Clearly a sense of humanity was keeping people in check—and holding them back from the final ruthless glory.

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by Diana Senechal on May 3, 2013  •  Permalink
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Why Give Literature an Honored Place in School?

In education discussion and elsewhere, the terms “literature,” “fiction,” and “nonfiction” get jumbled up a bit. I jumble them too—I catch myself talking about “literature vs. nonfiction,” for instance, knowing that there’s overlap between the two. The term “literature” refers to works with lasting artistic merit (except when one is talking about the “literature” on a given topic). Artistic merit is difficult to define, but it involves a certain transcendence as well as mastery. A literary work goes beyond literal meaning; it has hints, metaphors, paradoxes, juxtapositions, ironies. It takes us a bit beyond the information that it presents. Moby-Dick may teach us a thing or two about whales, but that’s only part of what it does.

In that sense, the push for more and more “nonfiction” in classrooms (for instance, through the Common Core Standards) does threaten literature instruction. Those pushing for more “nonfiction” rarely have Emerson, Buber, or Kierkegaard in mind—works that tease us with possibilities. They want students to read argumentative pieces and informational reports: that is, works with a clear thesis supported by evidence. Of course it’s important for students to read such works; the problem lies in privileging them: in hinting, through one mandate after another, that informational text is more useful than literature (for college and career preparation) and therefore more valuable.

“But no one’s saying that!” some will protest. “No one said that informational text was to come at the expense of literature. The ELA standards apply to all of the subjects, not to English class alone.” Well, if this were so, English teachers would not be getting directives to include much more informational text in their curricula. New York State would not be considering a proposal to require high school students to write a research paper (for English class) that draws on at least four informational texts. Make no mistake: the push is for informational text. And it’s destructive as well as misguided.

Should students be reading informational nonfiction? Of course—but they don’t have to do this in English class. From elementary school onward, they should read on scientific, historical, and other topics. They should have a chance to read ancient mathematical proofs, musical scores, biographies, letters, historical documents, and more. Where should this take place? In the most appropriate classes. At times, students might read a work of fiction for history, or study a song for English. In the early elementary years, some of the courses may be combined into “literacy blocks”—so that students may find themselves reading poetry and historical narratives in the same class. But overall, each course should have readings for its domain—and English class should be the place for literary works.

An English course in expository writing might be an exception here. If a school’s English department offered a specific course in writing a research paper, then the other English courses wouldn’t have to be eroded. My high school had such a course—and many students reported years later that it was the most important course they took. Nonetheless, the other English courses were devoted to literature, excellent literature, and no one apologized for that. It was in middle and high school that I first read Sophocles, Euripides, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Hardy, Faulkner, O’Connor, T. S. Eliot, and others. No one doubted that such works were important; no one suggested that we were deficient in information. (We read a range of historical works and wrote research papers for history class.)

Now, there are big gaps in my education, including my literary education, but I found myself prepared not only for college, not only for a range of workplaces (even in the 21st century), but for a life that I want to lead, a life that involves pondering words, listening to music, and sifting through thoughts. I was not prepared in all ways, but who can be? Either one enters predictable situations with skills and knowledge to match them, or one enters the unknown, with the risk that one may not always know what to do. Who on earth would want the former? I’ll take the uncertainty and the risk any day, again and again. That said, one shouldn’t be foolhardy about risks; one shouldn’t enter the adult world defenseless. I have been foolhardy at times, defenseless at times, but not in relation to academic or vocational knowledge. I had what I needed in order to learn more; I had, moreover, a store of things to recall and reread.

Reminiscence aside, what is at stake here? Why stick one’s neck out for literature? It isn’t always beautiful (beauty is a complex topic), meaningful (try to find a stable meaning in Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground), or even likable (I find 100 Years of Solitude irritating at times). It is easy to slip into sentimentality about literature, but sentimentality is not the point. Literature deserves an honored place in schools for many reasons, including its ability to open up areas of life that we might not otherwise face. There is room in it for bravery and uncertainty. When reading “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” one does not have to be snappy and polished; one does not have to put on a good face or rattle off talking points. One can roam for a while in the lovely and perplexing mess. (It isn’t mess itself, by any means–but it allows for a bit of the messy, and takes us out of the realm of the pat.)

Today’s students learn skills like “speed networking”—making a quick, flawless impression. What they don’t learn, often, is the practice of mulling, of staying with something they don’t immediately understand, and of allowing themselves their own mysteries too, and allowing themselves time. Not all students have lost this; some know how to sit with uncertainty, difficulty, questions, pain. Sadly, these very students get faulted for being “off-task,” since the tasks have become quick and shallow. Our priorities have gone off kilter; things that can keep us mindful and soulful get shorter and shorter shrift.

 

Note: I made a few edits to this piece after its initial posting.

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by Diana Senechal on April 28, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by Diana Senechal on April 28, 2013

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Teaching the Underground

undergroundOne aspect of teaching that rarely gets discussed (on blogs and in education news) is the intellectual and ethical challenge of taking students through a complex work like Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground. I find myself turning lessons in my mind, asking myself what to bring out, what questions to ask, what background to provide, what comparisons to draw. This would be the case with just about any lesson—but with Notes from Underground it’s particularly important, as the work is easy to misunderstand in one way or another. Once the basic understanding is there, it’s possible to appreciate the work’s paradox and play on the one hand and its serious moral questions on the other.

Its narrator and protagonist, the “Underground Man,” lives alone in a dingy Petersburg apartment, from which he does not emerge. He writes and writes, in some sense baring his starkest truths, in some sense fooling the reader. He rails against the formulas that others embrace, formulas for a perfect society or even a reasonable one. No perfection, no happiness, he insists, matters as much to man as his own free will—and for that reason he will knock down any structure and deny any equation, even if in doing so he only harms himself. The Underground Man seems to rebel against formulas and final answers, yet he clings to his own formula, a formula of negation. In the second part, we learn how he landed there; we learn something about his life and actions before his retreat. (I won’t reveal what he tells—but it isn’t comforting.)

A reader of Notes from Underground can easily fall into one of two traps. One error is to judge him without any kind of compassion or identification—to say, “I’m not like that; that man is messed up” and be done with it. The other is to identify with him completely—to see him as a reflection of the hidden self. While this error is a bit more fruitful than the first, it’s still an error, if the reader does not recognize the Underground Man’s responsibility for his condition. To grasp the Underground Man, one must bring both compassion and judgment, both identification and distance. The proportions are difficult to determine (and will vary from person to person and from reading to reading), but both elements need to be there, if the work is to come through. (Other elements need to be there as well; one needs to be able to hear his tones, jokes, allusions, and much more.)

Isn’t that one of our ethical challenges in general—to determine the right mixture of judgment and compassion? Too much judgment without compassion, and you write the person (or work) off. Too much compassion (if that’s the word—I’m not quite satisfied) without judgment, and you neglect the person’s free will and choices. Yet there is no perfect ratio; it shifts from moment to moment and from situation to situation. Nor can it be calculated; one must find it through experience, teachers, and instinct.

From what I have seen, it is more common for students to write the Underground Man off than to see themselves in him. This is partly because introspection gets short shrift today. These kids have been brought up to think in terms of success and achievement, not in terms of understanding human nature. That’s an oversimplification, though; many do understand something of the Underground Man; many do see aspects of themselves, and a few have even found a combination of judgment and compassion. In any case, both extremes have dangers.

The first time I read Notes from Underground, at age eighteen, I couldn’t separate myself from him (until part 2). I thought I was him—and was horrified. Years later, I approached him from a distance and found him very funny. In between, I have had mixtures of responses. Today I see a great deal of the Underground Man in myself but understand, also, how important the differences are. I am not advocating “text-to-self connections”—but Dostoevsky clearly wants us to ask who this Underground Man is and how he might reflect us.

There’s a lot at stake in reading Notes from Underground properly, yet there is no “proper” reading. There is only alertness and avoidance of pitfalls. Or, rather, there’s much more, but it can’t be taught directly, just as one can’t be taught to understand another person.

These are the thoughts that occupy a good deal of my day, when I’m not scrambling to get things done. It matters to teach this work well; that, in turn, is not just a question of bringing out key themes, devices, etc., but involves careful reading, a good understanding of the students, an understanding (when possible) of the original Russian, and a strong ethical and aesthetic sense. It involves a great responsibility: you have to be a good guide to take students into the underground and out again. In short, it requires a good chunk of all that I have and am—including the ability to put myself aside as we focus on the work.

I wish policymakers (of various kinds) had an inkling of this aspect of teaching. It seems completely forgotten, except in nooks of the education world. It’s as though “content” didn’t demand one’s soul, intellect, and conscience, as though you could teach it “effectively” without vitality. No wonder so much work gets piled on teachers; few realize that to teach well, one must be willing to leave the busyness behind, to take a long walk, attend a concert*, or read a book slowly, in order to be shaken into life, the life inside and outside of books, the jumbled, mistake-ridden life that, even at its most perplexing, has room for courage and grace.

*Concert: On Friday I attended the Wingdale Community Singers’ record release show for their new album, Night Sleep Death. A gorgeous performance. The title(-ish) song brings together two Walt Whitman poems, “A Clear Midnight” and “O Living Always–Always Dying.”

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by Diana Senechal on April 21, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by Diana Senechal on April 21, 2013

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District Socializes Unusual Students

decameronFaced with the formidable challenge of persuading independent-minded and dreamy students to “work in teams to solve real-world problems,” Mimetes School District has initiated an aggressive policy of team socialization. Teachers must put students in groups, no matter what the lesson topic or activity. After each lesson, students evaluate each other on their group participation. Any student who receives a low rating from peers will be sent to “socialization support” for three weeks.

At a district-wide meeting of administrators and press, Superintendent Girard Lesautres praised the new policy. “Before, we had kids who didn’t fit in, and people just left them alone,” he said. “Now we make sure they fit in. Socialization support does wonders. These kids come out of it acting and talking—and even walking—like everybody else.”

In socialization support, a nonconforming child must complete a task in a group with judgmental peers. At every step, the group informs the child whether she (or he—but we’ll stick with “she”) is behaving acceptably. If not, then the whole group must start the task anew, and the child must adjust her behavior. If she fails to do so, the others may yell at her and call her names.

“Eventually these kids break down,” said Penelope Slomana, a teacher who herself broke down under pressure from her team. “They come in here thinking they’ve got some kind of compelling idea, and then they find out that compelling ideas aren’t the point. The point is to get the task done–pleasantly.”

Completing the task is not the only accomplishment, Slomana noted. By the time they are done, the renegade students understand how to smile, how much and how little to talk, what to talk about, what kind of jokes other people like, and what menial jobs they can do well. The students who act as trainers get community service points; the ones who were trained have the word “socialized” stamped on their transcript and wrist. “The most amazing part of it all,” said Slomana, “is the way they act when they’re back in the classroom. They’re absolutely perfect team players. You can give them any task, and they’re instantly working together like bees. You wouldn’t know the trainer from the trained.”

Don’t students miss a great deal of class during socialization support? “It’s really the same curriculum,” said Slomana. “It’s not like they’re learning Shakespeare or anything like that. Basically they work on bundles of tasks. Same stuff here as there. It can be any task, really; the point is to be on task.”

Asked about her own training, Slomana winced. “I don’t really want to go there,” she replied, “but since you asked, I’ll say that it’s all about preparing for the global economy and the 21st century. At first I thought my group was mistreating me, but then I realized it was me mistreating the group.” That happened a year ago; since then, Slomana has been voted Cooperative Teacher of the Year.

Not everyone has gone along with the new program. “I figured out a trick,” a student told us. “In socialization support, I just swapped the bundle so that our task was to discuss the Decameron. No one had read it, so they relied on me to take them through it, and we all had a good time. I switched the bundles again once we were done.” As for the “socialized” stamp, the student swapped it furtively with a “summa cum laude” stamp. “One thing you’ve got to realize about bureaucrats,” he muttered, looking around the room, “is that they don’t even read their own supplies.”

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by Diana Senechal on April 20, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by Diana Senechal on April 20, 2013

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Neither Crystal Palace Nor Underground

Last week I had the joy of publishing an article featuring three students’ pieces. Each piece has distinct ideas, approach, and personality; none of the three would fit a rubric exactly. All deal with philosophical ideas and texts; whether witty, serious, or both, all grapple with something substantial.

Call it spark, verve, or individuality, I hope my students never lose this quality. Our schools and workplaces live by the rubric. Even when a school sees beyond the rubric, as mine does, it must prepare students for the rubrics of tests. Students know exactly what is expected of them and learn to fulfill it exactly. They know they will get five points for doing this, ten points for doing that.

What rubrics offer is predictability and fairness. A student who receives a B knows why, and knows what to do to get an A. (There should always be some degree of that; grading should not be haphazard.) Yet rubrics take a great deal away. They come across as supreme judges, when they are mediocre ones; they miss what really matters in a piece—the genuine grappling, among other things. I do not mean they should be abolished; of course they have a place, but they should not be ultimate arbiters.

I have scored tests and have seen how students who follow the directions exactly (but say very little) can score higher than students  who have a great deal to say but fail to follow all of the directions. Indeed, when one follows such rubrics, one is forced to disregard what a student says.

In many ways the world of rubrics is analogous to the very crystal palace that Dostoevsky’s Underground Man criticizes. Here is the telling passage (Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground, translated by Michael Katz):

You believe in the crystal palace, eternally indestructible, that is, one at which you can never stick out your tongue furtively nor make a rude gesture, even with your fist hidden away. Well, perhaps I’m so afraid of this building precisely because it’s made of crystal and it’s eternally indestructible, and because it won’t be possible to stick one’s tongue out even furtively.

Don’t you see: if it were a chicken coop instead of a palace, and if it should rain, then perhaps I could crawl into it so as not to get drenched; but I would still not mistake a chicken coop for a palace out of gratitude, just because it sheltered me from the rain. You’re laughing, you’re even saying that in this case there’s no difference between a chicken coop and a mansion. Yes, I reply, if the only reason for living is to keep from getting drenched.

Today’s students live in a chicken coop of rubric after rubric. They learn to be well-rounded superstars—leaders, go-getters, initiators, networkers, and, sure, students with GPAs of 4.0. They build up digital portfolios and resumes. They know what the colleges want and plan years in advance to achieve it. A wise person remarked to me over conversation this week, “They not only have no room for eccentricity; they have no room to pause.”

You need to pause in order to write an interesting piece, to have a good friend, to understand a piece of music. You need it to find a way of living that is neither crystal palace nor underground, a chant or song with lilts and cracks and silences. Yes, you need to learn to survive and compete, but you need not bow to the terms of such demands.

My birthday is a week from Thursday. I dedicate it to such a way of living, and to the hope that my students will find it on their own terms or, having already found it, not lose sight of it.

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by Diana Senechal on April 17, 2013  •  Permalink
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Task Force to Universalize Multiple-Choice Questions

metrocardResponding to complaints that multiple-choice tests have little to do with intellect or life, the Department of Education has announced the formation of a Multiple Choice Universalization Task Force, whose goal is to make each aspect of life a multiple-choice test. “We’ve come a long way,” said a spokesperson. “If you want to purchase a Metro-Card in New York City, for instance, you have to answer about ten multiple-choice questions. That’s where everything is headed. Or suppose you want to make a doctor’s appointment. You not only have to get through about fifteen multiple-choice questions but usually find yourself starting all over again, several times, because the voice recognition software doesn’t work.”

While these examples offer hope, there is still much work to be done, said Jerry Samogon, executive director of the task force. “We’re developing an innovative form of email where you answer ten questions before even typing your message, which is mercifully short by that point. It’s amazing how the software cuts down on thinking. It asks you right off the bat whether your purpose is business or love. Faced with that choice, most people will click ‘business,’ which is exactly what we want.”

Marital disputes would be instantly resolved with an app, according to task force member Asunción Lebedi. “Are you angry? Frustrated? Tired? Unfaithful? You don’t have to go through a long explanation,” she assured us. “Just click. If your clicks are smart, you might even get a free divorce.”

“It’s much easier to do things to people with a click than it would be in person,” said her colleague Melinda Klop. “We offer lunch-date software, ‘I don’t like you any more’ software, ‘You’re weird’ software, you name it. People can say things they never would have dared to say before, all because they get to make choices.” Soon, Klop predicted, our lives would be “infused and aligned” with multiple-choice questions from day one.

According to researchers, research suggests that those who see their lives as one long multiple-choice test are more likely to embrace multiple-choice tests than those who do not. “I’m not sure what it means to ‘embrace’ one of these tests,” said Hester Fluke, a fifth grader. “I mean, am I supposed to hug it? I don’t think so. But if you give me a ‘like’ icon, I’ll click it. Or, better yet, give me four emoticons and make me choose one.”

Prominent employers have started using multiple-choice questions for their icebreaker activities. Employees approach each other with laptops that display questions like “Am I caustic, cautious, captivating, or captive?” The adjective that receives the most votes is dubbed The Truth. During the regular workday, employees answer multiple-choice questions about their colleagues’ team attitudes and personal habits. “I used to think I was ratting,” said Jerome Tanden, a quality assurance engineer. “Now I’m just doing what everyone else does. So, the guy at the next cubicle is goofing off. Do I hurt him? No way. I just click an answer to a question. Totally legit and fun.”

Ultimately, according to task force representatives, life would become entirely multiple-choie and clickable. “You can click your way to heaven or hell,” said Samogon, “only in this case they’re more or less identical. Once we reach that point, one click will be just like any other.”

By then, experts predict, a multiple-choice test will no longer cause an outcry, since people will have forgotten how to cry.

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by Diana Senechal on April 8, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by Diana Senechal on April 8, 2013

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Professionalism Without Protection: The Danielson Framework

The Danielson Framework, currently used for teacher evaluation in New York City and many other districts, states that a teacher at the “proficient” level “volunteers to participate in school and district projects, making a substantial contribution.” A teacher at the “distinguished” level (the highest) does all of this but also “assumes a leadership role in a major school or district project.” I have criticized the Framework for its extreme emphasis on student initiative in the classroom; here I will take up the problem of professional responsibilities. When “volunteering” is mandatory and when everyone is supposed to be a “leader,” something has gone off kilter, and teachers have little or no protection of their own lives.

It is not enough to take on an official duty, according to the Framework. The explanatory text states that teachers “are keenly alert to the needs of their students and step in on their behalf when needed”—recognizing signs of abuse, locating a winter coat for the child, and suggesting outside programs and activities. Such teachers “never forget that schools are not institutions run for the convenience of the adults who work in them; instead, the purpose of schools is to educate students. These educators care deeply for the well-being of their students and mobilize whatever resources are necessary for them to be successful.” In the following paragraph, it says that “educators are advocates for their students, particularly those whom the educational establishment has traditionally underserved.” (I object to the latter part of the sentence–but that’s a separate matter.)

In other words, a teacher must be willing to serve the students—especially the disadvantaged ones—from morning to night but is not allowed any “conveniences” for herself. In this sense, the Danielson Framework tries to have it both ways. It wants teachers to give everything (I have only quoted a fraction of the expected duties) but does not accord them privacy, dignity, or reprieve. To go beyond the call of duty is the call of duty. If you have a breakdown or fall ill, the system will march on, and you will be brushed off as yet another who couldn’t quite live up to the impossible.

Perhaps I exaggerate. The Danielson Framework makes some allowances for teachers’ personal lives (this, again, is from the explanatory part of the framework, not the rubric):

At certain times in one’s life, family demands are such that teachers have little space capacity to devote to school and district affairs. Attending to young children or to a parent with a disability can require enormous amounts of time and commitment. Some teachers let it be known that although they must leave school right at the end of the contract day, they can make their contribution through work they do at home, whether it is finding resources on the Internet for a team-teaching project or establishing the roster for students to volunteer at the soup kitchen.

So, even a teacher who “must” leave at the end of the day should compensate by doing something from home (beyond lesson planning and grading), something that shows that she’s still at the students’ service, even though her own life has overwhelming demands. Of course, only those with socially acceptable outside demands (illness, a child) will be counted in this. What if you are going through a difficult period and wish to keep it to yourself? What if you have made a wonderful new friend with whom you are spending time? What if you are working on a project that you don’t wish to announce to the world? Or what if you have family troubles that are no one else’s business? None of this counts, as it is invisible. In addition, putting extra thought into your lesson doesn’t count–a soup-kitchen roster, apparently, matters more than a few evening hours with Kierkegaard.

Now, many teachers do take joy in doing extra things for their students—and this dedication enhances the life of the school. In my first few years of teaching, I directed English language learners in performances of plays and musicals. At other times I given homework help over the phone, offered an elective, or taught Saturday classes; most recently, I have held philosophy roundtables for parents. I have written extensively on education; in the summers, I serve on the faculty of the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture. I took on these extra duties (some directly pertinent to school, some not) because I had the desire and the room. But teachers also need removal from school—not because of any blatant hardship or crisis, necessarily, but because they need some time to think, to work on a project, to take care of their health, or to deal with some other aspect of their lives. This does not make them inferior as teachers. To the contrary: it sets an example for the students, who can learn from such examples how to maintain good boundaries–that is, how to protect the different domains of their lives and respect the domains of others. It will also teach or remind them that there is such a thing as an end to the day.

Instead of a “give everything, demand nothing” model, I propose two alternatives. A school may state up front that it expects extra commitment from the teachers (who may decide whether or not to teach at that school). In return, it should offer teachers the utmost respect and protection: quiet time for thought and planning, additional compensation, a school-wide discipline code (that is enforced), appreciation of the teachers and what they do, sane priorities, and intellectual substance. The school should be a place where a teacher would choose to lead an intellectual life.

Or else a school might make the extra professional activities entirely optional—passing no judgment on teachers who focus primarily on teaching their classes. In that case, the schools would not be obligated to offer teachers a nurturing environment, nor would teachers be expected to live for school. The school might still have excellent activities and resources, in addition to its regular offerings—but these would come from the teachers’ voluntary efforts and would not be taken for granted.

Teachers should be recognized for the extra things they do—but those should be extra offerings, not requirements, unless the school has made the arrangement clear (and offers something in return). To teach well, and to attain true professionalism, you need to honor your own life–without apology or explanation, and without having to submit your soul for scrutiny.

Note: I made a few edits to this piece since its initial posting.

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by Diana Senechal on March 31, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by Diana Senechal on March 31, 2013

http://dianasenechal.wordpress.com/2013/03/31/professionalism-without-protection-the-danielson-framework/

Children Must Learn Indifference, Says District Leader

In order to ensure alignment with standards, predetermined learning goals, accountability measures, and other papers in the pile, schools now require students to learn and practice indifference throughout the school day and at home, said Mona Nibud, superintendent of Taicsan Mills School District. “We can’t have any rough edges here,” she explained. “Everything must fit in place, including the kids.”

For one thing, students are not allowed to care about anyone in particular. “We switch up the group work—and we always have group work,” said Minnie Fulbad, a success coach. “We make sure no two students sit together very long, in class or anywhere else. That way no one gets very intimate, and no one gets left out.” The idea hails from Great Britain, where some schools have banned best friends. “We think this is great,” she said, “because out in the real world, in the workplace, you can’t have favorites. You have to be able to work with who’s there.”

The push for indifference has affected the curriculum as well. “We need all books to be aligned with the standards,” said Nibud, “and many of the old classics just don’t align with anything. They need to be tossed. Take, for instance, Winnie-the-Pooh. You can enjoy that as a five-year-old, but I’ve heard that even some adults read it. What would the reading level be for such a book? We can’t afford the ambiguity.” In addition, she explained, every text must be efficient in serving a specific purpose. “You might be able to learn about character traits from the Iliad,” she said, “but there are quicker ways of learning character traits.” It hardly mattered, she added hastily, that most of the characters in the approved texts lacked character. “That’s part of the point,” she noted. “We don’t want kids getting attached to characters in books. We want them to perform quick operations on them, take a test, and then go on to the next reading level.”

Teachers are strongly cautioned against passionate lesson delivery. “If you care deeply about a lesson, you aren’t serving the kids,” said Local Instructional Superintendent Steve Geenzin. “You’re supposed to be bringing things out of them, not indulging in your own passion.” So, for instance, a teacher who got excited while discussing Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra was adviced to (a) drop the Nietzsche; (b) think about the skills that students needed to learn; and (c) step out of the way while students practiced those skills in groups. “That’s what schools are doing all around the country,” said Geenzin, “but a few teachers just don’t want to change their old ways.” Any teacher who persisted in teaching a so-called riveting lesson would be asked to leave. According to Geenzin, a riveting lesson was essentially divisive, as it favored those students who found it riveting.

To help teachers, administrators, students, and families change in the approved ways, the district would be setting up self-help groups. Attendance would be voluntary for “reflective” practitioners and mandatory for those whose reflections didn’t meet requirements. During the sessions, all participants would be required to admit publicly to any strong ideas or feelings, which would then undergo a ritual stomp. “We write those feelings on paper, read them out loud, and then trample on them together,” said an anonymous participant. “Then we sit down and recite: ‘Nothing matters more than anything else, unless it’s a test score.’ We recite this for the next hour. When I walk out of there, I feel so numb, it’s amazing.”

Recognizing the difficulty of eliminating passions from those who grew up with them, Nibud predicts that one day children will be taught indifference from the moment they exit the womb. “Instead of all those cries of pain and joy in the delivery room, we’re going to have the baby handled by trained nonchalance workers,” she said. “That way, the babies will get the correct message from day one.” As they began to walk and crawl, they will be monitored for eccentricities. All licensed daycare and preschool workers will enforce a general attitude of “whatever.” “By the time they enter kindergarten, these children must be entirely socialized and task-oriented,” Geenzin said. “Anyone who goes off task will face consequences, and that includes teachers and anyone bookish.”

Why the emphasis on indifference? “It’s kind of funny where it all started,” said Nibud, “but it makes sense, if you think about it. We got a whole load of new textbooks this year. They are completely aligned to the new standards and tests. They’re so dull, a lot of teachers couldn’t stomach them—but since there’s no changing or returning them, we figured it was the stomachs that needed changing.”

With proper effort and practice, according to officials, those who feel queasy over current reforms will soon feel queasy no more.

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by Diana Senechal on March 29, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Education, Satire
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Posted by Diana Senechal on March 29, 2013

http://dianasenechal.wordpress.com/2013/03/29/children-must-learn-indifference-says-district-leader/

Where I’ll be for the next week

I may have a chance to post here as well, but if you see nothing, go over to the great blog of Joanne Jacobs, where, starting tomorrow, I will be guest-blogging with Michael E. Lopez until March 26.

Also, visit The Cronk of Higher Education, where I may have a new piece soon (update: it is posted), and where many other satirical pieces may tickle and horrify you. I had a delightful interview with the Cronk’s editor-in-chief, Leah Wescott; you are welcome to download and listen to the podcast.

On the subject of fine blogs: Lisa Hansel, former editor of American Educator, is now the director of communications for the Core Knowledge Foundation and has begun writing for the blog. The CK Blog is a good place to spend an hour with coffee in the mornings (as well as scattered evening hours, when conversations get lively). I have known Lisa as a true editor (the kind who understands what writers are after and helps them attain it); it’s a treat to be reading her writing now.

Now I must rush onward with my day. Just a glimpse of it: my ninth-grade students are reviewing the rhetorical devices they have learned so far (and reading Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s “Solitude of Self”); the tenth graders are reading the prologue of Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra (and will soon start Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground), and the eleventh graders are wrapping up the Communist Manifesto, reading various constitutions (including the Constitution of Užupis), and designing their own utopias, dystopias, or realistic plans.

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by Diana Senechal on March 19, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by Diana Senechal on March 19, 2013

http://dianasenechal.wordpress.com/2013/03/19/where-ill-be-for-the-next-week/

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