McPherson Elementary school on Chicago's northwest side is in chaos. Thanks to the unfunded longer school day, massive changes to the school personnel, class schedules, and class sizes are being planned for the next school year. According to the principal, Carmen Mendoza, at the latest Local School Council meeting, in order to afford the extra supportive staff (4 new classroom aides) needed to monitor the mandated recess 2 teaching positions will be lost. Due to the reduction in staff, many classrooms will become split classrooms (two grades levels in the same room-much harder to manage and teach effectively). Also, class sizes will likely be increased. On top of the lost positions, many teachers are also being displaced as the entire schedule needed to be re-designed. For example, the 5th grade, which was formerly self-contained (the same teacher teaching all subjects) will now become departmentalized (different teachers teaching math, reading, science, etc.) These shifts in scheduling require teachers to have certain endorsements, which many do not. And those teachers are being laid off.
I attended this LSC meeting. The usually sparsely attended meeting had to be moved into the auditorium due to the outrage of parents when they heard many of their favorite teachers were being lost and lasted nearly five heart-wrenching hours. Dozens and dozens of parents, many accompanied by their children all dressed in fancy dresses, ribbons, and ties for the graduation ceremonies earlier that day, spoke passionately about how upset they were to lose such beloved teachers. Many of the teachers being displaced are experienced educators with National Board Certification and 5+ years of teaching at McPherson. They were some of the founding members of the Friends of McPherson fundraising group and brought in outside after-school clubs and sporting teams. Parents and teachers alike broke down into tears while they pleaded for a way to keep these teachers in the McPherson community.
"There just isn't enough money." This was the resounding refrain from the principal. Now I don't know how much of this could have been avoided, how much was inter-schools politics or personality issues, but what I do know is that the longer school day mandate caused this insanity.
Losing fantastic dedicated teachers, increasing class sizes, and creating split classrooms...none of these things are good for kids. Even worse, the morale at the school has plummeted. Teachers who still have positions are afraid and angry, parents are threatening to remove their children, and the displaced teachers are wondering what the next step in their career will be. There are heightened tensions around who was displaced and who was kept, regardless of experience or teacher effectiveness. Everyone is upset.
My take on all of this is that the longer school day is a mess. I have heard that other schools, such as my neighborhood's local high school Amundsen, will also be losing positions as a result of the longer school day mandate. One CPS high school teacher on my facebook page pointed out "CPS wants HS teachers to take
on an additional class during the additional time. Rather than teaching
5 classes per day we may be teaching 6 if this goes through. Rather
than 150+ students we'll have 180+ students each day. Imagine trying to
singlehandedly teach 180 HS students, many of whom don't want to be
there, something like the quadratic equation or Shakespeare and make
sure that all 180 of them are learning it each step of the way...
grading 360 assignments per week. Do the math... if you spend 3 min per
paper that's 18 hours per week just in grading... not to mention
planning, paperwork, and other obligations. The unfunded longer day is
not about improving education." Ultimately, of course, it is Chicago's children who will lose out. Larger classes for longer periods of time in poorer learning conditions is not the answer. Forcing schools which are already stretched to the breaking point in terms of budgets to play around with the same or less money for more time is a logistical and practical nightmare.
The unfunded longer school day does not work. Period. So why are we doing it, Mr. Mayor?
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Violence is Fine, But Low Test Scores are Unacceptable?
This morning I read the headlines from the Chicago Suntimes posted on an activist friend's facebook page (the great Matt Farmer--if you haven't watched his recent talk about Penny Pritzker and public schools, watch it here) which read Five dead, 35 wounded — including boy, 16 — in weekend violence. I think if Matt hadn't posted this piece, I probably would've just skimmed over the headline and moved on. And I wondered, how is it that I have become so normalized to violence in my city? How have all of us become so used to the murder and maiming of young people, primarily young men of color, that it doesn't even register as a problem?
And I think back to my year teaching in a public school on the city's south side. I remember the two drive-bys that I witnessed during that year, just blocks from Obama's Chicago home, and just outside the affluent Hyde Park neighborhood "bubble". And it often hits me, while I was there ostensibly to teach my special education students, to get them up to grade-level in reading and math, it was my 9-12 year old students who told me what to do in those crisis situations. When the toy-like "pop pop" of actual bullet sounds echoed outside my classroom window, it was my little 4th grader who yelled "Ms. O, get down." He was the one who directed the other students to get away from the window. Yes, he could barely read, but my god he was prepared for those war-like conditions.
And I have had so many of these experiences where I was simply unequipped for the reality of children's lives. I remember a time at my current job working as a teacher on an inpatient psychiatric unit. I was teaching my group of adolescent girls, many of whom had significant emotional/behavior disorders or mental health issues like Bipolar Disorder or Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD is a "disorder" I have some problems with, but that's another story.). Suddenly, one of my sassier young women looked out the window and yelled, "that man is beating that girl." Before I knew what was happening, all the girls had rushed to the window and were shouting "we have to do something." Apparently, my fight or flight response is not nearly as developed, because I stood frozen. At first I ignored the situation and tried to redirect the girls back to their seats. I thought about going on with the lesson and pretending that nothing was going on outside. I even started snapping at the girls, something I never do, because the room was quickly getting out of control. But finally, after far too long, I realized that I had to act. I called down to the the nurses' station and told them to call the police to report the brutality. I ended up apologizing to the girls. Their instincts were right on. When a fellow human being was in danger, they knew what to do instantly.
Sometimes things like impulsivity, opposition, and anger are appropriate responses. But our kids are punished for these behaviors and then punished again for not learning the same way as their peers, especially peers from affluent, low-violence areas.
The studies have been done about how trauma and a constant heightened state of readiness can be detrimental to learning. We know that there will be many children who cannot take the anxiety and pain of a never-ending threat, and will end up in psychiatric facilities like mine. I have met children who have covered their house windows with newspaper because they are terrified of gang retaliation. I have had to walk students as young as 9 to the bus stop because there were rumors that they were going to "get jumped" that afternoon.
And this is why I get angry at education reformers who claim that "poverty is not destiny". Mayor Emanuel, Arne Duncan, Michelle Rhee, Wendy Kopp, Bill Gates...what would you do in a drive-by? Stop belittling the students, community members, and educators who understand all too well the real obstacles to learning. How dare you talk about accountability, test scores, teacher evaluation, and merit pay in the face of the warlike conditions poverty and income inequality can create. And more than anything, how dare you judge the students, their teachers and their schools based on YOUR definition of what is important, by your silly test scores. My students brought so much to the table besides test scores. They had a compassion and an ability to act with a clear-head in the most difficult situations. Where is the test that measures THAT?
As long as reformers ignore reality, nothing will ever change. The status quo of absolutely frightening segregation, income inequality, poverty, and the violence that accompanies those ills will only get worse. I would like to see people from all neighborhoods rise up to say, "no more". The fight for schools is the call to end the violence caused by oppression and disenfranchisement. The fight for schools is the struggle for safe and healthy neighborhoods. The fight for better schools is the fight for living-wage jobs for all citizens of the globe.
Education reformers, quit whining about America's test scores, and start getting mad about the violence that has taken yet another teenager's life in my city.
And I think back to my year teaching in a public school on the city's south side. I remember the two drive-bys that I witnessed during that year, just blocks from Obama's Chicago home, and just outside the affluent Hyde Park neighborhood "bubble". And it often hits me, while I was there ostensibly to teach my special education students, to get them up to grade-level in reading and math, it was my 9-12 year old students who told me what to do in those crisis situations. When the toy-like "pop pop" of actual bullet sounds echoed outside my classroom window, it was my little 4th grader who yelled "Ms. O, get down." He was the one who directed the other students to get away from the window. Yes, he could barely read, but my god he was prepared for those war-like conditions.
And I have had so many of these experiences where I was simply unequipped for the reality of children's lives. I remember a time at my current job working as a teacher on an inpatient psychiatric unit. I was teaching my group of adolescent girls, many of whom had significant emotional/behavior disorders or mental health issues like Bipolar Disorder or Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD is a "disorder" I have some problems with, but that's another story.). Suddenly, one of my sassier young women looked out the window and yelled, "that man is beating that girl." Before I knew what was happening, all the girls had rushed to the window and were shouting "we have to do something." Apparently, my fight or flight response is not nearly as developed, because I stood frozen. At first I ignored the situation and tried to redirect the girls back to their seats. I thought about going on with the lesson and pretending that nothing was going on outside. I even started snapping at the girls, something I never do, because the room was quickly getting out of control. But finally, after far too long, I realized that I had to act. I called down to the the nurses' station and told them to call the police to report the brutality. I ended up apologizing to the girls. Their instincts were right on. When a fellow human being was in danger, they knew what to do instantly.
Sometimes things like impulsivity, opposition, and anger are appropriate responses. But our kids are punished for these behaviors and then punished again for not learning the same way as their peers, especially peers from affluent, low-violence areas.
The studies have been done about how trauma and a constant heightened state of readiness can be detrimental to learning. We know that there will be many children who cannot take the anxiety and pain of a never-ending threat, and will end up in psychiatric facilities like mine. I have met children who have covered their house windows with newspaper because they are terrified of gang retaliation. I have had to walk students as young as 9 to the bus stop because there were rumors that they were going to "get jumped" that afternoon.
And this is why I get angry at education reformers who claim that "poverty is not destiny". Mayor Emanuel, Arne Duncan, Michelle Rhee, Wendy Kopp, Bill Gates...what would you do in a drive-by? Stop belittling the students, community members, and educators who understand all too well the real obstacles to learning. How dare you talk about accountability, test scores, teacher evaluation, and merit pay in the face of the warlike conditions poverty and income inequality can create. And more than anything, how dare you judge the students, their teachers and their schools based on YOUR definition of what is important, by your silly test scores. My students brought so much to the table besides test scores. They had a compassion and an ability to act with a clear-head in the most difficult situations. Where is the test that measures THAT?
As long as reformers ignore reality, nothing will ever change. The status quo of absolutely frightening segregation, income inequality, poverty, and the violence that accompanies those ills will only get worse. I would like to see people from all neighborhoods rise up to say, "no more". The fight for schools is the call to end the violence caused by oppression and disenfranchisement. The fight for schools is the struggle for safe and healthy neighborhoods. The fight for better schools is the fight for living-wage jobs for all citizens of the globe.
Education reformers, quit whining about America's test scores, and start getting mad about the violence that has taken yet another teenager's life in my city.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
My First Year of Teaching—DATA, DATA EVERYWHERE!
When I think back to my first, and only, year teaching in a public elementary school, one word that comes to mind is “naïve”. Despite having been in classrooms overseas for many years and working with children with disabilities in a hospital setting for quite some time before entering my own classroom, I simply was not ready for what I encountered in my neighborhood Chicago Public Elementary School.
Now, I’m not even talking about what most first year teacher’s experience, which is a decisively difficult year no matter where you are. (I actually think I was fairly well prepared overall, for a beginning teacher.) No, I’m talking about that nagging feeling that something is just…off.
What I saw during that year just never sat right with me. As it all unfolded, I wasn't able to put my finger on what exactly it was, but time and again I kept feeling like something was wrong. It’s funny, because now, after a couple years of getting educated in the corporate education reform agenda, I can discuss in detail every policy decision, the history of reform that led to my experiences, and debate what the flaws and holes of the reforms were with research to back it all up. But at the time, I had no words to put to the feelings I had.
I thought I’d take a few blog entries to share some of those observations. Some are funny, some are tragic, and some are so personal I haven’t fully decided if I will share them on this blog or not.
Data Lovin’
My inner-city Southside neighborhood school administration must have been one of the first to jump on board the data-worship machine. Nearly every professional development day was devoted to pouring over data sheets and computer screens. I still remember one surreal encounter with my principal where we were to have written out, color-coded, how all of our students did on the Scantron (quarterly computerized benchmark) tests. As a special education teacher, I had personally administered the tests to most of my students. I saw how they did not even bother trying to read the passages and I didn’t force them to. I knew from my own assessments that some of my 3rd-5th grade students were reading below a 1st and some even a Kindergarten level. So when a 5th grade passage popped up on the screen, I was much more concerned with keeping their spirits up than if they correctly answered the silly multiple choice questions correctly.
As I sat down for my meeting, and my principal asked how my students did, I shared my observations about the tests, and then said jokingly, “I suppose ‘Joe’ guessed a little worse the second time than the first”. I shared how the tests did not provide much meaningful information for me as a special education teacher, but then went on to share some appropriate assessments I’d done in class. I also shared the great breakthroughs I’d had with one student in particular, my little “Joe”. He had been identified very late in having a learning disability and hated reading with a passion. Since he was so embarrassed by his reading ability, I had started to tutor him privately during my prep period and he was starting try! This student was an amazing artist and loved drawing manga-style cartoon characters. So when we worked together 1:1, he and I read quite a few manga together. He was becoming motivated and was asking to take practice words home. His father even commented that he’d never seen “Joe” get so excited about school before.
But my principal was not satisfied. He asked “but how will you change your teaching practices based on these tests” and repeated the question two, three times. Each time I answered, “well, these particular tests aren’t a valid measurement…” but each time he cut me off and reread his question from his prepared sheet. I finally saw that he needed something to write in the assigned space so I answered “I will work on phonics instruction and vocabulary building” or some other inane blanket statement. He scribbled down the answer and then dismissed me.
It’s funny, because I thought I was there to have a discussion about how my students were actually progressing. I was excited to tell him about my success with “Joe”. But he was there to have a discussion about test scores.
And those Scantron tests were just the beginning. Our administrators—of course-- also had us put up data walls in the staff rooms. We spent hours and hours writing children’s names and scores on little cards, attaching them to little magnet strips, and creating our data-licious wall of wonder. But it didn't end there. Each teacher was also forced to put up classroom data walls. The children picked out their own “code name” and then every child’s scores were put up on the walls of the classrooms. I protested this move venomously, but the administration would not budge and up went all the scores on the walls of my students’ inclusion classrooms. As you can imagine, this was quite a shock for my kids. They were already terribly embarrassed about having to go to the “dumb room” (I had actually started to take other non-disabled peers into my room as a reward in order for the students with IEPs to feel it was a privilege going into Ms. Katie’s room. And this was even working for a while.) But nothing could prepare them for seeing their code names grouped down at the bottom of the wall far below all their typically-developing peers.
And my little “Joe” was devastated. He would not pick up a book for weeks. He would not join me during prep time for days. He cried and asked me every single day during this period, “Ms. O, Am I dumb?”
I never quite knew what to tell him. At the time, I still trusted in my administrators. I believed them when they said it was important to spend hour upon hour looking at data entries. I dismissed my intuition which screamed this was wrong. I tried to convince myself that data-analysis and teaching really were the same thing. I wasn’t trying to be openly insubordinate to my bosses, but was still trying to reframe their pointless questions into conversations that would be useful. I did not yet understand a system which rewards obedience over critical-thinking and compliance over problem-solving. I actually believed that my questions and suggestions would be perceived as collaborative attempts to create better learning environments.
I wish I had had all those professional development hours to collaborate and plan with my colleagues instead learning to read endless amounts of data. I wish I could’ve asked for advice on Joe’s troubles and created better inclusive classroom environments for him. I wish my administrators cared more about the flesh-and-blood children in front of us than the endless amounts of paperwork that had to be filled out. I wish my kids were more than data points to be scotched –taped onto some wall somewhere.
My unknowing “insubordination” eventually came back to bite me. But back then, I was still too naïve to know how much that bite would sting.
Now, I’m not even talking about what most first year teacher’s experience, which is a decisively difficult year no matter where you are. (I actually think I was fairly well prepared overall, for a beginning teacher.) No, I’m talking about that nagging feeling that something is just…off.
What I saw during that year just never sat right with me. As it all unfolded, I wasn't able to put my finger on what exactly it was, but time and again I kept feeling like something was wrong. It’s funny, because now, after a couple years of getting educated in the corporate education reform agenda, I can discuss in detail every policy decision, the history of reform that led to my experiences, and debate what the flaws and holes of the reforms were with research to back it all up. But at the time, I had no words to put to the feelings I had.
I thought I’d take a few blog entries to share some of those observations. Some are funny, some are tragic, and some are so personal I haven’t fully decided if I will share them on this blog or not.
Data Lovin’
My inner-city Southside neighborhood school administration must have been one of the first to jump on board the data-worship machine. Nearly every professional development day was devoted to pouring over data sheets and computer screens. I still remember one surreal encounter with my principal where we were to have written out, color-coded, how all of our students did on the Scantron (quarterly computerized benchmark) tests. As a special education teacher, I had personally administered the tests to most of my students. I saw how they did not even bother trying to read the passages and I didn’t force them to. I knew from my own assessments that some of my 3rd-5th grade students were reading below a 1st and some even a Kindergarten level. So when a 5th grade passage popped up on the screen, I was much more concerned with keeping their spirits up than if they correctly answered the silly multiple choice questions correctly.
As I sat down for my meeting, and my principal asked how my students did, I shared my observations about the tests, and then said jokingly, “I suppose ‘Joe’ guessed a little worse the second time than the first”. I shared how the tests did not provide much meaningful information for me as a special education teacher, but then went on to share some appropriate assessments I’d done in class. I also shared the great breakthroughs I’d had with one student in particular, my little “Joe”. He had been identified very late in having a learning disability and hated reading with a passion. Since he was so embarrassed by his reading ability, I had started to tutor him privately during my prep period and he was starting try! This student was an amazing artist and loved drawing manga-style cartoon characters. So when we worked together 1:1, he and I read quite a few manga together. He was becoming motivated and was asking to take practice words home. His father even commented that he’d never seen “Joe” get so excited about school before.
But my principal was not satisfied. He asked “but how will you change your teaching practices based on these tests” and repeated the question two, three times. Each time I answered, “well, these particular tests aren’t a valid measurement…” but each time he cut me off and reread his question from his prepared sheet. I finally saw that he needed something to write in the assigned space so I answered “I will work on phonics instruction and vocabulary building” or some other inane blanket statement. He scribbled down the answer and then dismissed me.
It’s funny, because I thought I was there to have a discussion about how my students were actually progressing. I was excited to tell him about my success with “Joe”. But he was there to have a discussion about test scores.
And those Scantron tests were just the beginning. Our administrators—of course-- also had us put up data walls in the staff rooms. We spent hours and hours writing children’s names and scores on little cards, attaching them to little magnet strips, and creating our data-licious wall of wonder. But it didn't end there. Each teacher was also forced to put up classroom data walls. The children picked out their own “code name” and then every child’s scores were put up on the walls of the classrooms. I protested this move venomously, but the administration would not budge and up went all the scores on the walls of my students’ inclusion classrooms. As you can imagine, this was quite a shock for my kids. They were already terribly embarrassed about having to go to the “dumb room” (I had actually started to take other non-disabled peers into my room as a reward in order for the students with IEPs to feel it was a privilege going into Ms. Katie’s room. And this was even working for a while.) But nothing could prepare them for seeing their code names grouped down at the bottom of the wall far below all their typically-developing peers.
And my little “Joe” was devastated. He would not pick up a book for weeks. He would not join me during prep time for days. He cried and asked me every single day during this period, “Ms. O, Am I dumb?”
I never quite knew what to tell him. At the time, I still trusted in my administrators. I believed them when they said it was important to spend hour upon hour looking at data entries. I dismissed my intuition which screamed this was wrong. I tried to convince myself that data-analysis and teaching really were the same thing. I wasn’t trying to be openly insubordinate to my bosses, but was still trying to reframe their pointless questions into conversations that would be useful. I did not yet understand a system which rewards obedience over critical-thinking and compliance over problem-solving. I actually believed that my questions and suggestions would be perceived as collaborative attempts to create better learning environments.
I wish I had had all those professional development hours to collaborate and plan with my colleagues instead learning to read endless amounts of data. I wish I could’ve asked for advice on Joe’s troubles and created better inclusive classroom environments for him. I wish my administrators cared more about the flesh-and-blood children in front of us than the endless amounts of paperwork that had to be filled out. I wish my kids were more than data points to be scotched –taped onto some wall somewhere.
My unknowing “insubordination” eventually came back to bite me. But back then, I was still too naïve to know how much that bite would sting.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Dear Mr. Mayor: Why I Will Not Teach in Your Schools
Dear Mr. Rahm Emanuel,
I am a teacher. For the past few years, I have been toying with the idea of returning to work in the Chicago Public Schools. I am a special education teacher with extensive experience teaching children and adolescents with behavioral/emotional disabilities, have a Masters degree with dual certification in special and elementary education, as well as six years experience teaching overseas. I became a teacher with the express purpose of teaching at-risk youth here in my home city of Chicago.
But I refuse to teach in your schools.
I refuse to teach in a school which your appointed Board purposefully starves in order to justify closure and privatization. I cannot watch the savage inequalities of school funding play out in children’s lives.
I refuse to administer standardized tests to children with special needs over and over and over again. I did that once in a school, and I consider it immoral forcing a child who is having panic attacks, crying, flipping desks in frustration to take a test far above the level we know that child is currently learning. And all for the purpose of judging, sorting, and punishing.
I refuse to teach the scripted curriculum forced on your teachers. My students need creative, responsive, individualized instruction. Not canned test-prep.
I refuse to let my skin color and lack of experience in the system allow you to force out my African-American veteran colleagues whose wisdom and experience my students cannot do without.
I refuse to be turned into a number. I will not let you turn some meaningless test score into an equally meaningless statistic about my value as a teacher. I want to be evaluated on my creativity and compassion in reaching every one of my students. I want to be measured in the smiles of my students as my reluctant readers shout out excitedly “when is reading time?” I want to be measured by the questions my students ask rather the multiple choice they answer.
I refuse to be paid according to that meaningless number. I want to be paid for my accumulated knowledge and loyalty to a school and community. I want to foster collaboration—not competition—with my colleagues as we work as a team to figure out each precious puzzle placed in our care.
I refuse to abandon my students with special needs. Your schools will likely fire the teachers who choose to work with the fragile, unpredictable children with disabilities, or any other traditionally low-scoring students such as children whose native tongue is not English. My students are a joy. They are so much more than a test score.
I refuse to be a part of the criminalization of my students, especially the African-American young men I work with. Many of these children tell me stories of their lives and I believe they have every right to be angry. Angry at how their fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunties, and friends have been treated by this racist society. Angry at how their communities have been purposefully thrown away. Angry at the lack of opportunity, jobs, and even basic health care. They have a voice, and I will not silence it with suspensions, expulsions, and zero tolerance discipline practices.
I refuse to teach too many children at once. I suppose once we have reduced children down to a number, there is no end as to how many we can squeeze into one room. But I want to foster individual, caring relationships with each child and their families. And that takes time.
And speaking of time, I refuse to work in a place with so little respect for mine. Your longer school day will not be better without extra resources and staff. Most of what a great teacher does happens behind the scenes, in the planning and preparation and collaboration with colleagues. If you take that away from teachers, you will not get better learning. And in many cases, the experience of school will become even more boring and dreary for our students.
Your longer school day and new evaluation system were the last straw. I will not go back into your schools. I cannot go back because I know that I will become complicit in nothing short of child abuse.
Mr. Mayor, I suspect that there are many teachers out there thinking the same thing as me. Your destructive policies will drive great teachers away in droves.
That is of course, unless teachers actually stand up to the bully and say “no more”. Chicago teachers, I stand with you, and will become one of you again, as soon as we take back our schools. We have to...for our students.
And I refuse to go back to anything less than a revolution.
I am a teacher. For the past few years, I have been toying with the idea of returning to work in the Chicago Public Schools. I am a special education teacher with extensive experience teaching children and adolescents with behavioral/emotional disabilities, have a Masters degree with dual certification in special and elementary education, as well as six years experience teaching overseas. I became a teacher with the express purpose of teaching at-risk youth here in my home city of Chicago.
But I refuse to teach in your schools.
I refuse to teach in a school which your appointed Board purposefully starves in order to justify closure and privatization. I cannot watch the savage inequalities of school funding play out in children’s lives.
I refuse to administer standardized tests to children with special needs over and over and over again. I did that once in a school, and I consider it immoral forcing a child who is having panic attacks, crying, flipping desks in frustration to take a test far above the level we know that child is currently learning. And all for the purpose of judging, sorting, and punishing.
I refuse to teach the scripted curriculum forced on your teachers. My students need creative, responsive, individualized instruction. Not canned test-prep.
I refuse to let my skin color and lack of experience in the system allow you to force out my African-American veteran colleagues whose wisdom and experience my students cannot do without.
I refuse to be turned into a number. I will not let you turn some meaningless test score into an equally meaningless statistic about my value as a teacher. I want to be evaluated on my creativity and compassion in reaching every one of my students. I want to be measured in the smiles of my students as my reluctant readers shout out excitedly “when is reading time?” I want to be measured by the questions my students ask rather the multiple choice they answer.
I refuse to be paid according to that meaningless number. I want to be paid for my accumulated knowledge and loyalty to a school and community. I want to foster collaboration—not competition—with my colleagues as we work as a team to figure out each precious puzzle placed in our care.
I refuse to abandon my students with special needs. Your schools will likely fire the teachers who choose to work with the fragile, unpredictable children with disabilities, or any other traditionally low-scoring students such as children whose native tongue is not English. My students are a joy. They are so much more than a test score.
I refuse to be a part of the criminalization of my students, especially the African-American young men I work with. Many of these children tell me stories of their lives and I believe they have every right to be angry. Angry at how their fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunties, and friends have been treated by this racist society. Angry at how their communities have been purposefully thrown away. Angry at the lack of opportunity, jobs, and even basic health care. They have a voice, and I will not silence it with suspensions, expulsions, and zero tolerance discipline practices.
I refuse to teach too many children at once. I suppose once we have reduced children down to a number, there is no end as to how many we can squeeze into one room. But I want to foster individual, caring relationships with each child and their families. And that takes time.
And speaking of time, I refuse to work in a place with so little respect for mine. Your longer school day will not be better without extra resources and staff. Most of what a great teacher does happens behind the scenes, in the planning and preparation and collaboration with colleagues. If you take that away from teachers, you will not get better learning. And in many cases, the experience of school will become even more boring and dreary for our students.
Your longer school day and new evaluation system were the last straw. I will not go back into your schools. I cannot go back because I know that I will become complicit in nothing short of child abuse.
Mr. Mayor, I suspect that there are many teachers out there thinking the same thing as me. Your destructive policies will drive great teachers away in droves.
That is of course, unless teachers actually stand up to the bully and say “no more”. Chicago teachers, I stand with you, and will become one of you again, as soon as we take back our schools. We have to...for our students.
And I refuse to go back to anything less than a revolution.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
It Just Ain’t Right
I had a mini-break down at my work this week. I walked in the door and immediately broke into tears. I’m just sick of…well, everything. For those of you who don’t know, I work as a teacher on an inpatient psychiatry unit for children and adolescents. I came to this job because I was disgusted by what I saw in my grossly underfunded and intentionally neglected inner-city school in Chicago. And for a while, working on an inpatient psych unit was better. I had the staff and support to reach my kids, the autonomy to teach high-interest subjects, and the flexibility to try to innovate and experiment in my teaching techniques and lesson ideas. The kids had really tough behaviors, but I got to be a part in helping these kids succeed.
The past few months however, something has shifted at my workplace. When I first started, we always had an ebb and flow to our patient census. The numbers would be high for a few weeks, maybe a month, then would cycle lower. The busy weeks were hard and stressful, but then a light week would hit and we could all take a moment to breath.
We have not had a light week in over six months.
Something has changed out there in the world. Too much has been cut. Too many intermediary services are gone. And Medicaid is being outsourced to crappy managed care companies so children are getting fewer days to recover in a hospital before they are kicked out. And at my for-profit hospital, they refuse to spend money on more staff. There isn’t enough space. There isn’t enough support. And the kids are getting sicker with fewer and fewer resources to help them before they are in crisis.
And my students’ schools aren’t helping. Schools as test prep factories provide few incentives for my students to get engaged in education. Add to that the fact that many of my kids are being treated like criminals in school. School has become a cold, unwelcoming place for too many young people. And so they seek out other, risky, self-destructive ways to fill their time.
And this past week, for some reason, it hit me so clearly. If my hospital served a majority of middle or upper class white children, we would have better funding. We would have better staffing ratios. We would provide better treatment. It is because my hospital works with mainly low-income Black and Hispanic young people that we can get away with not spending enough on patient care. If we served more white kids, things would not be this hard. We would have abundant resources, we would have ample staffing, we would have beautiful facilities. But we don’t.
The other day, I had a thought which absolutely sickened me. I saw a white parent of a patient who goes to a high-class private school step off the elevator--every now and then we get upper-class kids, although they tend to be transferred out pretty quickly--and I was embarrassed. And I thought “wait, why am I not embarrassed when every parent steps off the elevator?” Don’t ALL children deserve the best care we can possibly provide? And yet, in our society, we are somehow conditioned that it’s ok for some kids to get crumbling, disgusting facilities and minimal services while others are entitled to top-notch supports.
It’s the same as the schools. If your school serves mostly brown or black children, then the powers that be know they can get away with investing the least amount of resources. Any complaint from community or parents can easily be dismissed as “noise”, since we all know no one listens to people from those communities anyway (right, Mayor Emanuel?)
And the so-called “education reformers” just make things worse. They take the already limited funds and push them towards private pockets. They invest in charters and turnaround schools which don’t serve all students. For-profit health care gives us a glimpse at what education will soon become if the corporations and billionaire philanthropists have their way in destroying public education. The inequality will be worse than ever.
I believe it’s time to get angry about this status quo—the status quo that says local and unequal funding of schools is just fine. The status quo that says the communities, families, and children which need the most services can make do with crappy second-rate care. Right this moment, there is an occupation of a mental health clinic on Chicago’s south side. We the people must DEMAND more services in actions like this one.
I am horribly embarrassed by my reaction to that white parent. We must expose the inequalities that are so common place we don’t even notice them anymore. We must stand up, in solidarity, to corporations and bureaucracies that are getting away with savage inequalities based solely on zip code or race. And only a massive people’s movement will change this disgusting, unequal status quo.
The past few months however, something has shifted at my workplace. When I first started, we always had an ebb and flow to our patient census. The numbers would be high for a few weeks, maybe a month, then would cycle lower. The busy weeks were hard and stressful, but then a light week would hit and we could all take a moment to breath.
We have not had a light week in over six months.
Something has changed out there in the world. Too much has been cut. Too many intermediary services are gone. And Medicaid is being outsourced to crappy managed care companies so children are getting fewer days to recover in a hospital before they are kicked out. And at my for-profit hospital, they refuse to spend money on more staff. There isn’t enough space. There isn’t enough support. And the kids are getting sicker with fewer and fewer resources to help them before they are in crisis.
And my students’ schools aren’t helping. Schools as test prep factories provide few incentives for my students to get engaged in education. Add to that the fact that many of my kids are being treated like criminals in school. School has become a cold, unwelcoming place for too many young people. And so they seek out other, risky, self-destructive ways to fill their time.
And this past week, for some reason, it hit me so clearly. If my hospital served a majority of middle or upper class white children, we would have better funding. We would have better staffing ratios. We would provide better treatment. It is because my hospital works with mainly low-income Black and Hispanic young people that we can get away with not spending enough on patient care. If we served more white kids, things would not be this hard. We would have abundant resources, we would have ample staffing, we would have beautiful facilities. But we don’t.
The other day, I had a thought which absolutely sickened me. I saw a white parent of a patient who goes to a high-class private school step off the elevator--every now and then we get upper-class kids, although they tend to be transferred out pretty quickly--and I was embarrassed. And I thought “wait, why am I not embarrassed when every parent steps off the elevator?” Don’t ALL children deserve the best care we can possibly provide? And yet, in our society, we are somehow conditioned that it’s ok for some kids to get crumbling, disgusting facilities and minimal services while others are entitled to top-notch supports.
It’s the same as the schools. If your school serves mostly brown or black children, then the powers that be know they can get away with investing the least amount of resources. Any complaint from community or parents can easily be dismissed as “noise”, since we all know no one listens to people from those communities anyway (right, Mayor Emanuel?)
And the so-called “education reformers” just make things worse. They take the already limited funds and push them towards private pockets. They invest in charters and turnaround schools which don’t serve all students. For-profit health care gives us a glimpse at what education will soon become if the corporations and billionaire philanthropists have their way in destroying public education. The inequality will be worse than ever.
I believe it’s time to get angry about this status quo—the status quo that says local and unequal funding of schools is just fine. The status quo that says the communities, families, and children which need the most services can make do with crappy second-rate care. Right this moment, there is an occupation of a mental health clinic on Chicago’s south side. We the people must DEMAND more services in actions like this one.
I am horribly embarrassed by my reaction to that white parent. We must expose the inequalities that are so common place we don’t even notice them anymore. We must stand up, in solidarity, to corporations and bureaucracies that are getting away with savage inequalities based solely on zip code or race. And only a massive people’s movement will change this disgusting, unequal status quo.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
What If Charter Schools Did What They Were Intended to Do?
As I continue to meet dozens and dozens of charter school students from across Chicago, I am continually reminded how different the charter schools are from their nearby public neighborhood schools. Working in a psychiatric facility means all the students I meet have some sort of mental health problem. And yet, a vast majority of the children I meet from the charters have either mild, or inward-focused disabilities such as depression or anxiety. Their learning problems are minimal and they have overwhelmingly been strong students academically. Many have only just begun to attend charters so, for the most part, I do not credit the schools themselves with this difference. These kids are the ones who already are good students with minimal behavior issues.
And I wonder, instead of skimming away these high-performing students, what if charter schools had followed the original intention of their creation? What if these schools had targeted not the best test-takers, or kids who with just a little push could be great test-takers (since test-taking is the only metric anyone seems to care about these days), but instead focused on the ones who were about to dropout, the ones who had a history of behavior problems, the ones who disrupted the learning of all the other students and took up the time of the teachers, the ones who are over-represented in Special Education, the ones who were truly struggling in the public schools?
And I imagine the charters as using flexibility in curriculum, staffing, and the use of funds to create truly innovative places of learning. They would be schools with various extra-curriculars to keep kids engaged, extra staff support to reach this tougher group of kids, innovative use of technology, services to reach out to kids already involved with gangs or with substance abuse issues, special programs for kids in the juvenile justice system or even the foster care system, flexible start and end times to encourage students to actually attend school regularly, vocational training opportunities including partnerships with local businesses and industries, and more. Charters could become an alternative to oppressive alternative schools.
In the meantime, the neighborhood school would feel supported and be better able to do a job educating the students who could succeed under a more traditional version of school. There are plenty of children living in low-income neighborhoods who have supportive home lives and who are ready to be challenged academically. But thanks to the effects of poverty, there are MORE students who suffer from debilitating behavior and learning challenges. It matters that some children are not receiving proper nutrition. It matters that more children are being exposed to substances in utero. It matters that children are growing up watching extreme violence on their streets and experiencing post-traumatic stress as a result. It matters that families cannot find employment and children suffer from the daily stress of unstable living conditions. It matters that children are being thrust into bouts of homelessness and the chaotic lives that ensue. If charter schools stepped up to help THESE kids, they ones I meet every day at my work—the ones who are difficult even for a staff of highly-trained professionals-- they would be doing a huge service to communities and public schools. Charter schools would be SUPPORTING neighborhood schools by focusing attention and resources on the kids who truly needed it.
Somehow, the vast majority of charter schools (with some exceptions, no doubt) focus all their attention on kids who already can “cut it”. They claim they have solved the puzzle of low-income schools. I’m sorry, but just because your student population is made up of children from low-income backgrounds and students of color, does NOT mean they are the struggling students. Poverty does matter, but it impacts families and individuals differently.
I look at my students at the hospital. The neighborhood schools are truly working with a tougher bunch of kids. Some of them will eventually be transferred (after many meetings, a whole lot of paperwork, and a lot of pushing and advocating) to therapeutic day schools or alternative schools. But there are not nearly enough schools like this to accommodate all the children with significant problems in school. And unlike the successful charters, the neighborhood schools don’t get two teachers and an aide in a class of under 20 kids (See Harlem Children’s Zone Promise Academies.) In fact, as their stronger performers are siphoned away to the charters along with their funding, they will have even less to offer the students left behind.
Charters could’ve really helped my toughest kids. These kids deserve a fighting chance at a good education. Instead, somewhere in the twisted logic of current education reform, they are being given less than ever before. And it makes me ill.
I still don’t believe charters would be a panacea even if they took up their original mission. And I worry about segregating out students with greater needs and not addressing the funding inequalities and racial isolation of these schools and communities, but at least they would not be making things WORSE for the neighborhood schools. I truly believe many charter school teachers and even some leaders think they are doing something good. But I tell you, from where I stand, charter schools are taking part in denying the most fragile children quality education. If only charters could reclaim the mission of helping the kids that need it the most. If only charters weren't "in competition" for the strongest students and best test scores. If only charters weren't dividing communities and parents who now need to fight for ever dwindling resources. Perhaps then, in solidarity, all educators and parents—charter and neighborhood alike--could continue the fight together for true equity for ALL children.
And I wonder, instead of skimming away these high-performing students, what if charter schools had followed the original intention of their creation? What if these schools had targeted not the best test-takers, or kids who with just a little push could be great test-takers (since test-taking is the only metric anyone seems to care about these days), but instead focused on the ones who were about to dropout, the ones who had a history of behavior problems, the ones who disrupted the learning of all the other students and took up the time of the teachers, the ones who are over-represented in Special Education, the ones who were truly struggling in the public schools?
And I imagine the charters as using flexibility in curriculum, staffing, and the use of funds to create truly innovative places of learning. They would be schools with various extra-curriculars to keep kids engaged, extra staff support to reach this tougher group of kids, innovative use of technology, services to reach out to kids already involved with gangs or with substance abuse issues, special programs for kids in the juvenile justice system or even the foster care system, flexible start and end times to encourage students to actually attend school regularly, vocational training opportunities including partnerships with local businesses and industries, and more. Charters could become an alternative to oppressive alternative schools.
In the meantime, the neighborhood school would feel supported and be better able to do a job educating the students who could succeed under a more traditional version of school. There are plenty of children living in low-income neighborhoods who have supportive home lives and who are ready to be challenged academically. But thanks to the effects of poverty, there are MORE students who suffer from debilitating behavior and learning challenges. It matters that some children are not receiving proper nutrition. It matters that more children are being exposed to substances in utero. It matters that children are growing up watching extreme violence on their streets and experiencing post-traumatic stress as a result. It matters that families cannot find employment and children suffer from the daily stress of unstable living conditions. It matters that children are being thrust into bouts of homelessness and the chaotic lives that ensue. If charter schools stepped up to help THESE kids, they ones I meet every day at my work—the ones who are difficult even for a staff of highly-trained professionals-- they would be doing a huge service to communities and public schools. Charter schools would be SUPPORTING neighborhood schools by focusing attention and resources on the kids who truly needed it.
Somehow, the vast majority of charter schools (with some exceptions, no doubt) focus all their attention on kids who already can “cut it”. They claim they have solved the puzzle of low-income schools. I’m sorry, but just because your student population is made up of children from low-income backgrounds and students of color, does NOT mean they are the struggling students. Poverty does matter, but it impacts families and individuals differently.
I look at my students at the hospital. The neighborhood schools are truly working with a tougher bunch of kids. Some of them will eventually be transferred (after many meetings, a whole lot of paperwork, and a lot of pushing and advocating) to therapeutic day schools or alternative schools. But there are not nearly enough schools like this to accommodate all the children with significant problems in school. And unlike the successful charters, the neighborhood schools don’t get two teachers and an aide in a class of under 20 kids (See Harlem Children’s Zone Promise Academies.) In fact, as their stronger performers are siphoned away to the charters along with their funding, they will have even less to offer the students left behind.
Charters could’ve really helped my toughest kids. These kids deserve a fighting chance at a good education. Instead, somewhere in the twisted logic of current education reform, they are being given less than ever before. And it makes me ill.
I still don’t believe charters would be a panacea even if they took up their original mission. And I worry about segregating out students with greater needs and not addressing the funding inequalities and racial isolation of these schools and communities, but at least they would not be making things WORSE for the neighborhood schools. I truly believe many charter school teachers and even some leaders think they are doing something good. But I tell you, from where I stand, charter schools are taking part in denying the most fragile children quality education. If only charters could reclaim the mission of helping the kids that need it the most. If only charters weren't "in competition" for the strongest students and best test scores. If only charters weren't dividing communities and parents who now need to fight for ever dwindling resources. Perhaps then, in solidarity, all educators and parents—charter and neighborhood alike--could continue the fight together for true equity for ALL children.
Monday, March 12, 2012
We Have No Idea “What Works”
I’ve been thinking a lot about the phrase “we know what works” which is often repeated by corporate education reformers such as Wendy Kopp and Geoffrey Canada. Yesterday, I read the latest blog post by veteran math teacher and TFA alum Gary Rubinstein. He warns TFA novices that “If you’re about to begin your career as a TFA teacher, I think you will take your job much more seriously if you know that you are about to attempt something that nobody has really figured out how to conquer yet.”
And the idea that “nobody has really figured [it] out” really struck a chord. As someone who works with some of the toughest kids--kids with significant behavior problems, severe learning disabilities, histories of trauma, abuse, and neglect, cognitive and developmental delays, and mental health problems--I leave my job many days thinking “Wow, I don’t know how to reach that kid.”
Guys, we have no idea how to teach these kids. Most get placed (eventually) in special education (thus the higher numbers of low-income minority children in Sped). Some get further segregated into therapeutic day schools. I’ve visited and worked in many different settings in the spectrum. Inclusion or self-contained, special school or mainstreamed, I am not convinced any of our current ideas really work for a large chunk of kids. I don’t even think that special education is what I am doing many days. It’s more like “chaotic impoverished environment control”.
All I know is this: the best that seems to be out there requires a heck of a lot of resources, really really really small (and I would add mixed-ability) classes, an excess number of adults of various specialties, and a whole big bunch of flexibility and creativity.
More than anything, I worry about segregating these kids into separate classrooms or institutions. In my hospital, we often get the most challenging kids from their respective schools. Imagine that one student who everyone in their school building knows as “the problem kid” all concentrated together in one place. Believe me, there are some days life gets pretty interesting in my classroom. But one of the saving graces about my classroom is that there are usually a number of peers with positive behaviors mixed in. At a mental health facility, we get a number of patients who are extremely depressed or sometimes suicidal, but often very strong academically and behaviorally.
The other big saving grace is of course the extra staff support. Having to run a classroom alone with the kids I work with would be, well, impossible. I often joke that in order to find sanity, I had to work in a mental institution. Before working as a teacher in a psychiatric hospital, I worked in a 99% low-income, 100% African-American elementary school on the south side of Chicago as a special education teacher. Without the resources, staff, or assistive technology to run an effective special education program, those kids were being seriously denied the opportunity to learn. And then to add to that, one of our special ed teachers was a first-year alternative certification teacher who was absolutely unprepared for the task. The Gen Ed teachers had far too many children in their classrooms to do inclusion effectively and our resource room became a dumping ground warehousing any student with behavior problems. And I learned the hard way that no untenured teacher should EVER point out how criminally inadequate the education we were providing these kids was much less try and change it.
Which is why I am absolutely appalled that ed reformers are turning to charters to save the day. In my job, students cycle in and out of the program with an average stay of only about a week or two. We have a forty bed unit serving ages 4-17 so I have worked with literally hundreds and hundreds of kids from around Chicago and the surrounding suburbs. First, I have met countless children with behavior problems who have been told to leave the charter school they were attending. No surprise there as this push-out phenomenon is fairly well reported. All I have to add is that I meet A LOT of these kids, many from the high-profile charter chains here in Chicago.
But there is an even stranger part of the story. Of the children I work with who still go to charters, I have noticed a disturbing trend. Almost without exception, the charter school students with IEPs (or without, but who are being hospitalized for psychiatric issues) are academically strong students who are suffering from depression, anxiety, or suicidal ideation. Yes, they officially have “disabilities” (whatever that means), but they are the types of problems which do not affect the rest of the class. They are also the types of problems where, with the right supports, these young people can generally be successful academically.
I really need to do some more research into this phenomenon of “selective disabilities”, but for now let me say that charter schools are very careful to “protect” their learning environments. And I do get that. Without the right resources and supports, the kids with behavior problems are really really hard to work with and to reach. But then why do we throw the burden onto the neighborhood schools which are receiving even less? I have been to the charters in this city. They have more. They could take more of the toughest kids. But they don’t.
Which is why it scares me when people say, “we know what works.” I don’t think we know much at all. Charters have certainly figured out ways to make certain kids sit down and be quiet. And the good charters use that control over the student body to create positive learning environments, at least for the students who can “cut it.”
But I don’t call helping kids at the expense of other children a “success”. I’m sorry, but I don’t want my behavior kids segregated out of opportunity. If all the money, power, and influence is being pumped into charters then I want my students to get some of that! Plus, these kids suffer when they are in classrooms concentrated with negative behaviors, all because no one wanted to invest in the types of supports like small classes, tutors, social workers, and aides that might have given them a fighting chance.
I challenge any of those “We know what works” people to visit my classroom. I want Wendy Kopp and her husband to come to my classroom and try some of their favorite KIPP strategies. Bring that TFA binder too. And good luck with that. I hope they don’t mind having a chair thrown at them while getting cussed out by an 8-year old. (Don’t worry Wendy, I’ll step in and help the child calm. Like most decent teachers, I won’t sit back and let someone else figure out “what works” on an innocent child. For his sake, I’ll help you out.)
We don’t really know what works because every child is different. And the people who think we’ve figured it all out have probably not spent much time with the kids I work with. But we do know some things that help, just most of them require more money. A lot more money. I think the bigger question is not “what works” but how much we are willing to spend on these kids. The answer? Plenty…for their prison cells.
And the idea that “nobody has really figured [it] out” really struck a chord. As someone who works with some of the toughest kids--kids with significant behavior problems, severe learning disabilities, histories of trauma, abuse, and neglect, cognitive and developmental delays, and mental health problems--I leave my job many days thinking “Wow, I don’t know how to reach that kid.”
Guys, we have no idea how to teach these kids. Most get placed (eventually) in special education (thus the higher numbers of low-income minority children in Sped). Some get further segregated into therapeutic day schools. I’ve visited and worked in many different settings in the spectrum. Inclusion or self-contained, special school or mainstreamed, I am not convinced any of our current ideas really work for a large chunk of kids. I don’t even think that special education is what I am doing many days. It’s more like “chaotic impoverished environment control”.
All I know is this: the best that seems to be out there requires a heck of a lot of resources, really really really small (and I would add mixed-ability) classes, an excess number of adults of various specialties, and a whole big bunch of flexibility and creativity.
More than anything, I worry about segregating these kids into separate classrooms or institutions. In my hospital, we often get the most challenging kids from their respective schools. Imagine that one student who everyone in their school building knows as “the problem kid” all concentrated together in one place. Believe me, there are some days life gets pretty interesting in my classroom. But one of the saving graces about my classroom is that there are usually a number of peers with positive behaviors mixed in. At a mental health facility, we get a number of patients who are extremely depressed or sometimes suicidal, but often very strong academically and behaviorally.
The other big saving grace is of course the extra staff support. Having to run a classroom alone with the kids I work with would be, well, impossible. I often joke that in order to find sanity, I had to work in a mental institution. Before working as a teacher in a psychiatric hospital, I worked in a 99% low-income, 100% African-American elementary school on the south side of Chicago as a special education teacher. Without the resources, staff, or assistive technology to run an effective special education program, those kids were being seriously denied the opportunity to learn. And then to add to that, one of our special ed teachers was a first-year alternative certification teacher who was absolutely unprepared for the task. The Gen Ed teachers had far too many children in their classrooms to do inclusion effectively and our resource room became a dumping ground warehousing any student with behavior problems. And I learned the hard way that no untenured teacher should EVER point out how criminally inadequate the education we were providing these kids was much less try and change it.
Which is why I am absolutely appalled that ed reformers are turning to charters to save the day. In my job, students cycle in and out of the program with an average stay of only about a week or two. We have a forty bed unit serving ages 4-17 so I have worked with literally hundreds and hundreds of kids from around Chicago and the surrounding suburbs. First, I have met countless children with behavior problems who have been told to leave the charter school they were attending. No surprise there as this push-out phenomenon is fairly well reported. All I have to add is that I meet A LOT of these kids, many from the high-profile charter chains here in Chicago.
But there is an even stranger part of the story. Of the children I work with who still go to charters, I have noticed a disturbing trend. Almost without exception, the charter school students with IEPs (or without, but who are being hospitalized for psychiatric issues) are academically strong students who are suffering from depression, anxiety, or suicidal ideation. Yes, they officially have “disabilities” (whatever that means), but they are the types of problems which do not affect the rest of the class. They are also the types of problems where, with the right supports, these young people can generally be successful academically.
I really need to do some more research into this phenomenon of “selective disabilities”, but for now let me say that charter schools are very careful to “protect” their learning environments. And I do get that. Without the right resources and supports, the kids with behavior problems are really really hard to work with and to reach. But then why do we throw the burden onto the neighborhood schools which are receiving even less? I have been to the charters in this city. They have more. They could take more of the toughest kids. But they don’t.
Which is why it scares me when people say, “we know what works.” I don’t think we know much at all. Charters have certainly figured out ways to make certain kids sit down and be quiet. And the good charters use that control over the student body to create positive learning environments, at least for the students who can “cut it.”
But I don’t call helping kids at the expense of other children a “success”. I’m sorry, but I don’t want my behavior kids segregated out of opportunity. If all the money, power, and influence is being pumped into charters then I want my students to get some of that! Plus, these kids suffer when they are in classrooms concentrated with negative behaviors, all because no one wanted to invest in the types of supports like small classes, tutors, social workers, and aides that might have given them a fighting chance.
I challenge any of those “We know what works” people to visit my classroom. I want Wendy Kopp and her husband to come to my classroom and try some of their favorite KIPP strategies. Bring that TFA binder too. And good luck with that. I hope they don’t mind having a chair thrown at them while getting cussed out by an 8-year old. (Don’t worry Wendy, I’ll step in and help the child calm. Like most decent teachers, I won’t sit back and let someone else figure out “what works” on an innocent child. For his sake, I’ll help you out.)
We don’t really know what works because every child is different. And the people who think we’ve figured it all out have probably not spent much time with the kids I work with. But we do know some things that help, just most of them require more money. A lot more money. I think the bigger question is not “what works” but how much we are willing to spend on these kids. The answer? Plenty…for their prison cells.
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