Legitimizing Education Reform

I've been thinking a lot about education reform and the Common Core lately.  I had a very interesting and enlightening conversation recently with someone who has some perspective from inside the system, and it's got me thinking.

So much of the debate about education reform is entirely unproductive.  Everyone has already decided what's right (themselves) and what's wrong (the other guy) and is simply shouting pre-canned arguments at the other side.  Okay, that state of affairs is not unique to education, but education is what I've been thinking about lately.

Maybe it's because I've got one kid who's out of public school and off at college, experiencing that very, very different environment.  Maybe it's because I've still got another kid in middle school who's dealing with common core math.  Since we need to help him with that math, I'm learning Common Core math, too.  And it seems strange to me.  Precise terminology.  Oddly specific phrasing.  But I'm starting to learn.

Anyway, I've been looking (as I'm prone to do) for the structural elements of the debate that, if repaired, could change the conversation for the productive.  I came across a discussion of the legitimacy (and effectiveness) of authority in Malcolm Gladwell's David and Goliath, and found that it clicked for me.  Specifically, it gave me some insight on why the rollout of the common core in NY has been so rough (at least in part):

This is called the "principle of legitimacy," and legitimacy is based on three things.  First of all, the people who are asked to obey authority have to feel like they have a voice -- that if they speak up, they will be heard.  Second, the law has to be predictable.  There has to be a reasonable expectation that the rules tomorrow are going to be roughly the same as the rules today.  And third, the authority has to be fair.  It can't treat one group differently from another. (ch 7 pp 207-208)

 What the state has done with respect to education reform in the past few years has violated all three of these things.

1. When criticisms of reform, testing regimes, and new standards have voiced their objections, they have frequently been blown off.  They've been told that they're being obstructionist, that they don't want accountability, or whatever, rather than acknowledging the valid portions of their concerns and engaged to discuss.  The teachers, the parents, even the administrators feel like they don't have a voice.
2. The rules are far from predictable.  The most egregious example of this is Cuomo's recent proposal to change the basis of teacher ratings based purely on the fact that the old system failed to flunk enough teachers.
3. The lack of fairness is a bit more subtle.  If all teachers are subjected to the same APPR, then it's fair, right?  Unless in fact the assessment ratings are dependent on a lot of factors that very widely between schools and school districts.  If the results of the assessments were in fact dependent solely on a teachers ability and performance as a teacher, then they would be fair.  However, there are so many external factors (income/poverty being the big one, but far from the only one) that drive the results just as much that there is no way it can be fair unless you have formulae that are so complex and convoluted that nobody could understand them.

As a result of this, Cuomo's legitimacy is compromised.  And as Gladwell points out, "when the law is applied in the absence of legitimacy, it does not produce obedience.  It produces the opposite.  It leads to backlash" (p. 222) Unfortunately, Cuomo's reaction to having his authority challenged seems to be to double down and declare war on the teacher's union.  If he was handling things properly, the teachers could be his ally in this effort, rather than an enemy. To get there, he'd need to swallow some of his ego and make some concessions.  He'd need to actually listen to people's concern.  He'd need to stop changing the rules of engagement capriciously.  And he'd need to open up discussion of the deeply flawed funding model that plagues public education in this state.

With that, and with a corresponding willingness on the part of teachers, parents, and districts to accept standards and accountability, we might start having a productive (if still difficult) conversation.

Failure

Dear Trumansburg Central School District:

Please, allow my daughter to fail. Allow my son to fail, too.  He might need it even more. In fact, while we're at it, I'd like all of the children in our district to be allowed to fail.

Sincerely,

Christopher Manly
Parent

What? Are you crazy?

I had an interesting chat with my daughter the other day, and it led to an insight for me. She was expressing frustration that on every project and paper and assignment, her teachers are generally walking her (and her classmates) through every step. By her description, she gets the assignment, assesses it, and then thinks, "Okay, I know how to do this."  And then, as the teacher walks everyone through what's needed, she starts to get frustrated and deflated.  What good does it do her to know how to do an assignment on her own when she won't be allowed to exercise her knowledge?  What good does it do her to be able to work independently if she's never allowed to work independently?

She's terrified that she'll get to college and not be able to write an essay on her own, because she feels like she's never been given the chance to try it in high school. That, my friends, is a problem.

As I thought about it a bit, I realized that we're in the midst of a cultural trend that is trying to eliminate the possibility of failure across the board. What else could be implied by the name "No Child Left Behind"? Education isn't the only place this is happening, but I think it's where it's the most noticeable. By trying to ensure that nobody falls behind, that nobody fails, we are diluting the meaning of success.

When I started my college career, my intended major was computer science.  Why?  Well, I'd done a lot with computers, I was comfortable with them.  I'd done programming.  I was "the computer guy." Everyone knew that, and nobody questioned it, least of all, me.  At the time, comp sci was really the only major that seemed to fit, and I didn't even look around for anything else. My first year went pretty smoothly, but in the fall semester of my second year, I failed linear algebra.

That made me stop and think.

I knew I could re-take it, and that if I dug in and worked more at it (I'll full well admit that my attention was not focused on it as it should have been) I could have passed the course and continued on down the road to being a computer scientist.

Except that I didn't want to.  I had no desire to re-take that class.  The math wasn't interesting to me, and I was losing interest in comp sci.

I ended up changing majors to Science and Technology Studies, an interdisciplinary humanities major focusing on the history, philosophy, and sociology of science and technology.  It was interesting, I could recycle some of my existing coursework towards the major and finish it on time.  I also got a job doing computer support in a departmental IT shop so I could start building a resume.  That was when I started to learn the difference between IT work (which I like) and computer science (which I don't).  In the end, that led me down the road of what has thus far been a successful, interesting, and dynamic career in IT.

What would have happened to me if I had not been allowed to fail?  I wonder.  I might have bailed out of comp sci anyway.  I'm not sure. But I do know that getting that 'F' was a turning point for me, and I have no regrets about the path I found in part as a result of it.

I also know that these days, I'm a lot more attracted to a challenge that has a certain amount of risk than something I know I can do.  If it's something that I know how to do, and I have no doubts that I can do it, it's a lot less engaging.

Now let me go back to my daughter's experience in school, where this all started.  We have a problem with students not being engaged in their schooling.  They feel like what they're doing isn't relevant to real life and won't help them when they get out of school. My daughter it itching to be done with high school and to move on to college, and at the same time is afraid that she's not prepared for it.  The classes that she's required to sit through are neither preparing her for the next stage, nor letting her prepare herself.  No wonder she's frustrated.

We need to stop walking kids through the same rote exercises.  We need to let the step out on their own, with real risk of failure, while the stakes are still low enough that they can recover gracefully and move on to success.  Will some fall behind?  Yes.  Will some go on much faster and farther? Yes.  Will some drop out completely?  Probably, but that happens now anyway.  Will most students be more engaged and challenged?  I think so.

It's time to start letting people fail again, so that they can start to succeed.