Why Kids Love (and Hate) School : Reflections on Difference [1 ed.] 9781975500689

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The authors of Why Kids Love (and Hate) School address the following questions:

• What theories, policies, and practices lead diverse students to hate school? Love school? Feel ambivalent about school? • What might be done to create a love of school among these students as opposed to a hatred of school? Approaching these questions from a variety of perspectives, this collection consists of theoretical discussions, personal reflections, research reports, and policy suggestions sourced in the experiences of our most vulnerable students with an eye to making schools places all students might love rather than hate. The essays take up these issues from the perspectives of poverty, gender, race, ethnicity, ability, language, and religion, among others. These essays also provide practical advice for teachers and administrators—both practicing and pre-service—for making classrooms and schools spaces that would encourage our students to say, “I love school.” As teachers, administrators, university faculty, and researchers, the authors of this collection bring interesting and diverse viewpoints into the discussion.

Jones and Sheffield have adeptly and brilliantly conducted a chorus of significant voices to tell their stories of the various forces that make learning spaces either relevant sanctuaries or worthless places of physical and psychological trauma, perhaps both. I highly recommend this powerful anthology of stories to all actors interested in making schools exciting places of critical democracy and sites of curious inquiry and positive transformation. -RENÉ ANTROP-GONZALEZ, DEAN, SCHOOL OF EDUCATION, METROPOLITAN STATE UNIVERSITY

The editors and chapter authors in this volume make a valiant effort to engage an age-old realization in the United States: the idea that education is very different from “school.” If school is order and compliance and education is questioning said order and compliance, readers will be able to develop a clear understanding of the push for viable education from a grounded perspective. I am thankful to them for the constant reminder that attaining educational justice is a struggle in perpetuity.

Why Kids Love (and Hate) School

• how do contemporary educational theories, policies, and practices impact the manner in which historically marginalized students perceive their schooling experiences?

Why Kids Love (and Hate) School Reflections on Difference

-DAVID STOVALL, PH.D. EDUCATIONAL POLICY STUDIES AND AFRICAN-AMERICAN STUDIES, UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT CHICAGO

Eric C. Sheffield is Professor and Department Chair of Educational Studies at Western Illinois University in Macomb. He is also founding editor of the Academy for Educational Studies’ peer reviewed journal, Critical Questions in Education. A former English teacher in Putnam County, Florida, Sheffield received his B.A. in Philosophy from Illinois College, and his M.Ed & Ph.D from the University of Florida. $42.95 Higher Education / Public Schools / Teacher Education / Race & Diversity

ISBN 978-1-9755-0067-2

Jones & Sheffield, Eds.

Steven P. Jones is a professor in the College of Education at Missouri State University and Executive Director of the Academy for Educational Studies. He is author of Blame Teachers: The Emotional Reasons for Educational Reform—a book that investigates how and why so many people try to justify educational change by deriding the efforts and effectiveness of our public school teachers. A former high school English teacher in Jefferson County, Colorado, Jones received his B.A. in English from the University of Denver, his MA in Educational Administration from the University of Colorado (Boulder), and his Ph.D. in Curriculum and Instruction from the University of Chicago.

Edited by Steven P. Jones & Eric C. Sheffield

Praise for

Why Kids Love (and Hate) School

The editors and chapter authors in this volume make a valiant effort to engage an age-old realization in the United States: the idea that education is very different from “school.” If school is order and compliance and education is questioning said order and compliance, readers will be able to develop a clear understanding of the push for viable education from a grounded perspective. I am thankful to them for the constant reminder that attaining educational justice is a struggle in perpetuity. —David Stovall, PhD, Educational Policy Studies and African-American Studies, University of Illinois at Chicago At a time when education policy seems more influenced by think tanks than by insider knowledge of classrooms,  Why Kids Love (and Hate) School: Reflections on Difference does the necessary work of gathering perspectives from the field. The diverse teacher, researcher, and student voices that erupt from these chapters tell a multitude of stories in a cacophony of styles—in turn humorous, cajoling, indignant, intimate, academic, and more. Individually and collectively, they allow readers to experience schooling—its joys and sorrows, triumphs and tragedies—through the eyes of the students the institution was least designed to serve. —Isabel Nuñez, Professor and Chair, Department of Educational Studies, Indiana University–Purdue University Fort Wayne This compilation of perspectives drawn from experience and research offers an outstanding resource for exploring perspectives of student engagement and learning. Too often, academic discussion of the educative process centers on educator-based prescriptions of what is to be done to and with students, particularly underserved and “underachieving” students. This work provides valuable and accessible insights into how thoughtful, open exploration by teachers and teacher educators of how students experience schooling might lead to significantly improved outcomes. —Paul L Landry, PhD, Heritage University Jones and Sheffield have adeptly and brilliantly conducted a chorus of significant voices to tell their stories of the various forces that either make learning spaces either relevant sanctuaries or worthless places of physical and psychological trauma— perhaps both. I highly recommend this powerful anthology of stories to all actors interested in making schools exciting places of critical democracy and sites of curious inquiry and positive transformation. —René Antrop-Gonzalez, Dean, School of Education, Metropolitan State University

The Academy for Educational Studies Book Series Steven P. Jones and Eric C. Sheffield, Editors The Academy for Educational Studies Book Series focuses serious attention on the often-missed nexus of educational theory and educational practice. The volumes in this series, both monographs and edited collections, consider theoretical, philosophical, historical, sociological, and other conceptual orientations in light of what those orientations can tell readers about successful classroom practice and sound educational policy. In this regard, The Academy for Educational Studies Book Series aims to offer a wide array of themes, including school reform, content-specific practice, contemporary problems in higher education, the impact of technology on teaching and learning, matters of diversity, and other essential contemporary issues in educational thought and practice.

Books in the Series Why Kids Love (and Hate) School Steven P. Jones is a professor in the College of Education at Missouri State University and executive director of the Academy for Educational Studies. He is author of Blame Teachers: The Emotional Reasons for Educational Reform—a book that investigates how and why so many people try to justify educational change by deriding the efforts and effectiveness of our public school teachers. A former high school English teacher in Jefferson County, Colorado, Jones received his BA in English from the University of Denver, his MA in educational administration from the University of Colorado (Boulder), and his PhD in curriculum and instruction from the University of Chicago. Eric C. Sheffield is professor and department chair of educational studies at Western Illinois University in Macomb. He is also founding editor of the Academy for Educational Studies’ peer reviewed journal, Critical Questions in Education. A former English teacher in Putman County, Florida, Sheffield received his BA in philosophy from Illinois College, and his MEd and PhD from the University of Florida. The editors of The Academy for Educational Studies Book Series are interested in reviewing manuscripts and proposals for possible publication in the series. Scholars who wish to be considered should email their proposals, along with two sample chapters and current CVs, to the editors. For instructions and advice on preparing a prospectus, please refer to the Myers Education Press website at http://myersedpress.com/sites/stylus/MEP/Docs/Prospectus%20Guidelines%20MEP.pdf. You can send your material to: Steven P. Jones Eric C. Sheffield [email protected]

Why Kids Love (and Hate) School

Why Kids Love (and Hate) School Reflections on Difference



Edited by Steven P. Jones and Eric C. Sheffield

Copyright © 2018 | Myers Education Press, LLC Published by Myers Education Press, LLC P.O. Box 424 Gorham, ME 04038 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, and information storage and retrieval, without permission in writing from the publisher. Myers Education Press is an academic publisher specializing in books, e-books and digital content in the field of education. All of our books are subjected to a rigorous peer review process and produced in compliance with the standards of the Council on Library and Information Resources.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available from Library of Congress. 13-digit ISBN 978-1-9755-0067-2 (paperback) 13-digit ISBN 978-1-9755-0066-5 (hard cover) 13-digit ISBN 978-1-9755-0068-9 (library networkable e-edition) 13-digit ISBN 978-1-9755-0069-6 (consumer e-edition) Printed in the United States of America. All first editions printed on acid-free paper that meets the American National Standards Institute Z39-48 standard. Books published by Myers Education Press may be purchased at special quantity discount rates for groups, workshops, training organizations, and classroom usage. Please call our customer service department at 1-800-232-0223 for details. Cover design by Sophie Appel Visit us on the web at www.myersedpress.com to browse our complete list of titles.

CONTENTS

Foreword ix Laura Ruth Johnson Introduction: Why Kids Love (and Hate) School: Reflections on Difference Steven P. Jones & Eric C. Sheffield Chapter 1. “Everybody’s Listening”: When Learning Is Relevant Jesse Moya

1 9

Chapter 2. We Really Hated School: The Journey of Two Black PhDs From Alienation to Transformation De’Andre Shepard & Kalvin DaRonne Harvell

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Chapter 3. Meeting the Needs of Muslim Learners in an Islamophobic Era Parisa Meymand

39

Chapter 4. Classes Where “Kids Learn/Don’t Learn a Lot”: A Study of Mexican American Adolescents’ Voices Janine Bempechat, Margarita Jimenez-Silva, Jin Li, & Susan D. Holloway Chapter 5. The Power of Schools to Redirect Pathways: Supporting Students’ Love of Learning Across Time and Place Eréndira Rueda Chapter 6. Under the School Roof, Inside Classroom Walls: The Power of Place-Based Plot Patterns to Shape School Stories of Happiness or Humiliation for Students Kathy Carter, Amanda Sugimoto, Kathleen Stoehr, & Griff Carter Chapter 7. Kids Love a Classroom for Everyone Rob Schulze

55

77

93

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Chapter 8. Forgotten Learners: Academically Strong Kids in Struggling Schools Jeanne Carey Ingle Chapter 9. Chain Link Poetry Robin Brandehoff

126 144

Chapter 10. Alternative Education Programs: Changing Our Vantage Point Lynn Hemmer & Michael Watson

161

Chapter 11. Listening to the Voices of Our Students: A Framework for Engagement in Science Rachelle A. Haroldson

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Chapter 12. Restorative Practices: Beyond Sensitization to Building Skills and Organizational Change Robert C. Chalwell Jr.

191

Contributors 209

FOREWORD

Laura Ruth Johnson, Northern Illinois University

D

uring a class discussion among young parents attending an alternative high school, which centered on their experiences and their ability to influence policy, one young Puerto Rican father asserted, “The politicians don’t understand what we go through and they judge us.” I was teaching a class designed for young parents at the school, and we had just viewed a reality television show focusing on the lives of young mothers; students were offering up their impressions and critiques, which mostly centered on how young parents were portrayed as “only showing bad.” They shared their own experiences of raising their brothers and sisters and the examples of strong and caring young parents in their families and communities, exemplars which they felt were ignored by the media and policy makers. Unfortunately, this is an all-too-common refrain among marginalized children and youth: their distinct knowledge and experiences are not acknowledged in the public sphere and, in particular, are not valued and integrated into the educational spaces in which they spend the majority of their day. Many came to the alternative school describing how they felt misunderstood and neglected by the large public schools they had previously attended. They were told that they would never amount to anything or, if they were single parents themselves, that they had ruined their lives because they had a child at a young age. They believed that they were misrepresented in the media and detailed how they were frequently judged by others—including doctors, social service personnel, and even people on the bus—for a variety of reasons, such as living in a poor neighborhood or being a young parent and youth of color. I chose this vignette about my own experiences working with “the underserved” because I believe it resonates with the research studies contained within this volume and the young people described within the work. The alternative school these aforementioned youths attended, located on the Near Northwest Side of Chicago, was founded to provide an educational

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alternative to students who were underserved by the large public school they attended. Like the children and youth who are the subjects of the diverse body of research in this book—children with special needs, LGBTQ youth, African American boys, Latinx children—they have rarely been positioned as actors and agents and were thus often disengaged and detached from school. All too often, they end up being part of the group of “forgotten learners” described by Ingle in this volume, viewed primarily in terms of their deficits, rather than celebrated for their diverse talents and strengths, for what they may “bring to the (educational) table,” and for their contributions to their classrooms and schools. Although many prominent theorists and researchers have pilloried deficit-oriented views of marginalized youth and communities, empirical work in the social sciences still largely pathologizes certain groups and defines and evaluates them by frameworks developed for measuring the learning skills, practices, and behaviors of mainstream populations and “typical” students. Such measurements can often yield inaccurate depictions of groups and individuals who lie outside of the mean and are contained within the “central tendency.” This leads to a lack of research about and limited understanding of certain groups and their learning processes and can result in narrow approaches to teaching that do not meet the educational needs of all students. Furthermore, far too much existing research attempts to locate the source of certain students’ difficulties in school within the students themselves, viewing children as needing to be “fixed,” rather than interrogating our teaching practices and examining the classroom contexts we offer. Some current research posits that if we could just teach students to have certain beliefs about and orientations to learning—such as having more “grit” or believing in their own potential for growth—they would achieve academic success. Change the child, fix the kid, but do not change the pedagogy. Although we exhort teachers to employ “data-driven decision making” and “evidence-based approaches,” rarely do we question the evidence on which these decisions and approaches are based. Over the past few decades, rather than becoming more expansive in our teaching approaches, we seem to have swung the pendulum toward more rigid methods that teach to the middle, at least in the public system of schooling. The tendency, particularly for students who struggle in school, is toward didactic and rote-based learning that emphasizes skill development at the expense of creative inquiry and the joy of learning.

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Thankfully, some researchers have sought to understand better the contexts and approaches which support neglected, marginalized, struggling students and the approaches which allow them to thrive. These scholars have identified and described settings where schools serve as “radical sanctuaries” (Antrop-Gonzalez, 2011), where communities serve as classrooms, and where teachers utilize transformative pedagogies that take seriously the lives and experiences of their students (Emdin, 2017). This work acknowledges that learning takes place inside and outside the school walls. My own research, with colleague Enid Rosario-Ramos, focuses on Latinx and African American youth attending an alternative school that uses the surrounding community as a classroom and employs participatory, project-based learning to help students examine issues meaningful to their lives and their communities. It has demonstrated how such approaches can engage those students many others have given up on and promote their educational success (see Johnson & Rosario-Ramos, 2012; Rosario-Ramos & Johnson, 2013). The research offered in this volume is part of this growing body of work, rooted in a culturally responsive pedagogy and an ethics of critical care (see Gay, 2010; Ladson-Billings, 2009; Nieto, 2009; Noddings, 1984). It offers us new, group-specific strategies for teaching and learning: the development of asset pedagogies that affirm students’ identities; the establishment of learning ecologies and communities of practice for youth defined as problematic; the construction of hybrid spaces that bridge the worlds of community, home, and school; and the use of restorative practices to discipline that build skills and promote shared accountability and youth leadership. However, at the same time that research offers new possibilities for educational practice, most educators recognize—all too acutely— that they are teaching in trying and frustrating times, with diminished school budgets, persistent educational inequities within and across communities, rampant educational privatization that threatens public education, and an obsession with increasing test scores over building the sort of relationships with students described in much of this volume. They might wonder, “How do we do this? How do we meet the diverse needs of our students while keeping up with the various demands and expectations placed on us on a daily basis?” It is necessary to resist and push back at top-down policies and directives and trust the knowledge we have of our own classrooms and students. The chapters in this volume underscore the need for teachers to critique

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their own teaching, to examine their “flow” in order to create a “classroom for everyone,” to borrow the essay of Schulze, and for practitioners, researchers, and teacher-researchers to interrupt insidious and damaging cycles that focus on deficits and train the gaze back on ourselves and the contexts within which we educate, challenging educational policies and mandates, and examining our own perspectives on certain groups of students. What fills me with optimism for the future is the turn toward more participatory and collaborative research within a variety of fields and the emergence of research that it is not just practitioner-oriented but practitionerdriven. Even more encouraging are research projects that involve youth as part of the knowledge-construction process, as collaborators and leaders (Irizarry, 2011; Morrell, 2004) and initiatives that bring together educators, activists, scholars, and journalists to explore educational injustice, highlight innovative practices, and celebrate stories of struggle, hope, and triumph. As educational researchers, we must be boundary crossers, like many of the teachers and students described in this volume, and step outside of the overly rigid boundaries of traditional research, seeking innovative and collaborative ways to use research to affect policy, address educational inequities, and transform educational contexts for those who have been underserved.

References Antrop-Gonzalez, R. (2011). Schools as radical sanctuaries: Decolonizing urban education through the eyes of youth of color and their teachers. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Emdin, C. (2017). For white folks who teach in the hood . . . and the rest of y’all too: Reality pedagogy and urban education. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Gay, G. (2010). Culturally responsive teaching: Theory, research, and practice (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Irizarry, J. (2011). The Latinization of U.S. schools: Successful teaching and learning in shifting cultural contexts. Boulder, CO: Paradigm Publishing. Johnson, L. R., & Rosario-Ramos, E. M. (2012). The role of educational institutions in the development of critical literacy and transformative action.

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Theory Into Practice, 51(1), 49–56. Ladson-Billings, G. (2009). The dreamkeepers: Successful teachers of African American children (2nd ed.). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Morrell, E. (2004). Becoming critical researchers: Literacy and empowerment for urban youth. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Nieto, S. (2009). The light in their eyes: Creating multicultural learning communities (10th anniversary ed.). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Noddings, N. (1984). Caring: A feminine approach to ethics and moral education. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rosario-Ramos, E. M., & Johnson, L. R. (2013). Communities as counterstorytelling (con)texts: The role of community-based educational institutions in the development of critical literacy and transformative action. In J. C. Zacher-Pandya & J. A. Avila (Eds.), Moving critical literacies forward: A new look at praxis across contexts (pp. 113–126). New York, NY: Routledge.

INTRODUCTION

Why Kids Love (and Hate) School Reflections on Difference Steven P. Jones, Missouri State University Eric C. Sheffield, Western Illinois University

Once the possibility of otherness opens up in as radical a form as it has now taken . . . then, in a sense, human need and human response acquire novel content more and more rapidly. Added to the usual concerns of need—the typical issues of having and not having that stir the reformer—the encounter with strangers moves onto new territory. Community service in meeting the conditions of diversity initiates us into the organized practice of otherness. Above all, like art and vocation, it denies the temptation to “remain at home.” (Radest, 1993, p. 185)

W

e are not so naive as to think there will ever be a time when none of our kids hate school. Nor do we believe there will ever be a time when all kids at every moment, at every locale, love school. And neither do the authors who have penned the chapters in this collection. In fact, we are quite sure the way our nation’s children feel about school is mostly ambiguous—alternating between love and hate—and maybe on a moment-

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to-moment basis. On the other hand, we also think—and certainly maintain the hope—that schools can and should be inclusive communities where no individual or group feels left out, where no individual or group receives fewer opportunities than others, and where no individual or group is prejudged. Creating classrooms and schools in which each and every individual or group is respected and has autonomy, where each and every individual is understood and treated “fairly,” and where “fairness” does not mean “sameness” is, we contend, not only educationally valuable but ethically and legally imperative. Equity, fairness, and inclusion reflect our deep and common faith in democracy and should in turn be reflected in school practices. Howard Radest, in this chapter’s opening quote, points to two matters that we believe educators should continually keep in mind. Not only can we no longer (if we ever could) “remain at home,” but also the very moment we step outside of our homes, actual and metaphorical, we find ourselves in a beautiful and radically growing context of otherness. And historically, the place where conflicting constituencies have debated the legal and ethical issues of otherness is the steps of the schoolhouse door. Our growing otherness, however, is not reflected in any substantial way among those who run schools and classrooms. The report entitled The State of Racial Diversity in the Educator Workforce notes that the percentage of White students nationally has dropped steadily since 2002 with an equally steady increase in Black and Latino/a students (U.S. Department of Education, 2016). The National Center for Education Statistics (NCES) predicts that by 2024 the percentage of White students will fall far below the 50% mark (NCES, 2016). At the same time, racial diversity among school teachers and administrators has shifted only very slightly. It is still the case that 82% of teachers and 80% of school administrators are White (U.S. Department of Education, 2016, pp. 6–10). Of course, otherness is much more complicated than simply race and ethnicity. One of the more contentious areas of otherness over the last several years—particularly in the educational arena—is our growing openness to questions of gender and sexual orientation. The last decade has seen many more people openly identifying as LGBTQ (Gallup, 2017) and we certainly do not need to tell our readers how this has influenced civil rights policies in our public schools. And though in some places around the country teachers and administrators themselves are more comfortable with publicly “coming out,” in most others real political and vocational danger lingers.

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Some other indications of the “othering” of our country include the following: •

a steadily growing number of second-language students, up from 4.3 million in 2005 to 4.6 million in 2015 (NCES, 2017);

•

the fastest-growing religion in the US (and the world generally) is Islam, expected to grow by 70% over the next 20 years (Pew Research Center, 2017);

•

nearly 85,000 refugees entered the US in 2016 (nearly 40,000 of whom were Muslim);

•

the Center for Immigration Studies (2016) reports that 42.4 million immigrants (legal and illegal) now live in the US; and

•

by 2015, 6.7 million children were receiving services under the Individual with Disabilities Education Act (up from 4.7 million in the early 1990s) (NCES, 2017).

And, if that were not enough, the above list still does not include other issues of difference. There are ability differences (gifted students, for example). There are ever-lingering questions about differences between boys and girls and men and women. Increasingly, we see regional differences coming to the fore as our nation splinters along political and geographical fault lines. Poverty continues to be relatively high with the number of people in the “deep poverty” category growing substantially (Center for Poverty Research, 2016). Though homeless rates have fallen slightly, the numbers remain embarrassing, and in 2014 child homeless rates reached an all-time high: 2.5 million children were homeless that year (White, 2014). Given the above, it would be quite easy for educators at every level to throw in the proverbial towel and ignore our growing diversity as simply too overwhelming. On the other hand, we believe Radest is dead right: our radically growing diversity calls for a new service ethic—one that invites us into “the organized practice of otherness” (1993, p. 185). This invitation to theory forces us (as all theory does) to ponder how teachers and administrators can engage in an organized practice of otherness such that schools are more equitable, fair, and mindful of our growing differences. This essential question of practice drives each of the chapters in this collection and

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points to this book’s intended audience: practicing and preservice teachers, administrators, and parents looking for ways to create schools that are more inclusive and democratically directed. The opening chapter, penned by Jesse Moya, takes up the matter of the relevance school should have (and often does not have) to actual lives, particularly the lives of Latino/a students. Though Moya suggests what many teachers know (“‘Everybody’s Listening’: When Learning Is Relevant”), Moya organizes his discussion around a beloved teacher, Mr. Sanchez, and the reasons students respond so robustly to his teaching. The ensuing chapter consists of a dual autoethnography wherein two Black PhDs reflect on their history of hating school. De’Andre Shepard and Kalvin Harvell, both successful university professors, engage in a critical autoethnographic journey reflecting on the difficulties Black male students (and others as well) must traverse in order to succeed within educational institutions. Whereas Shepard and Harvell speak to a version of marginalization that has been around for hundreds of years, Parisa Meymand’s chapter takes up a more contemporary matter: the struggles Muslim learners face in an Islamophobic era. Explaining what she calls critical “SWAsian” Theory, Meymand examines cultural roadblocks to Muslim student success in schools. And both of these chapters provide practical, concrete suggestions for making schools more open to inclusion and, therefore, student success. Following Meymand, Janine Bempechat, Margarita Jimenez-Silva, Jin Li, and Susan Holloway report on a study funded by the William T. Grant foundation that sought to hear “the voices of students and how they perceive their educational experiences.” More specifically, these researchers expand on previous work exploring Mexican American student perceptions of their schooling experiences. In the fifth chapter, Eréndira Rueda reports the findings from an extensive ethnography conducted in Northern California with Latino/a students. Rueda’s work is focused on the questions of why, how, and what can be done regarding the love of school we so often see in young children—but that is so often gone by middle school. The sixth chapter of our collection shifts gears a bit: Kathy Carter, Amanda Sugimoto, Kathleen Stoehr, and Griff Carter utilize “place-based plot patterns” to examine the happiness/glee and humiliation/shame binaries so often experienced by LGBTQ students. Examining difficult stories from preservice teachers, these authors point us to ways we might be more sensitive to the needs of our LGBTQ students. Chapter 7, written by Rob

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Schulze, takes up the influence one’s working assumptions can have on students with special needs. The medical model of special needs, Schulze argues, can lead to practices that are exclusionary. On the other hand, the social model of understanding special-needs students implies practices that are communal and connective. Schulze advocates strongly for seeing our neediest students according to the social model and incorporating practices of a communal nature. Following Schulze’s discussion of our emotionally neediest students, Jeanne Ingle takes us to the opposite side of the spectrum: academically strong students who, sometimes, are forgotten—particularly in schools that are struggling. Ingle’s is the story of discovering that, in the dash to help the most vulnerable students in a struggling school, academically strong students sometimes unknowingly get left behind. This is the very practical story of how all groups in a school can succeed. With the idea of struggling schools and communities fresh in mind, Robin Brandehoff’s essay relates the story of her work at a severely struggling school in a neighborhood riddled with gang activity. Brandehoff brings her readers face-to-face with the tragedy of poverty and violence. However difficult those tragedies are, Brandehoff has some ideas for how even in these tough places kids can come to at least like school, if not love it. In chapter 10, Lynn Hemmer and Michael Watson convincingly argue that alternative schools are not only for “those kids.” Utilizing the perspectives of two alternate school students (Angela and Ryan), the authors build the case that alternative schools can be a great option for a variety of students—successful or struggling. Hemmer and Watson’s chapter is followed up by our only content-specific discussion: Rachelle Haroldson suggests that though students of color historically struggle in science classes, the problem can be eased by creating a socially engaging classroom atmosphere. And, as she writes, these “themes . . . can be applied to many disciplines.” We close the book with what we think is one important school-wide approach (among many) that might be used to ease all the above issues on a district and school-wide level: Restorative Practices. Robert Chalwell’s closing essay is one every district-level leader should read and consider. Chalwell suggests that though sensitivity to difference is paramount at the micro/classroom level, without broader institutional and structural changes within a school or district, sensitivity to student difference can only go so far. Restorative Practices such as those suggested in this closing chapter can

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create the structural practices needed to maintain district- and school-wide sensitivity to our radically expanding otherness. Before leaving you to your reading, we want to thank our authors for their work on this volume. They obviously get it: we are an increasingly diverse nation. We are more radically “other” than we have ever been in our history. However, our radically growing otherness is a strength only if we will work at reformulating our approach to teaching and learning so that we become more sensitive, inclusive, equitable, and fair. As teachers, we serve the needs of our students and our communities. As believers in democracy, we serve our state and nation. As human beings on a quickly shrinking planet, we serve other humans who once were strangers but are so no longer. As creatures who depend upon one another for our very existence, we can no longer remain at home and simultaneously retain our souls. Happy reading.

References Center for Immigration Studies. (2016). A profile of the foreign-born using 2014 and 2015 census bureau data. Retrieved from https://cis.org/Report/ Immigrants-United-States Center for Poverty Research. (2016). What is the current poverty rate in the United States? Retrieved from https://poverty.ucdavis.edu/faq/what-current-poverty-rate-united-states Gallup News. Social Issues. (2017). In U.S., more adults identifying as LGBT. Retrieved from http://news.gallup.com/poll/201731/lgbt-identification-rises.aspx. National Center for Education Statistics (2016). Projections of Education Statistics to 2024. U.S. Department of Education. https://nces.ed.gov/ pubs2016/2016013.pdf. National Center for Education Statistics. Fast facts. (n.d.). English language learners. Retrieved from https://nces.ed.gov/fastfacts/display.asp?id=96 National Center for Education Statistics. (2017). Children and youth with disabilities. Retrieved from https://nces.ed.gov/programs/coe/indicator_cgg.asp

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Pew Research Center. (2017). Why Muslims are the world’s fastest-growing religious group. Retrieved from http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/ 04/06/why-muslims-are-the-worlds-fastest-growing-religious-group/ Radest, H. B. (1993). Community service: Encounter with strangers. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger. US Department of Education. (2016). The state of racial diversity in the educator workforce. Retrieved from https://www2.ed.gov/rschstat/eval/highered/racial-diversity/state-racial-diversity-workforce.pdf White, Martha C. (2014). “One in 30 American children is homeless, report says.” Retrieved from https://www.nbcnews.com/business/economy/ one-30-american-children-homeless-report-says-n250136

CHAPTER ONE

“Everybody’s Listening”: When Learning Is Relevant Jesse Moya

“I think everybody’s listening on it. Even that one guy who bugs the class . . . he’s an ass, but then he’ll listen, because even though it’s history, the way Mr. Sanchez says it, it makes it sound interesting.” – Pedro¹ (high school sophomore)

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oo many Latino students like Pedro who attend overcrowded and under-resourced schools expect school to be boring and irrelevant. However, teachers like Mr. Sanchez are able to make students love school by engaging them in the examination of historical and contemporary issues of injustice and helping them see connections between the course content and their own lives. Mr. Sanchez wanted to help students discover that schoolwork can have relevance and application to their lives. He wanted them to “see that social studies has answers to stuff that goes on, that it’s not just boring subjects.” Many of the students in his classes had never experienced a teacher like this before, and it has changed their level of engagement and entire perspective toward the study of history and society. For instance, in the opening quotation above, Pedro makes the observation that all students, even those with

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disruptive behaviors, were at least intellectually engaged and listening to class discussions. According to Pedro, Mr. Sanchez had a way of making a previously boring subject interesting. Several students noted that they never liked history classes before taking Mr. Sanchez’s. For example, Selena asserted, Mr. Sanchez’s class was “the first class that I actually enjoyed . . . from all the four years I’ve been here [in high school].” The students reported that Mr. Sanchez was particularly effective giving explanations that helped them connect with and understand the material. Lana admitted that before Mr. Sanchez’s class she was disengaged in history courses: I didn’t pay attention at all in history classes, at all. Like, I would get bored . . . just answering the questions without nothing explained, it was difficult for me. And then with [Mr. Sanchez] it was different. He explains, he goes into detail. In a way, he grabs your attention. – Lana (high school senior) Students like Lana do not inherently hate learning. Rather, the distaste for subjects like history is often a product of previous teachers’ failures to explain the material in a way that makes it easier for students to connect with. One fundamental factor that influences whether or not students love or hate school is relevance. Most of us have asked the questions, either out loud or to ourselves, “Why am I learning this?” and “How does this matter to my life?” When we do not have compelling answers to these questions, we are unlikely to love the process of learning or the place we call school. Relevance can help to mediate student interest, motivation, and engagement. But how do we convince students that the material we are trying to teach them is relevant to their lives? In the context of Mr. Sanchez’s classroom, he did this by (1) choosing content that he believed would be culturally relevant to the students’ lives, (2) explaining the content to students in a way that they understood (namely by drawing upon their culturally informed prior knowledge), and (3) helping them question and engage with the material in ways that allowed them to examine social injustices and make connections to their lives. The use of critical and culturally relevant content engages students in classroom learning in ways that traditional, “by the book” methods do not. This essay draws upon data from a 15-month qualitative study to show-

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case the work of one dynamic social studies teacher in a predominantly low-income Latino high school and demonstrates how he made students love school by making it matter.²

Background to the School and Teacher The School: Riverton High and Its Small Learning Community I have two family members who attended Riverton High School: one of them graduated and the other dropped out. The pattern in my own family closely approximates the rate of success that the school has had with Latino students over the last few decades. The school opened for instruction over a hundred years ago and had fewer than a thousand students for most of its first century of operation. At the time of my study, it enrolled over 4,600 students, of whom 99% were Latino. Almost 85% of the students were designated for free or reduced lunch, and slightly over a third were classified as “English language learners” whose native language was Spanish. The published test scores for the school have been consistently far below state benchmarks, and the graduation rates have been dismal. The students at Riverton were well aware of the reputation the school had but pointed out that the stereotypes get overblown. When asked to describe outsiders’ perceptions of the school, students used words like “dropouts,” “pregnancies,” “gangs,” and “packed.” Students reflected on how these stereotypes overshadow the individuals who do well: [Our school] doesn’t have a good history with academics because it’s stereotyped as a bad school, only bad kids come to school. And there’s no kids that succeed in the school. [Riverton] has a lot of students that come to the school that are going to succeed but people don’t see them, they just see bad. —Armando (high school senior) Lost in the aggregate data is the fact that many students have succeeded at the school, and teachers and programs have helped support their success. In particular, several of the students I talked to had a positive report about their small learning community (SLC). There were six SLCs at the school, and each had a particular academic theme and a cohort of students and teachers. The SLC was still a fairly new structure for the school, but the

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students were happy with the support they received. In a focus group, one student shared, “I like [our SLC] teachers because they actually do help you out. They try to do their best to actually get you to college.” Another senior added, “For example, a couple of years ago I got in trouble in first period, and by fourth, they already knew I got in trouble. They are very communicative.” The school, then, had strengths that were often overlooked, but it lacked resources to extend them to all students. The Teacher: Saul Sanchez Several factors determined the selection of the teacher for the study. I chose Mr. Sanchez because of his reputation as a critical educator and his collaboration with the community-based youth activist organization in my larger study. I categorized him as a “critical” educator because of his commitment to promoting social consciousness and civic engagement among his students. In addition, he had several other qualities that made his classroom a compelling site for study. Having grown up and gone to school in the same community as his students, Mr. Sanchez shared their culture and history. Moreover, he was a confident, veteran teacher with more than 10 years of experience who continually looked to improve his pedagogy. The discussion that follows draws from observations of classroom sessions and interviews with students from Mr. Sanchez’s 10th-grade World History class and his 12th-grade Government and Economics class.

Why Students Loved Mr. Sanchez’s Classes There are several reasons why students—many of whom never really liked social studies before—loved Mr. Sanchez’s classes. First, he taught culturally relevant content that drew upon students’ interests and tied into their lived experiences. Second, he explained material in a culturally effective manner. Third, he provided opportunities for students to engage with the content in relevant ways. Lastly, he promoted student questioning and engagement with the material. Critical and Culturally Relevant Content “I like this class because it’s like related to our time, so I can relate to it.” – Alejandra (high school senior)

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In his courses, Mr. Sanchez engaged his students with relevant content that connected to students’ ethnic identities, local context, and experiences as youth in today’s world, giving them an incentive to participate in Mr. Sanchez’s courses. The ethnic composition of the students made current events in Latin America naturally engaging. He integrated these connections into his lessons whenever possible. For instance, when talking about socialism, he used Hugo Chavez and Venezuela as an example. To elaborate on imperialism and capitalism, he talked about the Zapatistas in Mexico and farm workers in Central America who could not afford to eat the fruit they produced. Spanish words and pronunciations were also peppered into his everyday language. In a school where 99% of the student body was Latino and many of them were of Mexican origins, this proved to be a wise approach. Along with material that connected to students’ ethnic identities, Mr. Sanchez also discussed contemporary issues relevant to his students both as members of the Riverton community and as low-income youth in the larger U.S. and global context. We talk about a lot of different things that go on. Like the wars that have gone on, the things that are going on now, like the Arizona law, the things that are happening right around here in [Riverton], the gangs and all. How we can be a better community. – Valerie (high school sophomore) Another student, Diana, complained about “boring” history classes that “will just be talking about back then” and asserted that Mr. Sanchez’s class “catches my attention more because it’s right now, and not back then.” In addition to connecting social studies content to contemporary issues, most of the movies, articles, and discussions Mr. Sanchez chose explored issues of social injustices. These deeply affected the way students thought about the world and their own experiences. Perla shared that Mr. Sanchez taught how history “affects us.” For instance, a unit on capitalism included a documentary on the treatment of factory workers in Bangladesh. Pedro revealed that this both helped him understand capitalism and how his own mother was exploited as a worker in a garment factory. Valerie asserted that Mr. Sanchez’s goals were “to open our eyes to see how we can make [the world] different to how it was back then, to change how it is now.” Rafael

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noted that watching the movie Capitalism: A Love Story and talking about it in Mr. Sanchez’s class made him want to do something about the exploitation of workers. He said that he hoped to start up a cooperative business one day, like the one he saw in the movie. Many students articulated how the documentaries Mr. Sanchez showed helped them to understand the extent of injustices and their impact on society. Whereas other teachers just “told them” how people were mistreated, the films and subsequent discussions had a greater effect on students. Diana explained how Mr. Sanchez’s approach was better and led her to make connections to her own life: “He helps you because he actually brings you videos that show you how the people are being treated and you’re like, ‘Damn, that could be us or that could be our parents,’ and you don’t even know it.” Many students shared how the content from Mr. Sanchez’s courses stuck with them beyond the classroom. Lana asserted, “Like he shocks you with the information that he gives you. And not only does he leave you thinking in class but just like, the things he says stick with you.” Raul shared, “I talk to my girlfriend about it. Like, ‘Oh, my teacher told me about this and that, about this situation.’ So, it goes beyond just doing schoolwork, like you learn later on to carry that, like after high school.” Because the content of the course tended to be shocking, it often left an imprint on students and helped them apply what they learned to the world around them. In turn, this relevance contributed to their love of Mr. Sanchez’s classes. Relevant Presentation of Content “So, he knows how to explain it the way that you can understand.” – Armando (high school senior)

Mr. Sanchez had a knack for presenting material in a way that built upon students’ prior knowledge of the world. His shared background with students and his ability to draw upon cultural knowledge to explain concepts helped to engage students with the material he presented. One characteristic of his approach was utilizing personal stories to clarify content. During observations of his class, I often heard him draw upon stories from his family, schooling, and childhood experiences in Riverton to help explain concepts to students. In an introductory lesson on imperialism, for example, he began, “I remember when I asked my mom, ‘Why are we poor?’ My mom

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said, ‘That’s the way that God wants it to be.’” The students reacted with oohs and ahs. Mr. Sanchez admitted that his mother’s response was “hard to accept.” Then he transitioned into the subject of the day’s lesson: “There’s a guy in Mexico, named Subcomandante Marcos, who would not say, God wants it to be. He would have a much different answer.” Then he explained who Marcos was and his role with the Zapatistas in southern Mexico. When he stopped, multiple students raised their hands and a flurry of questions ensued: “Mister, did the group get attacked by the government?” and, “Mister, if he’s [Marcos] doing good, why do they want to get him?” Mr. Sanchez responded with both answers and questions back to his students and fostered a conversation around the Zapatistas and their connection to the concepts of imperialism, socialism, and capitalism. He accomplished several things in this segment of class. First, he shared that he grew up poor, an intimate detail of his own background that he had in common with most of his students. Then, he offered two entirely different views on the reasons for poverty in order to introduce conversations on socialism and capitalism. He used two “characters” whom students were likely familiar with, a traditional religious Mexican mother and a leader of a revolutionary group working for socialist reforms in Mexico. All of this made sense to the students and drew them into a conversation about key concepts in the course and made them want to learn more. Students believed that Mr. Sanchez’s shared background (ethnicity, class, community) allowed him to understand them better and, consequently, to explain the content more effectively. Sabrina noted, “He’ll put it in our language,” and Armando elaborated in this way: You could say, like your cousin or your older brother, he’s teaching you these things and he knows what you go through. So, he knows how to explain it the way that you can understand. And I think it’s good because he knows what problems we go through. – Armando (high school senior) As Armando’s comment suggests, Mr. Sanchez’s grasp of his students’ cultural contexts allowed him to understand them better, create bridges to new knowledge, and inspire students to love his classes.

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Student Engagement with Material in Relevant Ways “When I had to do the research on my own and see it and interview my dad, it impacted me.” – Betsy (high school senior)

Mr. Sanchez’s economics unit on unions provides an example of how encouraging students to apply learning to their lives made the content relevant and encouraged learning. For this unit, the seniors interviewed a family member about their working conditions and the impact of being unionized or not. On a general level, Armando talked about how he learned that “unions are a really great resource for workers to have because that’s who could protect them. Because how some workers are exploited.” Armando said that his mother was “part of a union but [he] didn’t know what that meant” before the project. By interviewing her, he found out that his mother had distinctly different experiences as a union worker as opposed to a nonunion one. He shared: Before, [my mother] was part of a union and she said she got her vacations paid and when she was sick, she got paid. And now she works and she’s not part of her union and she sees a difference because she really doesn’t have a voice. – Armando (high school senior) Through this project, Armando developed an understanding of how workers can be exploited in a capitalist society and how his own mother is left without a voice in determining the conditions of her workplace. Another student, Filiberto, commented on his ignorance of power relations in the workplace and how the union unit led him to think, “What else am I ignorant about?” and it made him “want to know more.” Projects like these allowed students to connect classroom learning to their own reality, bring in their own thoughts and analysis, and engage more deeply with the content. Betsy shared that she had not really thought about worker exploitation before Mr. Sanchez’s class. She admitted to hearing “about it my junior year,” but it was not until Mr. Sanchez’s class and doing research on her own family that it became relevant. She explained, This year, when I had to do the research on my own and see it and interview my dad, it impacted me. I was like, “Whoa! That’s sad.”

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I mean, for the job he does, getting paid like minimum wage is like not cool. – Betsy (high school senior) Another student, Diana, explained that Mr. Sanchez’s projects were different because he made students ponder deep questions: “You ask yourself those questions, like ‘Really?’” and gather information from life and “not just go online and get the research.” By presenting information on social conditions and encouraging youth to reflect upon it and apply it to their own lives, Mr. Sanchez provided the opportunity for youth to understand how social and economic relationships in society affect them and their families. In turn, this made students care about what they learned. Raising Questions and Making Meaning of the World “I like how you can just ask him about anything, and he’ll know the answer and he’ll relate it back.” – Rafael (high school senior)

Mr. Sanchez created a space where students wanted to ask questions because he fostered and rewarded their curiosity for learning. His own excitement for knowledge and understanding the world was contagious. Also, his deep understanding of topics and ability to explain them made students more likely to ask questions. In the following excerpt from a focus group interview, the students’ comments show how Mr. Sanchez modeled excitement for learning about social issues and how that affected them: Yolanda: He tells us how, when he’s in his car, he’ll be listening to the station with news and he just can’t wait to come in and talk to us about it. And we can’t wait for him to come and tell us. We just want to learn. Rafael: He’s like really passionate about what he tells us. He gets excited and he tells us, “If you guys aren’t excited, [you should be].” Sabrina: He’ll say, “Check this out!”

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Students loved that they could come to his class and ask questions. They valued that he welcomed these questions and that he often had engaging responses. His answers made students think about issues more deeply and see how the topic connected to their lives. Mr. Sanchez helped them understand the world around them. He gave them sophisticated answers to their questions and encouraged them to develop their own informed opinions about complex issues. One of Mr. Sanchez’s primary goals as an educator was developing students’ abilities to be critical questioners of the information they are exposed to in his classroom and in their lives. In order to foster a questioning mentality, Mr. Sanchez modeled how students should ask questions of new information. Marc described the kinds of questions Mr. Sanchez encouraged them to ask: He just doesn’t teach us something and he’s like, “Oh yeah, there.” He questions us, like, “How does it impact you? What do you think about it? How would you fix it? Would you like to be treated that way? How will you be in the future? What will you do to change that?” – Marc (high school senior) Moreover, Mr. Sanchez encouraged students to listen to each other’s questions and comments and to learn from one another. He also urged them to ask questions of the material and of him to try to uncover the truth. When I asked a student to describe a typical day in class, he said: He usually has something on the computer or something on display like an article or something that’s really controversial. . . . And then we just go off, like we have a conversation, we have a deep conversation of why, what is the cause of this, what does that mean, and what factors affect it, and what it might mean to us in the future. – Cesar (high school sophomore) By definition, something controversial is likely to spark discussion and incite disagreement. Social studies content is full of these topics, but not all teachers present them in ways that exploit their potential. Cesar’s comment

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underscores that classroom sessions regularly involved students exploring controversial topics deeply, seeking to understand their root causes and their connections to students’ lives. These factors led students like Cesar to love school while in Mr. Sanchez’s class.

How Do We Make More Students Love Learning? In this essay, I have presented a case for relevance and have documented how one social studies teacher made his students love school by making his classes matter to them. In a nutshell, Mr. Sanchez picked relevant content, presented it in ways that made sense to his students, and encouraged them to apply learning to their own lives. In many ways, the successful practices Mr. Sanchez employed are consistent with existing research findings and provide some important lessons for educators, which I review below. Draw Upon Prior Knowledge and Integrate Student Identities Mr. Sanchez consistently drew upon students’ prior knowledge and chose content that connected to their cultural identities and lived experiences. Building upon prior knowledge is a fundamental element of effective instruction for all learners (Bruer, 1999). In particular, culturally relevant approaches have been effective (but underutilized) ways to improve engagement and achievement among marginalized students (Gay, 2000; Howard, 2015; Ladson-Billings, 1995). As defined by Geneva Gay (2000), culturally responsive teaching uses “the cultural knowledge, prior experiences, frames of reference, and performance styles of ethnically diverse students to make learning encounters more relevant to and effective for them” (p. 29). Mr. Sanchez’s students repeatedly pointed out how proficient he was at speaking their language to explain concepts. In the example provided, Mr. Sanchez used a story about his mother and a film about a Mexican revolutionary leader to illustrate imperialism and socialism. But culturally relevant teaching is not only about connecting to students’ racial or ethnic identities; it must also include material that students find locally meaningful to their personal lives. For instance, Luis Moll and colleagues (1992) argue that teachers should capitalize on the specific “funds of knowledge” that students have from their homes and communities to enhance teaching and learning. Mr. Sanchez’s union unit was a good example of this approach. In it, students drew upon the experiences of their parents as workers to develop a better understanding of capitalism.

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Mr. Sanchez’s strong grasp of historical and contemporary issues, coupled with his ability to convey that knowledge in culturally effective ways, connected students with the classroom content. Educators should continue to be learners, seeking information to understand their subject matter as well as the lived conditions of their students. For Mr. Sanchez, sharing a cultural background with students may have made connecting with them easier. Nasir and Hand (2008) assert that engagement in a learning space is facilitated when learners see the practices as aligned with the person they are and who they want to become. Similarly, learners are more likely to participate when they see characteristics of themselves in the experts of a learning community. This is not to say that teachers must share cultural backgrounds with their students. However, educators should work to understand students’ lived experiences, value them, and connect them to the classroom (Freire & Macedo, 1998; Ladson-Billings, 1995). Promote Dialogue Around Analysis of Social Injustices Mr. Sanchez effectively promoted dialogue and analysis of social injustices to engage students in his courses. Following the practice recommended by Ira Shor (1992), Mr. Sanchez focused on talking with students and not at them. Considerable research supports the positive relationship between academic achievement and active learning in the classroom (DarlingHammond, 2008). In particular, promoting active discussions with marginalized youth around issues affecting their communities can positively influence classroom engagement, civic commitments, and academic success (Duncan-Andrade & Morrell, 2006; Duncan-Andrade, 2005; Strobel, Osberg, & McLaughlin, 2006). The Mexican American Studies Program highlighted in the documentary Precious Knowledge is another good example of this approach. The program promoted significant increases in graduation rates and academic achievement by engaging students in critical analysis through culturally relevant texts (Cabrera, Milem, Jaquette, & Marx, 2014). However, too many low-income students experience schools as places where they are merely expected to receive knowledge and not critically engage it (Freire & Macedo, 1998). Providing a space for interactive dialogues in important conversations can significantly improve student engagement and graduation rates. The students in my study loved having a knowledgeable adult in their lives who would answer their questions, share his own opinions, and encourage them

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to articulate their own. Shouldn’t all of us have a space where an expert can answer our questions about the world? And wouldn’t it be even better if that person asked us what we thought and fostered dialogues on how certain policies and events have shaped the world we live in? Students need to have places where learning is seen as something that is relevant to their lives. Otherwise, school is just a means to an end, or worse, a chore that can be abandoned. Approximately half of the students at Mr. Sanchez’s school did not graduate in four years. If more students found their course content to be meaningful, as they did in Mr. Sanchez’s classes, there would likely be a higher percentage of students who actually graduate.

Final Thoughts Are Mr. Sanchez’s teaching practices revolutionary? They might sound like common sense, but schools do not consistently provide low-income students of color with opportunities to ask questions about the world or encourage them to make connections from the course material to their lives. For most of the students I spoke with, this experience was rare. Teaching approaches have become increasingly focused on preparing students for high-stakes standardized tests. In particular, schools serving higher rates of low-income and Latino students are more likely to be pressured to focus on testing (Sunderman, Kim, & Orfield, 2005). This leaves less time for open-ended inquiry and in-depth discussion of critical perspectives and even less time for topics not included in the standards. Despite pressures from administrators and state authorities to focus on standards, textbooks, and tests, teachers should seriously consider integrating critical and culturally relevant practices and content into their courses. These practices motivated many of the Latino/a youth in my study to love learning. However, there will likely be pressures to teach to the test, cover more material, and refrain from examining social injustices (Cabrera et al., 2014). In fact, Mr. Sanchez revealed that some administrators lamented his selective but in-depth presentation of subject matter and would rather he cover more content to bolster test scores. Nevertheless, Mr. Sanchez persisted with his approach because he knew it was working for his students. For many of them, this was the first history class they ever loved and one of the few schooling spaces where they wanted to learn more.

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Notes 1. The names of the students, teacher, school, and town in this essay are pseudonyms. 2. This essay draws upon data from a qualitative longitudinal study of two educational spaces: a community-based youth activist organization and Mr. Sanchez’s high school social studies classes. The learning spaces were in the same low-income neighborhood in an urban city in California that I refer to as Riverton. The goal of the study was to understand the factors that affect youth academic and civic development. Over the course of 15 months, I participated in the two spaces, taking field notes and interviewing students and educators (Moya, 2012).

References Bruer, J. T. (1999). Schools of thought: A science of learning in the classroom. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Cabrera, N. L., Milem, J. F., Jaquette, O., & Marx, R. W. (2014). Missing the (student achievement) forest for all the (political) trees: Empiricism and the Mexican American studies controversy in Tucson. American Educational Research Journal, 51(6), 1084–1118. Darling-Hammond, L. (Ed.). (2008). Powerful learning: What we know about teaching for understanding. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Duncan-Andrade, J. (2005). An examination of the sociocultural history of Chicanos and its relationship to school performance. Urban Education, 40(6), 576–605. Duncan-Andrade, J. M. R., & Morrell, E. (2008). The art of critical pedagogy: Possibilities for moving from theory to practice in urban schools. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Freire, A. M. A., & Macedo, D. (Eds.). (1998). The Paulo Freire reader. New York, NY: Cassell and Continuum. Freire, P. (2000). Pedagogy of the oppressed (30th anniversary ed.). New York, NY: Continuum.

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Gay, G. (2000). Culturally responsive teaching: Theory, research, and practice. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Howard, T. C. (2015). Why race and culture matter in schools: Closing the achievement gap in America’s classrooms. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Ladson-Billings, G. (1995). Toward a theory of culturally relevant pedagogy. American Educational Research Journal, 32(3), 465–491. Lee, C. (2001). Is October Brown Chinese? A cultural modeling activity system for underachieving students. American Educational Research Journal, 38(1), 97–141. Moll, L. C., Amanti, C., Neff, D., & Gonzalez, N. (1992). Funds of knowledge for teaching: Using a qualitative approach to connect homes and classrooms. Theory Into Practice, 31(2), 132–141. Moya, J. C. (2012). Apprenticeships in power and critique: How classroom and youth organizing spaces provide Latino youth with opportunities for critical civic development (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of California Los Angeles, Los Angeles, CA. Nasir, N. S., & Hand, V. (2008). From the court to the classroom: Opportunities for engagement, learning, and identity in basketball and classroom mathematics. Journal of the Learning Sciences, 17(2), 143–179. Shor, I. (1992). Empowering education: Critical teaching for social change. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Strobel, K., Osberg, J., & McLaughlin, M. (2006). Participation in social change: Shifting adolescents’ developmental pathways. In S. Ginwright, P. Noguera, & J. Cammarota (Eds.), Beyond resistance! Youth activism and community change: New democratic possibilities for practice and policy for America’s youth (pp. 21–35). New York, NY: Routledge. Sunderman, G. L., Kim, J. S., & Orfield, G. (Eds.). (2005). NCLB meets school realities: Lessons from the field. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press.

CHAPTER TWO

We Really Hated School The Journey of Two Black PhDs from Alienation to Transformation De’Andre Shepard & Kalvin DaRonne Harvell



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The Case for Autoethnography: Why Kalvin DaRonne Harvell Hated School

tacy Holman Jones (2016) wrote, “The first commitment of critical autoethnography is to explore the dynamic relationship between theory and story” (p. 232). In theory, my academic story is part of a larger discourse that speaks to the collective struggles of Black males in the detention centers disguised as schools that operate throughout the United States. “Confinement” is the only word that fits the feelings of alienation, intellectual brutality, and silencing that I felt throughout my educational sojourn, that is, until I entered college. Ironically, my introduction to college is a result of my class privilege, a privilege that I know many other Black males, who, though much more academically prepared and capable than I, are not afforded. Therefore, I use my privilege to tell stories that critically assess education, race, and the power dynamics of intellectual liberation. Even now, as I write this piece, I am aware of the ways that my own academic privilege continues to situate my voice as somehow more legitimate

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than that of other Black men, whose stories of feeling confined within the educational system would make much better reading and provide a much clearer analysis of the problem than my own. Nonetheless, I am again afforded a certain privilege as a result of a perception of my own intellectual fortitude, which later in this piece is exposed as my mother’s ability to will her son into greatness. I am not attempting to devalue my academic journey. I am simply reflecting on myself and my ability to take advantage of the resources my parents were able to provide. Therefore, I use my privilege to tell stories that critically assess education, race, and the power dynamics of intellectual liberation. When I was first approached by my colleague Dr. De’Andre Shepard about coauthoring a piece detailing our collective hatred for school (K–12), we both wanted the freedom to write from a space that would allow each of us the liberty to express ourselves as subjects and the freedom to reflect on our own subjectivity. Following our initial conversation, I began to engage in reflective journaling as a means of producing the data for this piece. The writing was both liberating and painful because it caused me to relive the abuse I suffered while attempting to be “mis-educated” (Woodson, 2006). Three themes, to become part of the larger project, were produced from the exercise. They critically divided my experience into curiosity for learning, hatred for school, and hatred for how schooling destroys the spirit of Black boys, a hatred that now compels me to teach as an act of resistance. Autoethnography is liberating! Therefore, I use my privilege to tell stories that critically assess education, race, and the power dynamics of intellectual liberation. As part of the oral tradition present among the progeny of the African diaspora, storytelling constitutes both a form of and frame for reflection and resistance (Pough, 2004). Through autoethnography, reflection allows me to examine myself in meaningful ways by assuming the position of both the creator of knowledge and the evaluator of the knowledge being produced (Forber-Pratt, 2015). Additionally, autoethnography positions me, as the Black expert, to assess my social position, as the Black subject, rather than supporting the traditional, qualitative, academic canons that have overwhelmingly privileged the voices of European investigations and critiques of Black folks (Akena, 2012). For me, the reflection-resistance binary is a manifestation of an ongoing, unresolvable transgression between my ultimate academic success (as defined by the popular culture, which champions the individual

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over the collective) and what for most would have been academic failure—an educational death sentence, another Black body whose intellectual genius went undeveloped. Therefore, I use my privilege to tell stories that critically assess education, race, and the power dynamics of intellectual liberation.

I Hated School: Autobiography as Data—Kalvin DaRonne Harvell’s Voice One might assume that an individual who hated school would be in a hurry to get out of school as soon as legally possible. I loathed school passionately. I began elementary in the late 70s and graduated from high school in 1992. For me, school was the only place where I would be bullied, and I did not defend myself from my tormentors as a means of alleviating the emotional scars they inflicted. A quick review of photos of me reveals that I have always been rather large, if not obese, throughout my life. As a child, this did not help me make friends easily. My weight, a serious stuttering problem, and being among a handful of Black students bused to the “good White school” on the other side of town created a complex set of social challenges and contributed to my growing hatred of school. Most of the children became accustomed to having two “Nigg@#$” in “their” first-grade classroom (their words, not mine), despite an occasional racial slur (yes, by first graders). Although I experienced my fair share of bullying, my major antagonists operated from a unique position of power and utilized their power in nefarious ways to alienate, intellectually bully, and eventually silence a child who, at one time, had allowed curiosity to develop him into a critically thinking, question-asking, almost-thinking-nerds-are-cool individual: my teachers. They were the ones who intellectually bullied me, assaulting me in ways that silenced my voice and made me question whether I even had the right to speak. No, not all the teachers. There were teachers whom I could tell simply did not care, teachers who simply had a pulse and were in the room because the law required us to have adult supervision. Sadly, their classes were the only safe spaces in school. In them, I could at least go to class and read a book without fear of reprisal from a teacher offended by the book’s content. In terms of the violence conducted through the medium of education, Giroux (2017) wrote, Lacking this understanding, pedagogy all too easily becomes a form of symbolic and intellectual violence, one that assaults rather than

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educates. [An] example of such violence can be seen in the forms of high stakes testing and empirically driven teaching that dominate public schooling in the United States, which amounts to pedagogies of repression which serve primarily to numb the mind and produce what might be called dead zones of the imagination. These are pedagogies that are largely disciplinary and have little regard for contexts, history, making knowledge meaningful, or expanding what it means for students to be critically engaged agents. (p. 21) I use the word “assault” as a means of identifying behaviors, language, and pedagogical decisions that teachers implement to destroy the will of critically thinking students, while simultaneously championing the mediocre conformists whose lack of critical thought does nothing to confront the duplicity of an oppressive system. I recall a colleague suggesting that my questions must have been disrespectful, distasteful, or disingenuous when I talked about my educational experiences. As always, the onus falls on the victims to explain their actions in ways that satisfy, nurture, and sympathize with those who question the legitimacy of their lived experiences and never on the perpetrators. My earliest memory of asking questions and getting into trouble for doing so occurred in the fourth grade. During that year there was a string of irreconcilable issues presented by the social studies curriculum. I simply questioned the existence of “happy slaves,” the ability of Columbus to “discover” land that a previous lesson had explained was already occupied, and the conspicuous lack of “great” women—things that greatly perplexed me. What I considered were legitimate questions were met with harsh reactions that assaulted me on intellectual and emotional levels. Initially, the teachers reacted by laughing, gawking, or yelling, which were behaviors that served to embarrass, shame, and eventually silence the inquisitive student who once liked school. The laughing in particular made me feel as if I must have simply been stupid for even wondering about such “obviously” logical historic events. Moreover, as an obese child who stuttered, laughing did little to enhance my self-esteem or make me feel comfortable in the physical space where such torment occurred. Eventually, I would simply be thrown out of the room when I asked certain questions. Of course, the behavior functioned to make me feel like a deviant: only deviants were sent into the hall or to the principal’s office.

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Now, as an adult, I realize the laughing, gawking, and yelling occurred not because I was stupid. These are behaviors adults utilize when children ask them questions they are not ready for, unsure of, or simply not capable of answering. Rather than address the question, laughing, gawking, or yelling are effectively used to neutralize, objectify, and silence the child. Again, I use metaphors of violence to draw attention to the destructive acts that teachers perpetuate against their students daily, perhaps without even realizing it. As a child, I assumed the intellectual assault was occurring because of some misconduct on my part of which I was unaware. I never told my parents because I did not recognize the behavior as bullying; I thought I was obviously in the wrong. Every time another question was met with ridicule, I said to myself, “Teachers are the authority; they would only punish me if I were doing something wrong.” Victims who blame themselves for others’ transgressions are normal (Gardner, Betts, Stiller, & Coates, 2017). Moreover, this type of intellectual assault often goes unnoticed by teachers when students are abusing each other, which would be even more difficult for them to recognize if they themselves were the perpetrators (Batalli, 2017). Although the fact that I was not the issue is clear now, as a child I internalized the ridicule and turned away from the assault on my person. As a current educator, I do not criticize teachers; nonetheless, individuals exist in our ranks who need a good foot to the backside. At this point, if I were to attempt to connect this essay to the current literature, I would address the lack of culturally competent teachers (Reid, 2017) who fail to produce culturally responsive lessons (Thomas & Warren, 2017), which would stimulate, rather than assault the fragile intellectual ego of their students. Of course, I am able to frame and articulate these views now. While the assault was happening to me, my analysis of the cause, effect, and legacy of the abuse simply was not that sophisticated. All I knew is that when I asked particular questions—questions of the materials we were to review—I was immediately laughed at, yelled at, silently gawked at, or simply thrown out. As an adult, an educator, a sociologist, and a father, I now realize that my questions were a disruption! But they were not deliberate attempts to challenge the learning process. My questions disrupted the deliberate attempt to not have the learning process challenged. My own bad experiences have served me well. I like to believe that they have made me a better professor. My classes are unreal! Class discussions are engaging, insightful,

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critical, and painful. Challenging traditional pedagogies, not people, is a labor in itself. Rather than fear my students, I embrace their unique perspectives and critique of materials. My students and I have been informed by a host of different influences. For example, time has caused me to grow older, while my students, on average, remain the same age—we are not supposed to agree on everything! Moreover, education is not an agreement. Education is a complex, bewildering, isolating, inclusive labor; a rigid, fluid, silly, intense, liberating praxis. Therefore, I use my privilege to tell stories that critically assess education, race, and the power dynamics of intellectual liberation.

This Is Who I AM: Framing Kalvin DaRonne Harvell I am a Black, forty-something father who has taught sociology at the collegiate level for almost half of my life. I have a BS in sociology, MA in sociology, EdS in educational leadership, and a PhD in global leadership. I do not identify my credentials in an attempt to establish credibility, for my story is credible simply because it is my own. I identify my credentials to call into question the potential that was almost destroyed as a result of the intellectual assaults and bullying I suffered as a young person in the educational system. Moreover, my story suggests there are plenty of potential PhDs who have been, and currently are being, intellectually assaulted daily by a culturally inept curriculum and authoritarian, bullying teachers. I grew up in the city of Flint, Michigan. The multifarious forms of stratification in the city of Flint helped to inform my mother’s understanding of the complex relationship of production and the global economy that had begun to decrease the number of the once accessible automobile manufacturing jobs that had earned Flint the moniker of “Vehicle City” (Masson-Minock & Stockmann, 2010). It was my mother who realized that the jobs that brought both her and my father’s family to Flint would no longer be as accessible when it was time for my brother and me to enter into the labor force. It was my mother who had already made the decision that no matter how much I hated school, I would be going to college. The intellectual abuse I suffered in the K–12 grades had caused me to withdraw both intellectually and emotionally; thus, college just seemed like it would be another level of abuse. However, in college all the things I had been criticized for thinking, asking, and questioning during my K–12 grades were championed and actually defined as intelligent. I was amazed to know that the ideas I had were

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not stupid, but that an entire community of people existed who were intelligent, who asked the same questions, and who had written entire volumes that the most learned of societies had to master to say they were educated properly. This rocked my world. All the negative criticism and feelings of incompleteness I had internalized throughout my life for what I had thought was my academic incompetence or outright stupidity were dismantled on the college campus, which nurtured curiosity and demanded critical, nonconformist thought. Therefore, I use my privilege to tell stories that critically assess education, race, and the power dynamics of intellectual liberation.

I Hated School: Autobiography as Data—De’Andre L. Shepard’s Voice My educational experience has often been an unexpected story, especially for those who know me today as Dr. De’Andre L. Shepard. My educational story is one of a successful student-athlete, a highly sought-after identity to have in urban or low socioeconomic communities. As a result of my social status, I never dealt with extreme cases of bullying or social awkwardness among my peers. Many find it surprising that, like most Black men, I too had a hatred for school. My hatred resulted from my constant internal battle to understand the relationship between my academics and my athletics. In conversations with my colleague and coauthor, Dr. Kalvin D. Harvell, we were astonished that our root emotions of displacement were seen through different lenses. However, we both felt alienated and unprepared to be intellectual contributors to our communities. Dr. Terrell Strayhorn writes, “Not only has a sense of belonging been identified as a goal or desired end of Black males, but it also acts as a motivator for academics and social behaviors” (2012, p. 78). My journey today still comes from a voice of struggle and my search for a sense of belonging in my scholarly endeavors. I respect the many Black male student-athletes who have set out on the same path but have been unsuccessful in navigating through the oppressive school system. I also acknowledge that my voice is still viewed by many as coming from a desired social status. Therefore, I am not the voice of Black male student-athletes, but I have had experiences which almost made my place of privilege nonexistent. My objective is to use the methodology of critical autoethnography to share my stories and make an assessment of how race, athletics, and identity have affected my relationship with the field of education.

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I Hated School: They Almost Missed My Potential Growing up, youth sports were a community-building experience for both the parents and the children. For me personally, it was an opportunity to socialize with my friends and run up and down the court pretending to be a famous professional basketball player. Unfortunately, the innocence of youth sports was taken away in the summer of 1991. That summer, I turned 13, and grew from five feet, nine inches to six feet, two inches. With the growth spurt also came a change in athletic expectations from my youth coaches. My mom was forced to make academic decisions for me, not based on curriculum, but my athletic potential. As a standout middle school athlete, you are recruited by top private high schools. Therefore, while many kids were participating in the joys of adolescence, I was visiting an overwhelming number of private high schools that thought I would be a great addition to their athletic program. My peers were envious of my opportunity. I begin to hear daily remarks such as “What high school will you be going to?” or “This will really help your family in the future.” Between the frequent visits to schools and the constant inquiries from others, my entire existence was about being an athlete. More importantly, I began to feel the pressure to perform athletically. The rhetoric fed to me was that, without an athletic scholarship, college would be an impossibility. This message was especially clear from those who were supposed to provide me with guidance—the school staff. I remember as if it were yesterday when a teacher asked me, “How is your mother, a single parent, going to pay for college without you earning a scholarship?” An educator should be caring, supportive, informative, and culturally educated to understand the population that they serve. But in that conversation, I experienced only an educator who, lacking cultural competency, used a narrow life perspective to limit the choices of a student (me) who needed academic and life-skills development. Instead, this person pushed me farther away from the classroom. I did not have an answer, nor did I have a college graduate in my family to serve as an example or advisor to tell me, “Your mind is more powerful than your athletic ability.” Because of this pressure, my days were filled with countless hours of practice, travel for competition, and individual training sessions. I hated school because everyone around seemed to embrace the mindset that athletic excellence was more valuable than my academic aspiration.

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At this time, I began to feel alienated from my peers. Many were told, effectively, “Just because you want to waste your life, do not bring De’Andre down with you.” These comments separated me from my peers and produced a narrative that suggested that I thought I was better than they were. This was simply not true, but in a child’s mind, the narrative gave rise to the assumption that I felt I was better than others. For my part, I was told, “Only other athletes understand the sacrifice it takes to be successful in life.” I had few friends outside of sports. In addition, I began to think that if my teachers and counselors are not emphasizing academics like they were my athletic training, then maybe I did not have the intellectual ability to be successful in the classroom. So it made sense to focus my energy on what was going to get me into college. As for the classroom, I figured out that, as long as I did not cause problems, teachers would not call on me. I did everything to not bring negative attention to myself. I assumed a teacher wanted a student who completed the homework, pretended to listen, and comprehended the lesson. The formula worked until one day when I had a scheduled phone call with a college recruiter, a Black male coach from a school I was very interested in attending. The conversation was invigorating—it had almost nothing to do with basketball but primarily focused on life. It had been years since someone outside of my immediate family had inquired how I saw my life after sports. As the conversation came to an end, I remember that the coach said he would check on me later that season. He was emphatic that I should begin to think seriously about my life’s ambition and make academics a priority. The words that I will never forget were, “You are not an athlete that fits our program right now; we are more focused on players who understand the importance of being a student and an athlete.” I was crushed, confused, and more lost than ever. My embarrassment and anger were directed at the coach. My psyche felt this would be his loss, and that he did not know what he was talking about. I had not heard any other coaches who had a problem with what I offered on and off the court. But as time passed, and I discussed the conversation with my trusted circle, I realized I was not on a path of success. I now believed it was time to make my teachers and counselors refocus from my athletic ability to being prepared for college. I began a slow process of transforming my identity from an athlete first to a committed student. Twenty-plus years later, my assessment is that I was

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not properly prepared for college. More importantly, even after maintaining a high academic grade point average, it was clear that my “plan” to hide in plain sight within the classroom should not have gone unnoticed. As Harris, Hines, Mayes, Thomas, and Bagley (2016) explain: Student-athletes' experiences in pre-k–12 schools greatly impact their trajectory and preparedness for post-secondary opportunities. Pre-k–12 schools provide student athletes, and all students in general, with the opportunity for skill development necessary for college readiness. Schools must take an “all hands on deck” approach where all educational stakeholders including school counselors, teachers, and coaches provide opportunities for students to develop these skills necessary for college and career readiness. (p. 176) I wish, like thousands of other Black male athletes wish every year, that my teachers had noticed, and pushed me to put forth the same effort in my classes as I was putting forth in athletics. Currently, as I write this critical reflection, there is still a part of me that wishes I had possessed the knowledge to demand the guidance I needed. I wish that my hours of practice, travel, and training could have been replaced with tutorial and mentoring sessions. I often work with teachers today who have a similar thinking as those I experienced in my youth. But I have a peace within me, because I know that they lacked malice. I have visited and worked with like-minded teachers throughout my professional career. With confidence, I can say that their attentions lacked malice. Unfortunately, their recollection of student-teacher relationships similar to the ones I had is one of triumph and success against all odds. My belief is that preconceived stereotypes and low expectations made me a victim of a broken educational system. My recollection is of unequal preparation for students such as myself who are from low socioeconomic or marginalized communities. My hope is that society now comprehends that, if schools can build top Black football and basketball players, they can also develop scientists, historians, and teachers (Perry, 2014). My expectation is that the story shared here, and my assessment of my relationship between athletics and academics, will inspire educators to make a commitment to institutional change.

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I Hated School: Framing De’Andre L. Shepard I am a Black, 40-year-old husband and father of two little boys. I am an education and athletic administrator, turned professor of K–12 educational leadership. I have a BS in Communication, an MA in speech and organizational communication, an EdS in educational leadership (secondary), a certificate in school leadership from Harvard, and a PhD in educational leadership. My credentials are important, because I believe that, absent one phone call, I would have been another victim of the relationship between urban schools and Black male athletes. More importantly, my story should be an example of how all schools and communities are filled with brilliant students who, regrettably, suffer from low expectations and cultural stereotypes that prevent these students from reaching their full intellectual potential. I was born in 1977, in Saginaw, Michigan, but spent equal time in Detroit. I was raised by a single mother who moved us from Saginaw to Detroit in hopes that a larger city would provide better opportunities and resources. The two urban cities that raised me are constantly in the news because of their failing schools, financial corruption, lack of resources, and a historic number of school closings. Furthermore, the cities are also famous for their athletic success and the number of professional athletes they produce. Of course, even with a national reputation for failing schools, an extraordinary athletics tradition will suppress any media attention given to the intellectually oppressive infrastructure of the educational systems in these communities. My mom provided a home environment that gave me space where it was okay to take my future into my own hands, without the pressure to give in to societal views on what was my true talent. I graduated from high school in 1996, excited to enter college with a newfound confidence, both academically and athletically. I endured frustration during my first year. I walked onto the campus knowing that my main goal was to obtain a degree. I had the foresight that, given my educational background and being a Black male, universities would view me as at risk. The athletic department promised my mom and me that, as a student-athlete, there would be unlimited academic and social support. What I was not prepared for was the mental distress associated with my athletic setbacks. I remember feeling as if I had lost personal identity, and a decrease in self-esteem due to my lack of athletic productivity. In fact, the more I encountered athletic disappointments, the more I suffered academically. I now understand that, in grade school and

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my early college years, I was willing to sacrifice my education. I did this not to chase my athletic goals but to chase a sense of belonging and to create an identity that would provide me with a high self-esteem. Everyone wants to do things that make them feel good and have people recognize these qualities as their talents. For me, that positive reinforcement had always been connected to athletics. During my early college years, I failed and I learned. I ultimately stopped participating in college athletics. I took a chance on myself and dedicated the remainder of my educational voyage to developing my intellectual confidence. I was overcome with pride when I fulfilled my goal of separating myself from my athletic identity and embraced my scholarly voice. Through my voice, the stories I have shared are accompanied with optimism that my relationship between athletics and academics will serve as an example for Black men who hate school, but have the exceptional intellectual fortitude to be more than a statistic.

Conclusion While a great deal of research has approached Black male academic success from a deficit model, the current project looked at the meaningful ways thattwo Black male PhDs were able to use their capital, although it existed in a nontraditional form, to navigate both cultural and structural barriers and earn PhDs. They returned to work within the same system that once alienated and despised them—in the hopes of transforming it. In order to bring a formal conclusion to this piece, we have chosen to identify 10 recommendations for educators to consider. 1. Create academic and social support networks designed specifically for Black boys and run by Black men, to provide a safe space where students like the authors may identify with others. 2. Develop a culturally responsive pedagogy to engage students who may not fit the dominant cultural narrative and to challenge teachers to think of ways their own cultural background may serve to alienate their students. 3. Orient the organizational culture of schools toward social justice. Social justice does not simply happen; it must be intentional, nurtured, and actively pursued.

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4. Encourage Black boys to challenge negative, counterproductive stereotypes of Blackness; pedagogical decisions should reinforce this undertaking. 5. Ensure, insofar as possible, that Black male teachers are the only instructors of Black boys from K–8 grades. 6. Recruit teachers with culturally relevant educational backgrounds and provide them with additional resources to help prepare Black males for the rigors of college. 7. Provide athletic enrichment programming to help educate parents and student-athletes successfully navigate through the professional subculture of K–12 athletics. 8. Provide interventions that address the social and academic issues of Black student-athletes. 9. Develop a Black-male mentoring group that focuses on societal issues surrounding academic achievement, social development, and athletics. 10. Create a partnership with National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) and state-level coaches’ associations to provide K–12 coaches professional development that educates the profession on the policies associated with amateurism in youth athletics. It is our sincere hope that this discussion of our hatred for school will promote practical dialogues to address the ways in which educators may be unknowingly (we hope) assaulting their students in general and Black males in particular. Moreover, it is our sincere desire to connect with educators and assist them in shaping intellectually safe school experiences for ALL!

References Akena, F. A. (2012). Critical analysis of the production of Western knowledge and its implications for indigenous knowledge and decolonization. Journal of Black Studies, 43(6), 599–619. Batalli, D. (2017). School bullying: Teachers’ perceptions. European Journal of Economics, Law and Social Science, 1(1), 174–181.

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Bruening, J. E., Clark, B. S., & Mudrick, M. (2015). Sport-based youth development in practice: The long-term impacts of an urban after-school program for girls. Journal of Park and Recreation Administration, 33(2). Forber-Pratt, A. J. (2015). “You’re going to do what?” Challenges of autoethnography in the academy. Qualitative Inquiry, 21(9), 821–835. Gardner, S. E., Betts, L. R., Stiller, J., & Coates, J. (2017). The role of emotion regulation for coping with school-based peer-victimization in late childhood. Personality and Individual Differences, 107, 108–113. Giroux, H. A. (2017). The scourge of illiteracy in authoritarian times. Contemporary Readings in Law & Social Justice, 9(1), 14–27. Harris, P. C., Hines, E. M., Mayes, R. D., Thomas, A., & Bagley, B. (2016). Balancing academics and athletics in high school: A phenomenological study of three Black male student athletes. Journal for the Study of Sports and Athletes in Education, 9(3), 172–189. Holman Jones, S. (2016). Living bodies of thought: The “critical” in critical autoethnography. Qualitative Inquiry, 22(4), 228–237. Marx, S., Pennington, J. L., & Chang, H. (2017). Critical autoethnography in pursuit of educational equity: Introduction to the IJME special issue. International Journal of Multicultural Education, 19(1), 1–6. Masson-Minock, M., & Stockmann, D. (2010). Creating a legal framework for urban agriculture: Lessons from Flint, Michigan. Journal of Agriculture, Food Systems, and Community Development, 1(2), 91–104. Perry, A. (2014). Black athletes must pick up the ball on graduation rates [Weblog post]. The Hechinger Report. Retrieved from http://hechinger report.org/black-athletes-must-pick-up-the-ball-on-graduation-rates Pough, G. D. (2004). Check it while I wreck it: Black womanhood, hip-hop culture, and the public sphere. Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press. Reid, J. A. (2017). Conclusion: Learning the humility of teaching "others"— preparing teachers for culturally complex classrooms. In C. Reid & J. Major (Eds.), Global teaching: Southern perspectives on teachers working with diversity (pp. 209–229). New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Strayhorn, T. L. (2012). College students’ sense of belonging: A key to educational success for all students. New York, NY: Routledge. Thomas, E. E., & Warren, C. A. (2017). Making it relevant: How a Black male teacher sustained professional relationships through culturally responsive discourse. Race, Ethnicity, and Education, 20(1), 87–100. Woodson, Carter G. (2006). The mis-education of the Negro. San Diego, CA: Book Tree. (Original work published 1933).

CHAPTER THREE

Meeting the Needs of Muslim Learners in an islamophobic Era Parisa Meymand

Why Do Muslim Students Matter? With our increasingly diverse population, schools are filled with multiethnic students who bring their cultural backgrounds with them to the classroom (Ladson-Billings, 2009). This chapter focuses on Muslim students living in the United States—and how implicit school practices (those not part of the formal curriculum) do not meet their educational needs. These practices, such as teacher attitudes, uniforms for girls in physical education, inclusion of home language, and respect for religious practices, are discussed in this chapter. It offers a theory to address these problems and to frame the discussion and a helpful teaching tool to implement in the classroom. The chapter concludes with strategies for teachers to better meet the needs of Muslim students. The need to understand Muslim students is increasing: Muslims are globally the second-largest religious group, as well as the fastest growing— set to equal the number of Christians by 2050 (Mohamed, 2016). Despite

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this fact, “the Muslim population often appears invisible and misunderstood in American society” (Callaway, 2010, p. 217). This invisibility intersects with the educational experiences of Muslim students, as their Muslim identity does not cease to exist when they walk into school settings. The problem in urban classrooms is particularly severe, as cities often contain large Muslim populations. Additionally, Muslim students are affected by a rise of distrust and dislike from some Americans against refugees from Islamic countries, a sentiment fueled by the anti-immigrant political rhetoric of the past few years (Cifci, 2012). It is impossible to characterize “Islamic home life,” as it is based on diverse traditions from various countries. Yet some characteristics of Islamic culture can be delineated: a patriarchal society, a strong focus on the family, traditional gender roles in favor of men, and modesty, particularly in women (Greenberg & Sagiv-Reiss, 2013). One certainty is these values of Islamic culture do not coincide with secular U.S. schooling (Sarroub, 2005), forcing students to navigate the complexities and difficulties of a dual identity—being both Muslim and American. While most Muslim students have one foot in each world, many feel the pressure to become “American” (Ahmad & Szpara, 2003). Given this tension between home and school life, the question becomes, How can urban schools and educators better meet the needs of their Islamic students without pressuring them to sacrifice their culture? Schools have both a unique opportunity and a responsibility to help students embrace both worlds, rather than forcing students in one direction only, as “schools and teachers have an immense impact on student engagement and achievement in school, and they are often the catalysts needed to change students’ futures and future competencies” (Sarroub, 2005, p. 10). I argue that meeting the needs of Muslim students in our schools is best achieved through teachers’ use of culturally sustained pedagogy. Cultural Differences Among Muslims Throughout history, waves of Muslim groups have entered the United States. Most of these immigrants move to cities where finding both communities of people with similar background and a high level of cultural diversity, they might feel more accepted. Additionally, many Muslims are born in the United States, both as second-generation children of immigrants and as converts from African American and other communities. This large, growing population from disparate national backgrounds and ethnicities

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naturally displays numerous differences, both internally and with respect to the larger American culture. Muslim students are diverse, in terms of “their educational levels, occupations, socioeconomic backgrounds as well as geographical origins” (Callaway, 2010, p. 218). Muslims also practice different forms of Islam; some Muslim immigrants want a more moderate interpretation of Islam, while others desire a stricter interpretation. This diversity of the Muslim population also illustrates how illegitimate it is to paint all Muslims as having the same background and identity. Muslims in Schools The U.S. educational system tends not to reflect the diversity of the country (Ladson-Billings, 2009) but mainstream Christian values (Moore, 2009). Christianity has an influential role in politics and education (Moore, 2009). As a result, current schooling practices largely ignore the religious diversity that exists in schools. The American educational system is also heavily influenced by the work of Edward Thorndike, who believed in measurement and assessment (Levin, 1991). Outcome-based education and high-stakes testing were created to hold students and schools accountable, rooted in Thorn­ dike’s belief in fixed truths and education for the masses and the workforce (Levin, 1991). Such a stance does not allow for a learner-centered notion of cognition, nor does it seek to meet the individual needs of students—in this case, Muslim students. The idea of education for the masses and for the workforce is particularly detrimental to underrepresented groups, who do not see themselves reflected in the curriculum: “In too many classrooms, testing and test preparations are replacing teaching and learning” (Banks, 2010, p. 4). The accompanying focus on testing also takes teachers’ attention away from the varying cultures of their students. By contrast, when teachers become more learner-centered and include the identity of Muslim learners (and others), they invite all students to learn and increase their motivation and engagement.

Critical SW Asian Theory: Power and Knowledge I have constructed a Critical SW Asian Studies (CSS) framework that allows for analysis and critique of the literature centered on the people and cultures of Southwest Asia. The region of Southwest Asia includes countries outlined on the map in Figure 1. Southwest Asia comprises a huge triangle of more than a dozen countries, including Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Afghani-

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stan (Figure 1), but the varied peoples of the region are often painted with a broad brush and seen as one. Figure 1. Map outlining the countries of Southwest Asia

CSS borrows from critical race theory, as it addresses inequalities presented from the dominant narrative and acknowledges the ingrained fear Americans have of Southwest Asians. The origin of this fear traces back to the Iranian Revolution and hostage crisis in Iran, and continues today, post-9/11, as people who look Southwest Asian are associated with terrorist activities. Such stereotypes are reinforced in the political arena as well as in the media. CSS also borrows from multiculturalism as it seeks representation of SW Asians in the curriculum to reflect their growing population in the United States. CSS additionally seeks richer, fuller narratives of SW Asians to provide a more accurate (and positive) narrative—and to end stereotypes. CSS acknowledges the range of individuals within Southwest Asia, including people of varying ethnicities, religions (but predominantly Islam), and languages. CSS also borrows from cultural studies, focusing on the connections between culture, in all its diversity, and power. CSS contends that those in power control curriculum, and that the curriculum currently taught rein-

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forces negative, stereotypical portrayals of people from the region. Additionally, CSS acknowledges that institutions and teachers often reinforce White, Christian values even in secular classrooms. Much knowledge construction made by mainstream media and passed down through textbooks centers on a negative and dehumanizing portrayal of Islam and of Muslims (Said, 1997; Ahmad & Szpara, 2003). “Consequently, the distinctive cultural identity of American Muslims is neither recognized nor valued” (Ahmad & Szpara, 2003, p. 296). This casual discounting—or ignoring—of the Islamic culture of Muslim students not only isolates them in the classroom and schools but leads to larger issues of social injustice. Power and knowledge are intertwined, and nowhere is this as evident as in schools. Banks (1993) speaks of “mainstream knowledge” (p. 8) as the dominant mode of knowing. It claims to be based on observed facts that are objective and to be uninfluenced by the bias of the researcher—and therefore the only way to view the world. By contrast, transformative knowledge emerges from nondominant voices and challenges mainstream knowledge in its contention that knowledge is not neutral but rather reflective of the researcher and reflective of power (Banks, 2016). Mainstream is privileged not only in society but in school, where it ignores and misrepresents nondominant voices—including those of Muslims. By addressing the power relations of those who construct knowledge, transformative knowledge dismantles the supposed objectivity of the dominant paradigm. In this way, voices that are often silenced can finally be heard and make a difference in creating a counternarrative, their own positive alternative. Toward this end, CSS values the lived cultural experiences of students and promotes sharing such experiences in the classroom as a counternarrative.

Curriculum Issues and Muslim Student Identity Geographer Gillian Rose (1995) defines identity as “how we make sense of ourselves” (p. 87). Identity has a powerful presence; it is complex, nuanced, fluid. The increased multiracial and multiethnic population in the United States echoes this fluidity of identity. Perceptions of self change over time, and the categorization of individuals can prove difficult as identities vary depending on circumstances and situations. Historically, many Western countries have done little to include the local identities of students into the classroom curriculum (Ladson-Billings & Brown, 2008). For example, past

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policies focused on assimilation of immigrants rather than including their cultural knowledge (Dehyle, Swisher, Stevens, & Galvan, 2008; Fang He, Phillion, Chan, & Xu, 2008). Previous research shows Muslim students feel that most of their teachers and fellow students have inadequate knowledge and negative stereotypes about Islam and its values (Fahlman, 1984; Nord & Haynes, 1998). These misconceptions affect Muslim students (Nord & Haynes, 1998; Sarroub, 2005). Previous research shows Muslim students feel that most of their teachers and fellow students have inadequate knowledge and negative stereotypes about Islam and its values (Fahlman, 1984; Nord & Haynes, 1998). These misconceptions affect Muslim students (Nord & Haynes, 1998; Sarroub, 2005). This is in part because teachers lack the communication skills and sensitivities to teach diverse students (Ladson-Billings, 2009; Fahlman, 1984). Some teachers have even admitted to having negative attitudes and being openly prejudiced toward Muslims (Fahlman, 1984; Sarroub, 2005). Additionally, these attitudes place students in a non-supportive learning environment where they do not feel welcome (Fahlman, 1984). The difficulties faced by Muslim students in public schools can be illustrated in the following examples, though they do not address the entire breadth and depth of their struggles. Muslim identity is not accommodated in public school physical education courses. Both male and female students typically wear school-issued shorts and T-shirts as uniforms. So it is no surprise that Muslim girls have lower rates of participation in coeducational physical education classes, as women are supposed to cover themselves in the presence of males in traditional Islamic culture (Ahmad & Szpara, 2003; Benn & Pfister, 2013; Benn, Pfister, & Jawad, 2011). Benn and Pfister (2013) note, Muslim girls are managing bicultural identities and they are confronted with a “Western” school culture, and with the demands of heads and teachers that may require them to dress or act in ways which challenge their religious beliefs and also their identities. (p. 573) The embarrassment many Muslim girls and young women feel from their peers when wearing pants rather than shorts in gym class causes many sim-

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ply not to show up for class and subsequently to fail (Ahmad & Szpara, 2003; Sarroub, 2005). School personnel rarely consider the difficulties this and similar situations in our educational system pose for Muslim girls and young women. The language needs of Muslim students often go unmet. Their rate of growth is more than 10% each year (Kindler, 2002), and in 2009 the number of such students exceeded 5.5 million (McCardle, Mele-McCarthy, Cutting, Leos, & D’Emilio, 2009). Muslim students speak a variety of home languages. Even those from Southwest Asia speak not only Arabic but Farsi (Persian), Turkish, and Urdu, just to name a few (Chacko, 2016). Although schools offer English Language Learning (ELL) courses, many students struggle to succeed in their classroom setting. While many factors account for this, one frequently overlooked item is the learning environment. Studies show that students in a supportive learning environment that affirms their cultural identity excel in school (Szpara & Ahmad, 2007). The way educators depict Islam as a religion often confirms negative stereotypes (Uphoff, 1989; Nord & Haynes, 1998; Jones & Sheffield, 2009). While public schools certainly do not engage in practicing religion, they can and should acknowledge aspects of religion, especially as they relate to learners in the classroom. For Muslim students, this includes creating spaces for prayer or allowing school absences for religious observance (Ipgrave, 2010). Improving Learning Environments Through Culturally Sustained Practices Twenty-two years ago, Ladson-Billings introduced culturally relevant pedagogy to the education field. It seeks inclusion of students’ experiences in the classroom to enhance meaning-making and learning. Teachers who practice culturally relevant pedagogy “can be identified by the way they see themselves and others” (Ladson-Billings, 2009, p. 29). They view themselves positively, as professionals, and view student failure as a non-option (Ladson-Billings, 1995). The goal of culturally relevant pedagogy is to move beyond mainstream portrayals that are often negative to more positive representations. Mainstream portrayal often depicts Muslim students’ native cultures pejoratively and implies they should conform to the dominant group. Teachers practicing culturally relevant pedagogy help students make connections between home, school, and community, and view knowledge construction as fluid and shared (Ladson-Billings, 2009). Additionally, they

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connect with students beyond the institutional walls of school (LadsonBillings, 2009). Teachers and schools using culturally relevant pedagogy are “helping students to recognize and honor their own cultural beliefs and practices while acquiring access to the wider culture, where they are likely to have a chance of improving their socioeconomic status and making informed decisions about the lives they wish to lead” (Ladson-Billings, 2006, p. 36). From culturally relevant pedagogy emerged culturally sustaining pedagogy, an attempt to further Ladson-Billings’s ideas. Culturally sustaining pedagogy seeks to move beyond CRP by maintaining the languages and cultures of both the dominant and nondominant groups in the classroom setting (Paris, 2012). Students of any group bring their cultural identity with them to the classroom, and teachers practicing culturally sustaining pedagogy will see their students’ culture as an asset (Milner, 2011), and likely will better meet the needs of their students—including Muslim students. A teacher practicing culturally sustaining pedagogy also recognizes the fluidity of culture and the need to tread carefully when depicting a culture in a particular perhaps dated way, as all cultures evolve. Cultures are complex, and there is no perfect guide. Preparation for this new learning will require a reconsideration of teacher preparation to ensure that educators become more familiarized with cultural differences and learn their importance. As Sarroub (2005) noted, many of the teachers in Dearborn were non-Arab White; “accounting for differences and similarities in cultural background or gender norms in the classroom intensified their workload, and so they categorically shied away from such intensity” (p. 93). Learning about other cultures is time consuming and can add to teacher workload. Given the many expectations given from the administration, teachers tend to focus on immediate demands rather than time-intensive needs. Therefore, preservice teachers should learn about diverse cultures in their surrounding communities, as that may be their future. But time constraints are not the only challenge to raising cultural awareness; people often feel an inherent discomfort when addressing issues of cultural difference. Preservice educators may feel they should not acknowledge differences in race, gender, ethnicity, or religion. Students themselves may feel the same, perhaps because they want to avoid conflict, or perhaps because due to their own positionality of being in the dominant group they are blind to the cultural differences of others. Whatever the cause, teacher education

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programs should discuss student cultural differences and prepare educators to handle them. Schools should address issues involving Muslim women and physical education classes: the gender of the teacher in relation to the student, the gender of other students, and the clothing (shorts) required in gym class. There are a number of ways to address these issues. First, schools could institute single-sex gym classes taught by teachers of the same gender. If this is not possible, schools could allow students to take the course at a school (Islamic or public) that does offer single-sex gym classes, or they could offer an independent study in which the student can fulfill the requirements on his or her own time. In terms of dress, schools could offer students the choice of pants or shorts to fulfill the uniform requirement. This offering might trigger even non-Muslim students to select pants for gym class and help Muslim students feel more comfortable. To meet the needs of Muslim students, schools could offer Arabic or other languages in Southwest Asia. The number of students studying Arabic in the United States has increased more than any other language (Temples, 2013). For Muslim Arabic speakers, the offering of Arabic as a language and the use of Arabic in schools is immensely important in an attempt to maintain a dual identity (Sarroub, 2005). Indeed, including Arabic as a course offering strengthens the opportunities for all students in a school. Employment opportunities are strengthened, as Arabic is the fifth most widely spoken language globally. For example, there are many government jobs for speakers of Arabic; the U.S. State Department has identified Arabic as one of several “critical needs” languages. Students who do not learn to speak Arabic fluently will still develop sensitivity, as it is hard not to learn about culture when learning a language (Jackson, 2013). Religion plays a vital role in many Muslim students’ lives, and practicing their faith should not cause them to miss school (Sarroub, 2005). In order to better accommodate Muslim students who pray five times a day, schools should allow students to leave the classroom for prayer without derogatory looks from students or teachers. The school should provide designated areas where students have a safe place to pray. On Friday afternoons, many Muslims also go to pray at a mosque—including school-age children (Sarroub, 2005). Certainly, students should be allowed to attend Friday mosque without penalty for missing school, though students still have a responsibility to make up any missed work in a timely manner.

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School communities should allow the traditions and rituals of Islam to coexist with the traditions and rituals of Christianity. Acceptance of such nondominant traditions and rituals follows the maintenance of pluralism that exists in our country. Suggestions for All Teachers Beyond the previously mentioned strategies for in-service and preservice teachers, physical education classes, language offerings, and respect for prayer and Friday mosque attendance, there are general ideas for all educators to consider to better meet the needs of Muslim students. The suggestions below are merely guidelines schools and educators might follow as they continue to redesign education to meet the needs of all learners. In the case of Muslim students, the teacher should be cognizant of cultural norms, anticipating problems with gym clothes, coeducational gym instruction, and leaving school for prayer purposes and holidays. If the teacher could not anticipate such issues, the teacher should respond to the situation in a caring, thoughtful manner sensitive to the particular situation. Administrators and teachers should remember that all Muslim students are not the same and cannot be painted with a broad brush, whether in terms of ethnicity, language, country of origin, or even religious adherence. Muslim students should be engaged in dialogue, keeping in mind that each of them expresses the particular experiences of that individual. There may be a number of Muslims in the same classroom who practice and show their faith very differently, and these individual differences deserve respect. Educators should ask questions. Instead of making assumptions or being afraid to say something, they should ask for clarification if needed. A positive classroom environment should be fostered so that students feel open and comfortable enough to engage in discussion. Perhaps some of the holy days can be acknowledged within the classroom, and the opportunity seized to learn more from the Muslim students. Such a conversation could move into other aspects of Islamic culture, such as food, dress, gender roles, space, and society. These kinds of discussions may well result in the positive growth of classroom relationships with Muslim students.

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Teacher suggestions: ü Respect individuality within the Muslim student population ü Encourage dialogue ü Ask questions ü Promote a positive classroom environment ü Learn more from Muslim students about traditions and culture ü Acknowledge rituals from the local cultures of your students ü Help Muslim students in honoring what is important to them ü Continue the conversation!

Conclusion In a pluralist, democratic society, the views of many rather than only those of the dominant should be visible in the classroom. This is what true democracy looks like—and those whose voices are often silenced should be able to maintain their culture while receiving their education (Banks, 2008). A teacher’s relationship in the learning process is one of support for the students as they find their purpose (Milner, 2014). How can Muslim students find their purpose when their cultures and voices are not present in the classroom? The dominant narrative of mainstream knowledge and identities are often present in education, silencing marginalized groups such as Muslims. Schools provide a rich opportunity to recognize the individuality and cultures of these students. When students’ identities are reflected in the classroom, counternarratives are produced and cultures are maintained. These counternarratives are part of transformative knowledge that challenge the assimilationist type of mainstream knowledge and empower marginalized voices. Such a non-binary approach helps build the cultural wealth of our country in a way that moves us forward with respect for all. At a time when political debate includes far too many isolationist, anti-immigrant, and antiMuslim voices—and indeed, when refugees from some Muslim-majority countries have been banned from entering the United States (“Trump Travel Ban,” 2017).

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This chapter focused on implicit school practices (not overt or formal) such as the attitudes of teachers, female uniforms in physical education courses, the inclusion of home language in the classroom, and respect for the Muslim religion. Rather than analyzing what is taught in the formal curriculum, this chapter concentrated on the unintended consequences of implicit practices that are often taken for granted. In exposing some of the practices that reinforce White, Christian values, this work is intended to convince educators to allow Muslim learners also the opportunity to have their culture present and maintained in the classroom setting. In using CSS as a framework for acknowledging the negative bias that many have toward Muslims, teachers can work with students to reconstruct a positive view of their culture. Teachers employing culturally sustaining practices allow this positive view to flourish by inviting the culture of the student to enter the classroom. In this way, we can work to include more fully our students in the learning process and to give them a better sense of belonging.

I, Too (inspired by Langston Hughes) I, too, sing America. I am the darker sister in a hijab. I’m told my traditions don’t matter, When in school. But I read, And I learn, And grow strong. I’ll be leading When in college. No one should say to me, “You don’t belong,” Then. Besides, They’ll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed— I, too, am America. —Adapted by Parisa Meymand from The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes by Langston Hughes, edited by Arnold Rampersad with David Roessel, associate editor, copyright © 1994.

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References Ahamad, I., & Szpara, M. Y. (2003). Muslim children in urban America: The New York City Schools experience. Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs, 23(2), 295–301. Banks, J. (2008). Diversity, group identity, and citizenship education in a global age. Educational Researcher, 37(3), 129–139. Banks, J. (2016). Expanding the epistemological terrain.  Educational Researcher, 45(2), 149–158. Banks, J., & Banks, C. (Eds.). (2010). Multicultural education: Issues and perspectives. New York, NY: John Wiley. Benn, T., & Dagkas, S. (2006). Incompatible? Compulsory mixed-sex Physical Education Initial Teacher Training (PEITT) and the inclusion of Muslim women: A case-study on seeking solutions. European Physical Education Review, 12(2), 181–200. Benn, T., & Pfister, G. (2013). Meeting needs of Muslim girls in school sport: Case studies exploring cultural and religious diversity. European Journal of Sport Science, 13(5), 567–574. Benn, T., Pfister, G., & Jawad, H. (Eds.). (2011). Muslim women and sport. London: Routledge. Callaway, A. (2010). Literature review: The growing need to understand Muslim students. Multicultural Perspectives, 12(4), 217–222. Chacko, E. (2016). Immigrants from the Muslim world: Lebanese and Iranians. In C. Airriess (Ed.), Contemporary Ethnic Geographies in America (pp. 373–390) (2nd ed.). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Cifci, S. (2012). Islamophobia and threat perceptions: Explaining antiMuslim sentiment in the West. Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs, 32(3), 293–309. Deyhle, D., Swisher, K., Stevens, T., & Galvan, R. (2008). Indigenous resistance and renewal. In M. Connelly (Ed.), The Sage handbook of curriculum and instruction (pp. 329–348). Los Angeles, CA: Sage Publications.

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Fahlman, L. (1984).  Toward understanding the lived-world of Lebanese Muslim students and their teachers. (Doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from ProQuest Dissertations and Theses. Fang He, M., Phillion, J., Chan, E., & Xu, S. (2008). Immigrant students’ experience of curriculum. In M. Connelly (Ed.), The Sage handbook of curriculum and instruction (pp. 219–239). Los Angeles, CA: Sage Publications. Greenberg, Z., & Sagiv-Reiss, D. (2013). Young Arab women at the crossroads between the traditional and the modern: Analysis of life stories of Arab Muslim students who have left home to achieve higher education. Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences, 4(2), 143–154. Ipgrave, J. (2010). Including the religious viewpoints and experiences of Muslim students in an environment that is both plural and secular. Journal of International Migration and Integration/Revue de l’integration et de la migration internationale, 11(1), 5–22. Jackson, A. (2013, Spring). Developing a global citizenry. Perspectives: The Newsletter of the Middle East Outreach Council, 1–3. Kindler, A. L. (2002). Survey of the states’ LEP students and available educational programs and services: 2000–2001 Summary Report. Washington, DC: Office of English. Ladson-Billings, G. (1995). But that’s just good teaching! The case for culturally relevant pedagogy. Theory Into Practice, 34(3), 159–165. Ladson-Billings, G. (2009). The dreamkeepers (2nd ed.). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Ladson-Billings, G., & Brown, L. (2008). Curriculum and cultural diversity. In M. Connelly (Ed.), The Sage handbook of curriculum and instruction (pp. 153–175). Los Angeles, CA: Sage Publications. LeClair, C., Doll, B., Osborn, A., & Jones, K. (2009). English language learners’ and non–English language learners’ perceptions of the classroom environment. Psychology in the Schools, 46(6), 568–577. Leve, L. (2011). Identity. Current Anthropology, 52(4), 513–535.

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Levin, R. (1991). The debate over schooling: Influences of Dewey and Thorndike. Childhood Education, 68(2), 71–75. McCardle, P., Mele-McCarthy, J., Cutting, L., Leos, K., & D’Emilio, T. (2005). Learning disabilities in English language learners: Identifying the issues. Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, 20(1), 1–5. Milner, H. R. (2011). Culturally relevant pedagogy in a diverse urban classroom. Urban Review: Issues and Ideas in Public Education, 43(1), 66–89. Milner, H. R. (2014). Culturally relevant, purpose-driven learning & teaching in a middle school social studies classroom. Multicultural Education, 21(2), 9–17. Mohamed, B. (2016). A new estimate of the US Muslim population. Retrieved July 23, 2016, from Pew Research Center website: http://www.pew­ research.org/fact-tank/2016/01/06/a-new-estimateof-the-u-s-muslim-population/ Moore, J. (2009). Why religious education matters: The role of Islam in multicultural education. Multicultural Perspectives, 11(3), 139–145. Paris, D. (2012). Culturally sustaining pedagogy: A needed change in stance, terminology, and practice. Educational Researcher, 41(3), 93–97. Rose, G. (1995). Place and identity: A sense of place. In M. Massey & P. Jess (Eds.), A Place in the World (pp. 87–132). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sabry, N., & Bruna, K. (2007). Learning from the experience of Muslim students in American schools: Towards a proactive model of schoolcommunity cooperation. Multicultural Perspectives, 9(3), 44–50. Said, E. (1997). Covering Islam: How the media and the experts determine how we see the rest of the world (Rev. ed.). New York, NY: Vintage Books. Sarroub, L. (2005).  All American Yemeni girls: Being Muslim in a public school. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Szpara, M. Y., & Ahmad, I. (2007). Supporting English-language learners in a social studies class: Results from a study of high school teachers. Social Studies, 98(5), 189–195.

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Temples, A. (2013).  Constructing Arabic as heritage: Investment in language, literacy, and identity among young U.S. learners. (Doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from ProQuest Dissertations and Theses. Tindongan, C. (2012). “What are you?”: Exploring the lived identity experiences of Muslim immigrant students in U.S. public school. (Doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from ProQuest Dissertations and Theses. Trump travel ban comes into effect for six countries. (2017, June 30). BBC. Retrieved from http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-40452360 Tsui, B. (2015, Dec. 14). Choose your own identity. New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/2015/12/14/magazine/choose-yourown-identity.html?_r=0 Uphoff, J. K. (1989). Religious diversity and education. In J. Banks and C. Banks (Eds.), Multicultural Education: Issues and Perspectives (pp. 103– 122). Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon.

CHAPTER FOUR

Classes where “Kids Learn/ Don’t Learn a Lot” A Study of Mexican American Adolescents’ Voices Janine Bempechat, Margarita Jimenez-Silva, Jin Li, & Susan D. Holloway

T

he role of socioeconomic status (SES) in academic achievement is well-documented in the literature. Inequities in educational opportunities based on SES persist as a social barrier to increasing achievement and educational attainment (Duncan & Murnane, 2011). Social class has now surpassed race and ethnicity as the most significant predictor of academic achievement (Reardon, 2013), and much public policy attention is focused on providing equal educational opportunities for lower-SES students (Duncan & Murnane, 2011). Against this backdrop, the well-documented underperformance of low-income Latinx students is the subject of much research (Reese, Jensen, & Ramirez, 2014; Valenzuela, 1999). Absent from much of the literature, however, are the voices of students and their own perceptions of their educational experiences (Kaplan & Maehr, 2007). In this paper, we extend on our previous efforts to privilege the voices of Mexican American students’ regarding their beliefs about their learning experiences (Bae, Holloway, Li, &

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Bempechat, 2008). More specifically, our purpose is to explore how higherand lower-achieving Mexican American students in two urban Northern California high schools interpret their classroom experiences, both positive and negative.

Latinx Students’ Academic Achievement As recent national data indicate, Latinx students have made marked improvements in achievement, with a significant decrease in high school dropout rates (from 32% in 2000 to 14% in 2013) and a tripling of enrollment in two- and four-year colleges since 1993 (Krogstad & Fry, 2014). Despite these gains, the achievement gap for Mexican American students remains troubling. A recent examination of reading achievement among Latinx subgroups found important nuances not revealed in studies on the achievement of Latinx students as a whole. Specifically, from 2005 to 2015, fourth and eighth graders in all subgroups studied (including Latinx students of Cuban, Puerto Rican, and Mexican descent) made similar reading gains. At the eighth grade, however, while the achievement of Cuban American students increased, that of Mexican American students decreased significantly (Ramos & Murphey, 2016). Such findings are concerning because reading achievement is a significant predictor of school success (August & Shanahan, 2006). The Role of Teachers According to much recent research, teachers play an important role in promoting classroom environments conducive to learning and school engagement (Stronge, Ward, & Grant, 2011). Related investigation has established the value of teacher-student relationships (Noddings, 1992). Students’ perceptions of pedagogical care and support have a profound influence on their academic achievement and the development of adaptive achievement cognitions and behaviors, including mastery orientation and self-regulation (Wentzel, 2009). Regrettably, many Latinx students do not perceive their teachers as caring adults (Borjian & Padilla, 2010). Mexican American youth state that their teachers not only display a lack of care for them, they also view them as unmotivated to learn and perceive them and their families as not valuing education (Valenzuela, 1999). Students also described school as uninspiring and believed that, generally speaking, their schools did not hold high

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expectations for them (Valenzuela, 1999). Latinx students have described curricula as emphasizing rote instruction (Borjian & Padilla, 2010). Indeed, in a previous study of students in the present research, we found that across achievement levels, students perceived their teachers’ expectations similarly. That is, higher and lower achievers all perceived that their teachers’ expectations of a “good” student would encompass rather minimal expectations, such as completing homework, paying attention, and coming to class on time (Bae et al., 2008). Relatedly, when teachers promote student engagement and monitor student progress, students develop a relationship of trust with their teachers, which can lead to increased student achievement (Borjian & Padilla, 2010). And trusting relationships are maintained by reinforcing students’ competence as learners and creating a safe classroom learning environment (Borjian & Padilla, 2010). Teachers who work with culturally and linguistically diverse students must create an atmosphere in which students feel welcome and accepted (Trueba & Bartolome, 2000). One way that teachers can promote such an environment is through asset pedagogies, which we address below. The Role of Asset Pedagogies Resource or asset pedagogies encompass such approaches as culturally relevant pedagogy (Ladson-Billings, 1995), funds of knowledge (Moll & Gonzalez, 1994), the pedagogical third space (Gutiérrez, Baquedano-López, & Tejeda, 1999), culturally responsive pedagogy (Cazden & Leggett, 1976), and culturally sustaining pedagogy (Paris, 2012). These frameworks acknowledge and build on students’ cultural and linguistic identities, knowledge, and communities. Various studies (e.g., Coulter & Jimenez-Silva, 2017) have documented the relationship between resource pedagogies and academic success. DuncanAndrade and Morrell’s (2008) research reports that urban youths’ literacy and critical thinking skills were advanced through culturally relevant teaching (CRT). Cammarota and Romero (2009) focused their work on the ethnic studies programs in Tucson, Arizona, documenting the manner in which Latinx youth in high schools benefited academically from CRT. They documented that teachers who engaged students with critical pedagogy and emphasized students’ community in their learning positively influenced student engagement in the classroom.

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In her work on culturally responsive educators, Ladson-Billings (2000) asserted that such educators share three key traits. First, they focus on academic achievement: teachers expect students to work hard but see it as their own responsibility to ensure that the work is rigorous, relevant, and engaging. Second, they demonstrate cultural competence: teachers must promote students’ participation in their culture of origin and affirm their cultural heritage both in the curriculum and in communication with students. Third, they show critical consciousness: teachers help students develop the cognitive skills to identify and interrogate unequal distributions of power and resources and to take action for equity (Ladson-Billings, 2000). Regardless of the specific type of resource pedagogy used, students from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds stand to benefit from educators who bring this pedagogy to the classroom (Ramirez & Jimenez-Silva, 2015). The Role of Peers The role of peers in school engagement is an increasing source of interest among students examining student motivation. For example, Wentzel and colleagues found that among sixth and ninth graders, perceiving friends as having high academic goals fostered behavior that enhanced academic achievement and motivation (such as following classroom rules; Wentzel, Filisetti, & Looney, 2007). For Latinx students in particular, peers are especially influential in deciding whether to pursue a college education (Pérez & McDonough, 2008). We know, for example, that students who actively make plans to attend college encourage other friends to do the same (Rivera, 2014). At the high school level, the influence of peers positively affects the experiences of Latinx youth, both socially and academically (Sánchez, Reyes, & Singh, 2006; Zambrana & Zoppi, 2002). Research also indicates that peers can influence both positive and disruptive forms of adolescents’ behavioral engagement in school (Bempechat, Mirny, Li, Wenk, & Holloway, 2011; Berndt & Keefe, 1995; Sirin & Rogers-Sirin, 2004). Elementary and middle school students are more likely to interact with peer groups that have similar levels of engagement, and those who affiliate with high-engagement peer groups are likely to continue to increase their level of behavioral engagement (Kindermann, 1993). With respect to Latinx youth, evidence suggests that peer groups can contribute to school engagement and academic outcomes (Conchas, 2006). In a qualitative study of Mexican American adolescents, Castillo, Conoley,

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Cepeda, Ivy, and Archuleta (2010) reported on the positive and negative influence that peers could have on students’ engagement. In particular, Mexican American students reported that friends could detract from doing well in school, often by tempting them to make problematic decisions, such as skipping school. More positively, these students also reported that peers could be helpful for discussing the value of good grades and college aspirations. Studies using a social capital perspective have shown that peers in Latinx communities often serve as social networks that provide the resources to succeed academically (Sánchez, Reyes, & Singh, 2006; Zambrana & Zoppi, 2002). Student Voice With few exceptions (Irizarry, 2015), little research into teacher practice has paid attention to students’ voices, especially low-income students from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds (Andrew, 2016; Nieto, 2000). We stand to learn much from students about classroom contexts that they perceive as enhancing or inhibiting learning and engagement. Our previous study of these students revealed that higher and lower achievers identified “good” students as ones who comply with social norms (e.g., obeying classroom rules, not acting up; Bae et al, 2008). The present study builds on this work by exploring ways in which low-income Mexican American secondary school students speak about classrooms in which they perceive that they learn or do not learn a lot.

Theoretical Framework and Research Questions Our research was grounded in Bronfenbrenner’s (1979) ecological theory of development, which positions the child at the center of five concentric but interrelated spheres of influence. The microsystem—the most proximal sphere of influence—is the most significant for the present study. It encompasses the child’s immediate settings, including home and school. Within these settings, the child co-constructs learning beliefs with influential individuals such as family members, teachers, and peers. In this study, we explored three primary research questions: (1) How does this sample of Mexican American students speak about classes in which they perceive that students learn “a lot”? (2) How does this sample of Mexican American students speak about classes in which they perceive students do not learn “a lot”? (3) How might the perceptions of high and lower achievers be similar to and/or different from one another?

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Method Participants A total of 32 Mexican American ninth graders were recruited from two San Francisco Bay Area urban schools: North High School and South High School (16 from each site, with an equal mix of female and male students; see Table 1). North High School (all names throughout this paper are pseudonyms) is located on the fringes of the San Francisco Bay Area. Table 1 shows that the school has an ethnically diverse student body, where almost half the students are eligible for free or reduced lunch. Academic achievement at North High is low: the Academic Performance Index (API, with a maximum of 1000) at the time of data collection (2004) was among the lowest in the state, even among students from comparable SES backgrounds. The Latinx students’ API score in 2004 was 504, significantly lower than the non-Hispanic White students’ score of 585. In 2004, only 15% of Table 1. School Demographics North High School

South High School

1585 students

1515 students

Latinos

42%

27%

African American

13%

35%

Asian American

8%

12%

Non-Latino Whites

28%

17%

Students Identified as English Language Learners

29%

22%

Students Qualifying for Free or Reduced-Price Lunch

42%

22%

2004 API Score

552

564

2003 API Score

537

547

Credentialed Teachers

Student Population

77%

70%

Average Years of Teaching Experience

10

13

Average Class Size

18

30

From Bae, S., Holloway, S. D., Li, J., & Bempechat, J. (2008). Mexican-American students’ perceptions of teachers’ expectations: Do perceptions differ depending on student achievement levels? Urban Review: Issues and Ideas in Public Education, 40(2), 210–225.

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the graduates completed University of California/California State University (UC/CSU) requirements, compared to a state average of 34%. More than three quarters of the teaching staff at North High (77%) is fully credentialed, against the statewide average of 86%. The faculty had been teaching an average of 10 years, which suggests that they were relatively experienced. South High School is located in a working-class community in the San Francisco Bay graduates complete UC/CSU requirements for matriculation into four-year universities. The teaching staff is 70% fully credentialed and has an average of 13 years of teaching experience. Research assistants visited classrooms to explain the study and recruit volunteers. Students received parental permission to participate. All students were English proficient, none were enrolled in honors or advanced courses, and all were eligible for free or reduced lunch. Because our goal was to surface variation in perceptions of higher and lower achievers toward classrooms where students learn and do not learn, we chose a purposive sample of 11 of the 32 students—the six highest achieving, with a grade point average (GPA) of 3.5 or above, and the five lowest achieving, with a GPA of 1.5 or below (see Table 2). We successfully employed this strategy in a previous study of these students’ perceptions of their teachers’ expectations (see Bae et al., 2008). We expected that this contrastive sample would bring into relief variations in students’ perceptions of classes where they believed they learned or did not learn a lot. Table 2. Student Participants Name

Gender

High School

GPA

Maria

Female

South

3.917

Elena

Female

North

3.833

Evelin

Female

South

3.75

Marissa

Female

North

3.708

Joshua

Male

South

3.625

Rosa

Female

South

3.50

Melaney

Female

South

1.417

Lupe

Female

North

1.417

Alejandro

Male

South

1.321

Paula

Female

North

1.10

Teresa

Female

South

1.00

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Interview Protocol and Procedure Students were individually interviewed (45–50 minutes) on two occasions by the fourth author or her trained graduate research assistants, using a standardized open-ended format. We designed the first interview to probe students’ daily lives, including family life and routines (e.g., homework and chores). We designed the second interview to tap students’ school-related experiences, including their perceptions of their classes, teachers, and peers; our data stem from this second interview. We used Kelly’s (1963) theory of personal constructs to guide the construction of questions. This required students to compare and contrast two poles of a given dimension. Following Kelly (1963), we asked students to describe three characteristics of two classes in which they believed students learned a lot and to contrast this with three characteristics of one class where they believed students did not learn a lot. We sought deeper meanings by seeking examples and explanations of comments that were vague. Interviews were audio recorded and transcribed for later analysis. Achievement Data We collected students’ ninth-grade GPAs from school records. Students’ average GPA was 2.585 at North High (range: 1.1–3.883) and 2.384 at South High (range 1.0–3.917). Coding and Analysis We adopted a two-step approach to coding the interview data. Our primary concern was to maintain the meaning of students’ open-ended statements. At the first level, we used thematic analysis (Boyatzis, 1998) to conduct a close reading of each interview. From this we identified the major categories of students’ descriptions of the two classes in which students learn a lot and one class in which they did not. At the second level of analysis, we read the interviews inductively multiple times to identify all distinct ideas that students expressed within each category. Following Li (2006), we considered an idea distinct if it was not interchangeable with another. For example, the statement “Most of the kids go there and do their work. And they’re like always prepared for that class” was coded as reflecting two distinct ideas around peer classroom influence: (1) kids doing their work in class, and (2) kids always being prepared for class. Inter-rater reliability ranged from 80% to 100%; disagreements were resolved through consensus. Throughout the

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coding process, we developed and revised a codebook of definitions and examples. The list of emergent themes, their expression, and sample quotations appears in Table 3 and 4.

Results Our findings revealed two emergent themes, teacher- and peer-related, that suggest reasons why students perceived themselves as learning or not learning in their classes (see Tables 3 and 4). Students selected varied classes to discuss, including English, social studies, algebra, and history. Classes in Which Students Learn a Lot Two categories emerged in students’ comments concerning classes in which they learned a lot—teacher-related and peer-related. The teacher-related category was be divided into three subthemes: (1) relational style, (2) pedagogical practices, and (3) classroom management skills. With respect to teachers’ relational styles, only lower achievers invoked this subtheme when they described classes in which they learned a lot. They described such classes as ones in which teachers were kind and supportive. For example, Teresa described teachers “who act like they cared and they are nice to you.” Regarding teachers’ pedagogical practices, both higher- and lower-­ achieving students noted that students learned a lot in classes where the teachers were “good” and explained material well. Lupe, a lower achiever, described teachers who “go through everything. They give you examples, like they show you.” In speaking of his biology teachers, Joshua, a higher achiever, stated, “The teacher makes sure, makes sure that everybody is listening. He’s like, ‘Do you understand that?’” Interestingly, the descriptions of higher achievers, but not lower ones, described teachers not only as ones who explained the coursework but also as ones who made class interesting by presenting the material in new and creative ways. They used different types of pedagogical practices, including group activities and project-based learning, making classes engaging and sparking student interest. For example, Elena stated: In reading, we read a story and it had people making something and we did it ourselves. And we were learning how to sew and we took the thesaurus down and read it and looked up different words

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Table 3. Emergent themes, their expression, and quotes: Classes in which students learn a lot Themes

Higher Achievers

Lower Achievers

Teacher-Related: Relational

No comments.

Teachers are nice and/or caring. Teachers do not overtly express anger. They won’t get mad at you.

Teacher-Related: Pedagogical

Teachers explain material clearly.

Teachers explain material clearly.

Teachers promote projectbased learning. Teachers offer interesting material. Students want to listen.

Teacher-Related: Classroom Management

Peer-Related

Like he gave us this thing called a reading guide where we had questions about the readings we had, and it was really helpful.

Because they know how to explain it.

Teachers effectively manage disruptions.

Teachers effectively manage disruptions.

Because the teacher knows how to keep them, they know how to keep their students quiet.

[The teacher] does not give them as many chances as other people do.

Peers are prepared for class, do their work.

No comments.

Some peers are advanced. They do the activity that they have.

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for clothing. And in history, we read a story with different words and we got into groups and discussed what we thought the difficult words meant. And then look them up. When discussing classroom management, lower and higher achievers did not differ in their views of teachers who were able to manage their classrooms. Students lauded teachers who “do not wait until it’s too late” to tell students to quiet down. Only higher achievers, but not lower ones, spoke of peers as a facilitating factor in classes where students learned a lot, noting that these were classes in which peers were “always prepared for class,” did their work, and, in some cases, were advanced. Of peers in classes where she learns a lot, Rosa noted, “Well, they are quiet and you can concentrate more.”

Classes in Which Students Do Not Learn a Lot Responses to the contrasting question (classes in which students did not learn a lot) revealed the same three subthemes about teachers, albeit in the negative: (1) relational style, (2) pedagogical practices, and (3) classroom management. Higher achievers offered no comments regarding the relational subtheme. In contrast, lower achievers described teachers who openly displayed anger and antipathy and were dismissive and disrespectful. Teresa reported that her algebra teacher tells students to “shut up when they are loud.” Paula recalled that her English teacher says like, “Well, I’m not going explain it to you a hundred times,” or whatever. . . . She’s always like, when she gets mad, she says like, “Only two more weeks of school.” Like I don’t know. I think she doesn’t want to be here. Regarding pedagogical practices, higher and lower achievers both remarked that classes in which students did not learn a lot were ones in which the work and/or the teacher was boring and in which effective explanations of material were non-existent. Alejandro, a higher achiever, expressed: “The teacher just tells you to do something, even if you don’t know how. And

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he’ll tell you to do something and expect you to do it right. When he explains math to you, you can’t really understand it.” Interestingly, only lower achievers spoke about the great confusion they experienced in classes where they do not learn a lot. For example, Lupe stated, Um, well like, you do something all over, and then in a little bit of time you have to do another one. And you’ve just done like, a year, and then some other year, and sometimes they start at one year and then they go back or they go forward and they mix up stuff a lot. [Interviewer: So it’s confusing.] A lot, cuz sometimes you’re at the beginning of the book and then you’re at the end and then the middle. When students discussed their teachers’ classroom management style, both higher- and lower-achieving students lamented teachers who could not control their classrooms and adhered to ineffective tactics, such as trying to seat students away from their friends. Paula, a lower achiever, noted that one of her teachers “gives out referrals to like everyone that she thinks they’re doing something, or she doesn’t send out the people that need to get sent out.” With respect to their peers, both higher and lower achievers were critical of fellow students who were disruptive and inattentive. Evelin, a higher achiever, asserted, “They were kind of noisy and everything,” while Rosa, also a higher achiever, noted, “It’s hard to concentrate on this class, it’s so loud, people are out of their seats. Like, too many, I don’t know.” Alejandro remarked on similar concerns, stating, “All the students talk in there.”

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Table 4. Emergent themes, their expression, and quotes: Classes in which students don’t learn a lot 1.

High Achievers

Low Achievers

Teacher-Related: Relational

No comments.

Teachers overtly express anger. Teachers insult students directly. [The teacher] is not like other teachers who just yell at you.

Teacher-Related: Pedagogical

Teachers are boring.

Teachers are boring.

Teachers provide unclear explanations of material.

Teachers provide unclear explanations of material.

“…He talks and just writes on the board. He doesn’t like stop and say, “Do you know how to do this?”

Teachers’ pedagogical practices are confusing. She gives like spelling words and the same routine and like very boring.

Teacher-Related: Classroom Management

Teachers are unable to effectively manage disruptions.

Teachers are unable to effectively manage disruptions.

Everyone is already talking and then he can’t stop, he can’t stop it.

If you talk and they can’t really control it, most of our teachers are just like, whatever.

Peer-Related

Peers are disruptive.

Peers are disruptive.

Peers distract the class.

Peers distract the class.

And like, it’s hard to concentrate on this class, it’s so loud.

They yell and don’t listen to him [the teacher].

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Discussion The higher and lower achievers in this study differed not only in describing the classroom experience but also the classroom context. Only the lower achievers invoked the relational aspect of teaching, which they did when discussing both ideal and less-than-ideal classrooms. Given the importance of teacher support and caring for students’ academic and socioemotional well-being (Wentzel, Battle, Russell, & Looney, 2010), it is interesting that the higher achievers did not comment on this aspect of their classroom environments. It could be that for struggling students, supportive teachers are especially important for their own learning (Phillippo & Stone, 2013). Similarly, disrespectful teachers with weak classroom management skills may strongly affect lower-achieving students (Hochweber, Hosenfeld, & Klieme, 2014). These factors mutually reinforce each other: students perceive teachers with poor classroom management as not caring about them (Andrew, 2016). In addition, higher and lower achievers spoke differently about peers’ influences in their classrooms. Only higher achievers spoke about peers in positive ways when describing classes in which they learned a lot. However, neither higher nor lower achievers did so concerning classes where they learned little. Higher achievers described the former classes as ones in which students arrived prepared to learn and some students were advanced. All the students described the latter classes as ones in which their peers were disruptive and distracting. The positive perceptions that higher-­ achieving students expressed about their peers in classes where they learned a lot are well articulated in the literature on tracking, where higher-tracked students benefit from a peer environment focused on learning, while their lower-tracked peers often learn in classrooms that are chaotic (Werblow, Urick, & Duesbery, 2013). The students in our study, though, were in heterogeneous classrooms, which makes these differing perceptions especially interesting. Perhaps within such classrooms, higher and lower achievers interact more with their similarly achieving peers (Reis, Colbert, & Hébert, 2005). It could also be that higher and lower achievers may be recalling different classes, with peers being more salient (or playing a more salient role) for higher achievers in classes where they learn a lot, and peers being more salient for lower achievers in classes where they do not learn a lot. These notions are speculative and deserve future research attention. Finally, both higher and lower achievers noted that classrooms in which

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students learned a lot were ones in which teachers explained the material well. Interestingly, higher achievers, but not lower ones, described teachers who not only provided clear instructions but also fostered intrinsic interest and engaged them through a variety of pedagogical practices. This suggests that the higher-achieving students were accessing a deeper landscape of meaning around their positive classroom experiences (Siegle, Rubenstein, & Mitchell, 2014). In essence, these findings extend our understanding of higher and lower achievers’ classroom experiences. Our earlier study found that lower achievers, but not higher ones, described “good” students in absolute terms, as students who “always” did their work and “never” came to class late (Bae et al., 2008). The present research highlights ways in which higher and lower achievers are also differentially focused when discussing school learning. Also interesting to consider are themes that did not emerge from this research. In his study of Mexican students at a high school in Texas, Andrew (2016) found that students interpreted some teachers’ exhibited verbal and non-verbal language as signs of rejection based on the students’ cultural background. By contrast, none of our students referred to any similar sentiments from teachers or peers. In fact, no students made reference to their own culturally based learning models in their reflections on classrooms that fostered or inhibited learning. Cultural values of Latinx families reported by various researchers (Hayes, Blake, Darensbourg, & Castillo, 2015; Zambrana & Zoppi, 2002) include promoting harmony in interpersonal relationships (simpatía), respecting authority figures (respeto), and interdependence and reliance on family (familismo). None of these cultural values emerged in our data, perhaps because our data set included only the responses to questions about classrooms where students believed they learned or did not learn. However, these values did appear in interviews with the same pool of 32 students when they were asked how they perceived their parents’ advice (Holloway, Park, Jonas, Bempechat, & Li, 2014). Their answers had three themes in common, which align with the cultural values of simpatía and familismo and included (1) the importance of completing high school and attending college, (2) trying hard to have a better life than one’s parents, and (3) learning to cultivate positive and productive social relationships. The fact that the participants in the present study did not refer to such cultural values in describing classes that enhanced or inhibited their learning merits further reflection and investigation. Of particular

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interest is understanding how students may define or show respect for their teachers and whether that respect is mediated by the relational connections and pedagogical practices reported by the students. Also absent from our students’ responses were any reference to culturally responsive teaching or to materials that addressed the students’ cultural backgrounds. As stated previously, Ladson-Billings (2000) identified culturally responsive teachers as focusing on academic achievement; making the work rigorous, relevant, and engaging; and raising critical consciousness. In this study, both high and low achievers stated that teachers in classes in which they learned a lot explained material clearly. But only high achievers extended this description by noting how their teachers engaged them in problem-based learning and fostered intrinsic interest in the material. Interestingly, no students commented on how teachers might have made the work relevant or raised critical consciousness. It could be that teachers did not avail themselves of asset pedagogies, or if they did, students may not have perceived teachers’ culturally relevant practices as contributing to their “learning a lot.” These notions deserve further study. Students’ responses, in terms of Bronfenbrenner’s ecological theory (1979), are situated almost exclusively within the microsystem, which includes the students’ teachers and peers. Although we acknowledge that larger societal and political structures influence students’ learning experiences, this study points to the value of focusing on what is most proximal to the student—teachers and peers—to maximize impact on their academic achievement.

Limitations This study focused on Mexican American youth, but this population is not a monolithic group. Situational contexts must be taken into account before considering these findings when working with other groups of Mexican American students. The small sample size also poses limitations to this study’s generalizability. This study drew from a purposive sample of 11 Mexican American high- and low-achieving students. This study does, however, offer an important step in understanding students’ classroom experiences and how those experiences may affect their academic trajectories.

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Scholarly Significance Our study highlights the importance of understanding how higher- and lower-achieving Mexican American students from lower socioeconomic backgrounds differentially interpret their positive and negative classroom learning experiences. The pedagogical and relational supports and grouping structures that we provide in classrooms must go beyond a one-size-fits-all approach, since those supports are not perceived similarly by all students. Furthermore, in today’s school climate in which teachers are constrained by scripted curricula and judged on the basis of their students’ test scores, the value of teachers connecting with students and adapting instruction and content to meet their needs cannot be underestimated. By capitalizing on research that captures the voices of higher- and lower-achieving students, teachers and teacher educators can eliminate barriers to opportunity, engagement, and success and close the achievement gap.

References Andrew, M. (2016). Three cultural models of teacher interaction valued by Mexican students at a US high school. Race, Ethnicity, and Education, 19(2), 368–388. doi: 10.1080/13613324.2013.843519 August, D., & Shanahan, T. (Eds.). (2006). Developing literacy in secondlanguage learners: Report of the National Literacy Panel on Language Minority Children and Youth. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Elrbaum. Bae, S., Holloway, S. D., Li, J., & Bempechat, J. (2008). Mexican-American students’ perceptions of teachers’ expectations: Do perceptions differ depending on student achievement levels? Urban Review: Issues and Ideas in Public Education, 40(2), 210–225. Bempechat, J., Mirny, A., Li, J., Wenk, K. A., & Holloway, S. D. (2011). Learning together: The educational experiences of adolescents in Moscow. In D. M. McInerney, R. A. G. Walker, D. Liem (Eds.), Research on Sociocultural Influences on Motivation and Learning: Vol. 10. Sociocultural theories of learning and motivation: Looking back, looking forward (pp. 283–307). Greenwich, CT: Information Age Press. Berndt, T. J., & Keefe, K. (1995). Friends’ influence on adolescents’ adjustment to school. Child Development, 66(5), 1312–1329. doi: 10.1111/ j.1467-8624.1995.tb00937.x

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Borjian, A., & Padilla, A. (2010). Voices from Mexico: How U.S. teachers can meet the needs of immigrant students. Urban Review, 42(4), 316–328. Boyatzis, R. (1998). Transforming qualitative information: Thematic analysis and code development. New York: Sage. Bronfenbrenner, U. (1979). The ecology of human development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cammarota, J., & Romero, A. (2009). A critical compassionate intellectualism. Multicultural Education, 1(3), 16–23. Castillo, L. G., Conoley, C. W., Cepeda, L. M., Ivy, K. K., & Archuleta, D. J. (2010). Mexican American adolescents’ perceptions of a procollege culture. Journal of Hispanic Higher Education, 9, 61–72. doi: 10.1177/1538192709350454 Cazden, C. B., & Leggett, E. L. (1976). Culturally responsive education: A response to LAU Remedies II. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. Conchas, G. (2006). The color of success: Race and high-achieving urban youth. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Coulter, C., & Jimenez-Silva, M. (2017). Introduction. In C. Coulter & M. Jimenez-Silva (Eds.), Culturally sustaining and revitalizing pedagogies: Issues of language, culture, and power (pp. 1–16). United Kingdom: Emerald Publishing. Duncan, G. J., & Murnane, R. J. (Eds.). (2011). Whither opportunity? Rising inequality, schools, and children’s life chances. New York, NY: Russell Sage Foundation. Duncan-Andrade, J. & Morrell, E. (2008). The art of critical pedagogy. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Seaburg Press. Gutiérrez, K. D., Baquedano-López, P., & Tejeda, C. (1999). Rethinking diversity: Hybridity and hybrid language practices in the third space. Mind, Culture, and Activity, 6(4), 286–303.

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Hayes, D., Blake, J. J., Darensbourg, A., & Castillo, L. G. (2015). Examining the academic achievement of Latino/a adolescents: The role of parent and peer beliefs and behaviors.  Journal of Early Adolescence,  35(2), 141–161. .

Hochweber, J., Hosenfeld, I., & Klieme, E. (2014). Classroom composition, classroom management, and the relationship between student attributes and grades. Journal of Educational Psychology, 106(1), 289–300. doi: 10.1037/ a0033829 Holloway, S. D., Park, S., Jonas, M., Bempechat, J., & Li, J. (2014). “My mom tells me I should follow the rules, that’s why they have those rules”: Perceptions of parental advice giving among Mexican-Heritage adolescents. Journal of Latinos and Education, 13(4), 262–277. doi: 10.1080/15348431.2014.887468 Irizarry, J. G. (2015). What Latino students want from school. Educational Leadership, 72(6), 66–71. Kaplan, A., & Maehr, M. (2007). The contributions and prospects of goal orientation theory. Educational Psychology Review, 19(2), 141–184. Kelly, G. (1963). A theory of personality: The psychology of personal constructs. New York, NY: Norton. Kindermann, T. A. (1993). Natural peer groups as contexts for individual development: The case of children’s motivation in school. Developmental Psychology, 29(6), 970–977. doi: 10.1037/0012-1649.29.6.970 Krogstad, J. M., & Fry, R. (2014). More Hispanics, Blacks enrolling in college, but lag in bachelor’s degrees. Washington, DC: Pew Research Center. Ladson-Billings, G. (1995). But that’s just good teaching! The case of culturally relevant pedagogy. Theory Into Practice, 34(3), 159–165. Ladson-Billings, G. (2000). Fighting for our lives: Preparing teachers to teach African-American students. Journal of Teacher Education, 51(3), 206–214. Li, J. (2006). Self in learning: Chinese adolescents’ goals and sense of agency. Child Development, 77(2), 482–501.

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Moll, L. C., & Gonzalez, N. (1994). Lessons from research with languageminority children. Journal of Reading Behavior, 26(4), 439–456. Nieto, S. (2000). Placing equity front and center: Some thoughts on transforming teaching education for a new century. Journal of Teacher Education, 51(3), 180–187. Noddings, N. (1992). The challenge to care in schools: An alternative approach to education. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Paris, D. (2012). Culturally sustaining pedagogy: A needed change in stance, terminology, and practice. Educational Researcher, 41(3), 93–97. Pérez, P. A., & McDonough, P. M. (2008). Understanding Latina and Latino college choice: A social capital and chain migration analysis. Journal of Hispanic Higher Education, 7(3), 249–265. Phillippo, K. L., & Stone, S. (2013). Teacher role breadth and its relationship to student-reported teacher support. High School Journal, 96(4), 358–379. Ramirez, P., & Jimenez-Silva, M. (2015). The intersectionality of culturally responsive teaching and performance poetry: Validating secondary Latino youth and their community. Multicultural Perspectives, 17(2), 87–92, doi: 10.1080/15210960.2015.1022448 Ramos, M., & Murphey, D. (2016). Latinos and literacy: Hispanic students’ progress in reading: Recent gains at national, state, and school district levels. Bethesda, MD: Child Trends Hispanic Institute. Reardon, S. F. (2013). The widening income achievement gap. Educational Leadership, 70(8), 10–16. Reese, L., Jensen, B., & Ramirez, D. (2014). Emotionally supportive classroom contexts for young Latino children in rural California. Elementary School Journal, 114(4), 501–526. Reis, S. M., Colbert, R. D., & Hébert, T. P. (2005). Understanding resilience in diverse, talented students in an urban high school. Roeper Review, 27(2), 110–120.

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Rivera, G. J. (2014). What high-achieving Latino students need to apply to college: Environmental factors, individual resiliency, or both? Hispanic Journal of Behavioral Sciences, 36(3), 284–300. Rogoff, B. (1990). Apprenticeship in thinking: Cognitive development in social context. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Sánchez, B., Reyes, O., & Singh, J. (2006). Makin’ it in college. Journal of Hispanic Higher Education, 5(1), 48–67. doi: 10.1177/1538192705282570 Siegle, D., Rubenstein, L. D., & Mitchell, M. S. (2014). Honors students’ perceptions of their high school experiences: The influence of teachers on student motivation. Gifted Child Quarterly, 58(1), 35–50. doi: 10.1177/0016986213513496 Sirin, S. R., & Rogers-Sirin, L. (2004). Exploring school engagement of middle-class African American adolescents. Youth & Society, 35(3), 323– 340. Stronge, J. H., Ward, T. J., & Grant, L. W. (2011). What makes good teachers good? A cross-case analysis of the connection between teacher effectiveness and student achievement. Journal of Teacher Education, 62(4), 339–355. doi: 10.1177/0022487111404241 Trueba, H. T., & Bartolome, L. (2000). Beyond the politics of schools and the rhetorics of fashionable pedagogies: The significance of teacher ideology. In H. T. Trueba & L. Bartolome (Eds.), Immigrant voices: In search of educational equity (pp. 277–293). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Valenzuela, A. (1999). Subtractive schooling: US-Mexican youth and the politics of caring. New York: SUNY Press. Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wentzel, K. R. (2009). Students’ relationships with teachers as motivational contexts. In K. R. Wentzel & A. Wigfield (Eds.), Handbook of motivation at school (pp. 301–322). New York, NY: Routledge.

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CHAPTER FIVE

The Power of Schools to Redirect Pathways Supporting Students’ Love of Learning Across Time and Place¹ Eréndira Rueda

F

or the most part, children are responsive to the experience of schooling when they begin. Children in the primary grades are, by and large, eager to learn and tend to form strong, positive emotional attachments to their teachers. As a school ethnographer, I witnessed this as I sat in classrooms, observed at recess, and chatted with children attending five ethnically diverse Northern California public schools.² Children, especially the youngest ones, loved their teachers. Research on young children’s attitudes toward school suggest that all children, regardless of social class or racial/ ethnic background, start school with a desire to learn and achieve (Gallas, 1998; Sennett & Cobb, 1973; Suárez-Orozco & Suárez-Orozco, 1995; Tyson, 2002). Over time, however, and for some groups of children more than others, that love of teachers, that eagerness to learn, and that sense of being a good student may decline. This pattern raises many questions. Assuming that nothing inherent in children from low-income families or from minority racial/ethnic groups would predispose them to gradually disliking schooling, we should turn our attention toward educational institutions and pedagogical processes.

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What squelches students’ initial eagerness? Are we to believe that they merely grow out of it as a “natural” developmental phase? Reflecting on nearly seven years of involvement in the lives of Latino immigrant families and their children—initially as a researcher, inevitably as an academic resource, and eventually as a family friend—I highlight the variations in student engagement with schooling across social spaces. Much of what students experience suggests that learning and the development of attitudes and behaviors toward schooling often occur in relation to other individuals and groups. Students develop a sense of belonging to school (or do not) based in large part on their experiences and social interactions with peers and teachers. It is through these interactions that students’ achievement trajectories and pathways of academic engagement are created, maintained, challenged, diverted, and transformed (e.g., see Gibson, Gándara, & Koyama, 2004).

Mario’s Story: How Love of Schooling Can Wax and Wane When Mario Ochoa³ began first grade at Oakdale Elementary School, there was no room for him in the first-grade Spanish bilingual classroom. The Ochoas had emigrated from Mexico in March, but Mario was not admitted to Oakdale until late April because the school required documents (e.g., a birth certificate and school records) that his parents were unable to provide right away. Since the academic year was nearly over and the principal did not feel it would be fair to move a student out of the Spanish bilingual classroom and disrupt that student’s school routine, Mario was placed in the first-grade Cantonese bilingual classroom, where the teacher and the majority of the other students did not speak Spanish. Although there was one Spanish-speaking student in the class, he refused to help Mario, usually ignoring him or claiming not to understand what the teacher had said. I met Mario at the end of that academic year, when he had spent nearly three months in a classroom taught primarily in English, with a teacher who did not speak Spanish, and peers who were socially and physically hostile toward him.4 As I spoke with Mrs. Ochoa one rainy afternoon during a home visit, seven-year-old Mario sat huddled up with her on the couch, quietly listening to our conversation. He blinked repeatedly, his large brown eyes filling with tears, as his mother recounted some of the traumatic experiences at school that year.

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We got here at the end of the school year, when he had almost finished the school year [in Mexico]. Back home, he was one of the best students in his class; he was very advanced. When we got here it was very difficult for him because it was as if he was starting all over again. He didn’t want to go to school because he thought English was too difficult. He was learning English [in Mexico] but it’s not the same thing as here. And there were times that he would say he didn’t want to go [to school] because his classmates harassed him a lot. They wanted to choke him and they attacked him a lot. So then he would [say], “I don’t want to go [to school] because there’s a Black kid who choked me and pushed me up against the wall and he yelled at me! And I didn’t even know what he was saying!” I think that if there is someone there to help him speak English and explain lots of things to him, I think that he might do better later on down the line. I think he’ll gain more confidence. But right now I can tell that he’s still a bit timid. It isn’t very easy for him. Much to his mother’s relief, Mario had a different, significantly more positive experience with his second-grade teacher and classmates. Although he was still shy in the classroom and was rarely eager to display his knowledge, he was much happier and more enthusiastic about school. By the end of second grade, he seemed to be adjusting well to the norms, expectations, and daily routines of schooling. He was no longer reluctant to go to school, he got on well with his peers, and his teacher felt that he had high academic potential. The rest of Mario’s experiences in elementary school seemed to go relatively well. Teachers never complained about his comportment, which made Mario’s parents extremely proud. Academically, his fifth-grade teachers felt that he showed enough promise to be moved up from Mr. Beattie’s low-track classroom to Ms. Hoffman’s classroom.5 Although they sometimes wondered if this was the right decisions none of his teachers felt particularly concerned about his academic skills. However, Mario’s transition to middle school was not smooth. As discussed in more detail below, he remained on the school honor roll both semesters, but he found sixth grade fraught with tensions. As this sketch of Mario’s educational history suggests, student engagement with schooling can vary across time and place. It can vary across national borders, when immigrant children begin formal schooling in one

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country and move to America. It can vary across social spaces within the same educational context, when children move among different classrooms, teachers, and peer groups. And it can vary across disparate educational contexts, when students transition from one level of schooling to the next, as in the move to middle school. As the examples I discuss in this chapter will show, one of the key factors promoting academic engagement and a love of learning among students is the quality of relationships teachers develop with their students. Strong teacher-student relationships—those that communicate to children that teachers care about them and understand them—are key to supporting children’s inherent love of learning and to helping them through the tougher moments that they may experience.

Explaining Academic Disengagement There have been many explanations for why disproportionate numbers of working-class, urban, and racial/ethnic minority students struggle in school (Fordham, 1988, 1996; Fordham & Ogbu, 1986; MacLeod, 1987; Valen­ zuela, 1999; Willis, 1977). Research suggests that underachievement is connected to student attitudes and their rejection of the behavioral expectations of formal schooling, and the realization that a high school diploma is not going to improve their life chances. However, most of this research focuses on the experiences of high school students and does not address the question of how academic disengagement unfolds over time. The more time I spent with children in elementary school settings, the more I realized that research done along these lines failed to incorporate what we know of early childhood attitudes toward schooling and learning. When I first met the children who would become the focus of my research, they were first and second graders; it was difficult then to imagine that any of them would do some of the things that they did as middle schoolers, such as take Vicodin to school, cut classes, pull fire alarms, get into fights, or talk back to teachers. It was difficult to imagine how some of these students might develop the negative attitudes and behaviors so often described in high school ethnographies. Reflecting on the processes of academic disengagement unfolding over time and across levels of schooling, I noticed several school-level factors that play an important role. They include the assumptions that we make about students (e.g., what motivates them, what their behavior means), the ways that we respond to student behavior (punitive vs. supportive), and the consequences of those interpretations and

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responses for children’s academic trajectories. Educators must address these factors if they want to ensure that students remain on a steady, academically engaged course. Shifting Teacher Perceptions and Student Reputations From Elementary to Middle School As I observed children in elementary and middle school classrooms over the years, I noticed that the Latino children who were the focus of my work usually benefited from a positive reputation as “well behaved Latino kids” (Rueda, 2015). Teachers often praised them for being well behaved in class and held them up as examples in the hopes that their “problem students” would mimic good learning behaviors. At Oakdale Elementary, fifth-grade teachers often struggled with classroom management issues, so their attention was constantly directed toward students who were openly defiant and disruptive. For some of the Latino students, though, this positive reputation did not transfer into all aspects of their middle school experiences. For example, whereas Mario’s elementary school teachers had perceived him as well behaved—“to die for,” Ms. Hoffman had often said—and were happy to have him in class, Mario’s language arts teacher at Foothill Middle School had a very different assessment.6 What his elementary school teachers had considered “enthusiasm” (and a desirable trait) was reinterpreted by Mario’s sixth-grade language arts teacher as an “impulse control issue,” which she felt was problematic. Ms. Kramer perceived Mario’s eagerness to participate in class as a sign of impatience and a lack of discipline and self-control. As the following section suggests, despite being perceived as a model student in his other sixth-grade classes—and remaining on the school honor roll throughout the year—Mario’s love of school varied across classroom contexts and was shaped heavily by his relationships with teachers. Understanding the Root and Meaning of “Acting Out” As I followed Oakdale students into four middle schools when they began sixth grade, I noticed that although the Latino children who were the focus of my work were still generally well behaved, there were instances in which they acted out in class. However, a closer look suggests that these students often behaved this way because they felt marginalized in classroom settings and were unsatisfied with the relationships they had with new teachers. The

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difficulties that Mario experienced in his English Language Development (ELD) language arts class are a case in point. In elementary school, Mario had never talked back to teachers and had always adhered to teacher expectations for classroom behavior. In middle school, he was similarly concerned about his reputation among his teachers and continued to play the part of the model student in most classes—except in Ms. Kramer’s ELD class. Halfway through the school year, I noticed that Mario and his language arts teacher had begun to butt heads. These conflicts seemed to develop over the course of the fall semester and by January Mario was openly disagreeing with Ms. Kramer during class and expressing his dislike for her during our conversations. When Ms. Kramer and I spoke about Mario, she complained that he was “defiant” and “cocky” at times. From my vantage point, it was clear that teachers’ assumptions about what was driving their students’ behaviors and responses in the classroom were incorrect. From the teacher’s perspective, students were “closed off” to learning and were challenging teacher authority because they did not care about school. However, upon closer inspection, students’ unwillingness to defer to authority and seeming lack of concern for learning were rooted in specific classroom dynamics and interpersonal relationships with these teachers. Discussions with students made clear that they had very strong feelings about the content in their courses and the way that teachers were treating them. In Mario’s case, he was irritated by the ELD curriculum in Ms. Kramer’s language arts class, which he felt was too easy for him. He was also aware of the distinction between ELD and “mainstream” classes and often expressed a desire to test out of the ELD curriculum. Halfway through the year, Mario and his ELD peers took a district assessment test to establish which students could transfer out of ELD classes. Mario was sorely disappointed when he discovered that he was not among the students who would be “mainstreamed” during the spring semester. Mario felt that his English language skills had progressed beyond the curricular challenges in his ELD class and he was eager to display his knowledge, but he was frustrated by what he felt were Ms. Kramer’s low expectations of him and her refusal to allow him to participate in lessons. As a result, in English class, he became what teachers referred to as a student with “impulse control issues.” Although teachers perceived this behavior as disruptive to classroom procedures and a challenge to authority, from my vantage point it was clear that the motivation behind these instances of “acting out” often stemmed

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from students’ desire to understand lessons, be active participants in the learning process, and showcase their academic skills. In these instances, children were not acting out against schooling in general but against particular curricula, teaching approaches, and classroom dynamics. Effective Responses to Acting Out: Individualized Support and High Expectations Currently, it seems like common sense to say that students from different social and cultural backgrounds experience, perceive, and respond to schooling in vastly different ways and that socioeconomic background is the most powerful determinant of educational outcomes. So much emphasis falls on the admittedly powerful influences of race, class, gender, family, and social experience outside of school that schools and educators appear to have little power to affect students’ schooling experiences. However, teachers and school personnel can and do have a profound effect on how children feel about school. As the following two examples show, educators have a great deal of influence on children’s immediate and long-term academic pathways. When I followed students from Oakdale Elementary School into their four respective middle schools, I saw notable differences in the structure of schools, the atmosphere, the resources, and the expectations that educators had of students. At one end of the spectrum was St. Therese, a small Catholic school in the heart of the low-income neighborhood where most of the children resided. With only 400 students in grades K–8, the small school size at St. Therese allowed teachers to take a more active role in their students’ academic trajectories. With only one class per grade, fewer than 30 students per class, and three sixth-grade teachers who team-taught, there were abundant opportunities for teachers to get to know their students. In addition, as a parochial school, its guiding principle, expressed by school personnel—from the principal, to the teachers, to the administrative staff—was that the school was a family. Teachers thought it was their duty to help “raise up children” in addition to teaching them academic content. Besides having intimate knowledge of their students’ academic strengths and weaknesses, teachers also developed insightful assessments of Oakdale children’s character development over the course of their first year in middle school. Oakdale children who attended St. Therese benefited from a network of adults personally invested in their development as successful students and “happy human beings.” The small school environment at St. Therese is a noteworthy example of the power of institutions to direct and redirect students’ academic

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pathways.7 In Elena Torres’s case, teachers enthusiastically took the initiative to identify her as someone with a great deal of academic potential whom they hoped to groom for prestigious scholarships from selective high schools. They noticed Elena early on, encouraged her throughout the year, and made a concerted effort to inform her and her mother about the link between academic performance at the middle school level and long-term outcomes, such as being eligible for competitive college scholarships and selective colleges. Elena was a very bright student who had been identified as gifted in early elementary school and grew up in a household where the link between schooling and life opportunities was heavily emphasized. Although her mom was singularly focused on ensuring that Elena could thrive academically, her efforts were constrained by the fact that she was a single mom living in a low-income neighborhood, working long hours in order to afford the tuition at St. Therese. Without a college degree herself, she acknowledged her limited ability to carve a clear path toward college for her daughter. Without the attention and guidance Elena received from her teachers, Elena’s love of learning might have continued, given how much encouragement she received at home. But it is unclear whether she or her mother would have known about, or known how to access, the kind of academic opportunities that St. Therese teachers had in mind. In addition to doing the work necessary to keep students with promise on the right track, school personnel at St. Therese were also instrumental in redirecting the academic pathways of students who were struggling. When Oscar Delgado took his mother’s Vicodin prescription to school and got caught, a number of factors converged to ensure that he did not experience a purely punitive response. The analogy of school-as-family and the school principal’s decision to draw on Catholic notions of forgiveness, despite pressure from parents and the church bureaucracy to expel Oscar, served to draw the adults at St. Therese more closely around him. They did not expect his mother to fix the problem alone. Rather, the teachers and staff at St. Therese decided that this was a situation that needed to be addressed by the entire school community and that what Oscar needed was more care and attention at school. Instances like these suggest that when educators understand the limitations present in the lives of children and take the lead in directing and redirecting academic pathways, they become a powerful influence in the lives of their students. Educators can play a crucial role in preventing the

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kinds of punishments and labels that can mark a student in negative ways (like expulsions) and providing students with the support necessary to aim higher and do more than they think they can. These kinds of interventions on the part of educators can be especially life-changing for low-income children whose parents may not have the knowledge or experience necessary to advocate for their children and direct these pathways themselves.

Love and Learning The comment that has stuck with me the most from the years that I spent following children around in classrooms, on playgrounds, in their neighborhoods, and in their homes came from 12-year-old Gaby Martinez. Reflecting on the difference between her elementary school teachers and her middle school teachers, she noted that teachers at the middle school level simply gave “less care.” She came to this conclusion after spending a year failing several subjects, cutting class, smoking, getting into fights, and being openly defiant in some of her classes. What surprised her the most was that none of her teachers reached out to her, and no one took the time to “dig deeper.” Her comment had such a profound impact on me that I continue to think about this sentiment even now that I am a tenured professor at a small liberal arts college. In those moments when I find myself judging my own students’ behavior in class, when I am on the verge of writing someone off because they do not seem to care about the class or the course material, I remember what I learned from watching children’s love of schooling wax and wane over time and across learning contexts.8 There are a handful of lessons from these examples that educators at all levels can contemplate as we look for ways to support our students’ love of learning. Questioning Our Assumptions About Student Behavior Being aware of the assumptions that we make about the students in our classrooms is a challenging but very necessary part of our work as effective educators. It can be difficult to avoid feeling that our students do not care about school when they talk to their peers in class, do not turn in the work, refuse to engage in lessons, do not take notes, or are routinely absent. At the college level, I feel at times that I am competing with screens of all sorts—laptops, smartphones, iPads, and the like. But over the years I have realized a need to expand my sense of what engagements look like. Students communicate their intellectual engagement in a range of ways. We will not

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recognize some of them if we do not expand our sense of what love of learning looks like beyond the traditional assumption that a student’s compliance to rules is the gold standard. As Mario’s experiences indicate, talking out of turn might signal impatience, but it simultaneously demonstrates knowledge and a desire to participate. In my own emerging battle with laptops in the classroom, I have come to appreciate the ways that students look up information as the discussion unfolds or the way they are committed to saving trees (and their work study money) by not printing out articles and book chapters, and instead viewing them as pdf files on their computers. This is not to say that my students never check their social media accounts in my classes—they certainly do—but I have tried to redirect their attention by assigning online “research” tasks in class that are relevant to those students who I know have a proclivity for these types of distractions. Getting to the Root of the Issue When we assume that students do not care about school, we often decide not to invest time in them. But students, at all levels of schooling, do not always know how to communicate their needs to educators. Furthermore, the power differential between teacher and student often makes it difficult for a student to approach a teacher. As the difficulties between Mario and Ms. Kramer highlight, students and teachers can feel like they are being really clear about what they want or expect from each other, yet each can misread the others’ messages. Ms. Kramer felt that basic rules of classroom comportment should remain in effect at all times (e.g., wait to speak until called on), and Mario felt that he was doing everything he could to demonstrate his mastery of course material. Yet ironically, Ms. Kramer experienced those interactions as a challenge to her authority, and Mario experienced her refusal to call on him and let him display his knowledge as marginalizing and dismissive. Finding ways to talk to students about how those interactions feel—for both teacher and student—may go a long way toward creating the kind of mutual empathy that is necessary to work together toward a common goal. In the process, educators might uncover insights regarding what students are experiencing in classrooms. The assumption that students misbehave in class or disengage from learning (and from us) because they do not care may at times entirely misdiagnose a student’s subjective experience or motivation in class. This common assumption prevents us from appreciating much richer and more nuanced student experiences.

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Collaborative Monitoring Among Teachers It is important to create learning environments that allow for enough monitoring to catch problems early, before they escalate beyond remedy. Supportive and caring connections between children and school personnel are of utmost importance, but so is consistent communication across gradelevel teachers. The coteaching model that existed among the fifth-grade teachers at Oakdale Elementary School and among the sixth-grade teachers at St. Therese clearly shows the many benefits of a teaching structure that facilitated collaboration among grade-level teachers. At both schools, it was much less common for children’s difficulties to go unnoticed than in many others because teachers regularly checked in with each other about their students’ progress. This kind of collaboration allowed teachers to go beyond commonsense understandings of student behavior and dig deeper to find out what was going on with students. Sometimes different teachers had a different piece of the puzzle when it came to a particular student’s difficulties, but their ability to work collectively allowed them more information and facilitated more effective interventions. Avoiding Purely Punitive Measures It is admittedly not always in the power of an individual educator to decide on the kinds of disciplinary policies that are used with students, but it is worth highlighting the very important lesson that comes from Oscar Delgado’s experience. Rather than expel him indefinitely as a problem, the teachers at St. Therese chose to circle the wagons around him and give him more attention at school. This response is noteworthy because it would have been easier and less work to expel Oscar and leave his single mother to address his difficulties alone. It is often the case that parents alone are expected to handle these types of situations and set their children straight. This is particularly difficult for low-income immigrant parents to do because they often lack the resources and networks necessary to enforce rules, norms, and expectations. The school’s response was particularly powerful for these reasons and had the desired effect over the long run by putting Oscar on the right path. Finding alternative, less punitive ways to handle disciplinary problems has become an increasingly important endeavor given what we know about the effects of punishment on long-term academic prospects, a discipline gap that shows disproportionate suspension rates for Black and Brown male students, and the role of school discipline in shaping the school-to-prison pipeline.9

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Final Thoughts It may seem like the deck is stacked against educators given the disproportionate resources that are allocated to public schools in different parts of the country and given the powerful influence of out-of-school factors in children’s lives. Yet we cannot ignore the fact that educators have a profound impact on children’s daily lives and their long-term academic success. Educators make invaluable connections with their students throughout the educational experience. In our best moments, we provide students with high expectations, engaging course content, authentic forms of care,10 and the support necessary for them to achieve things they may not have thought they were capable of.

Notes 1. This research was funded by the Spencer Foundation, the American Educational Research Association, and the UC ACCORD (University of California All Campus Consortium on Research for Diversity). The Center for Latino Policy Research and the Greater Good Science Center at the University of California, Berkeley, provided additional research support. 2. My work as a school ethnographer has focused on the transition from elementary to middle school, with a particular interest in the experiences of children from low-income, Latino immigrant families. The examples discussed in this essay are drawn from many years of ethnographic work at one elementary school, which I call “Oakdale,” and a year of ethnographic work at the four middle schools in the same school district where Oakdale Latino students are enrolled. 3. The names of all people and schools have been changed to ensure confidentiality. 4. Oakdale had two credentialed bilingual teachers that academic year and therefore only had one Spanish bilingual first-grade class and one Cantonese bilingual first-grade class. For a number of years, it had been difficult to implement fully a bilingual program at Oakdale because of scheduling constraints. Class size reduction in the lower grades produced scheduling conflicts that led to the placement of several non-Spanish-speaking students in the Spanish bilingual classroom and several non-Cantonese-speaking students in the Cantonese bilingual classroom. As a result, the Cantonese

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and Spanish bilingual teachers felt that it was impossible to provide native language instruction because that would prevent English-speaking students from understanding the lessons. Therefore, the teachers whose classrooms were labeled “Spanish bilingual” and “Cantonese bilingual” taught primarily in English. Teachers used Spanish and Cantonese when they felt it was necessary (see Rueda, 2001). 5. For a number of years, Oakdale fifth-grade teachers taught as a team. Students began the day with their assigned homeroom teacher and then rotated between the three teachers throughout the day: language arts with Ms. Williams, math with Mr. Beattie, and social studies with Ms. Hoffman. Homeroom assignments were based on students’ previous grades, standardized test scores, and teachers’ assessments regarding what kind of workload and expectations students could handle. Teachers assigned the majority of the gifted fifth graders to Ms. Williams’s homeroom class. Students who had been retained at some point or who were performing below grade level were assigned to Mr. Beattie’s homeroom class. Ms. Hoffman’s class was an evenly split combination of gifted fourth graders and mid- to high-achieving fifth graders. 6. As one of the middle schools closest to Oakdale Elementary, Foothill was the school at which a large proportion of Oakdale children enrolled when they transitioned to middle school. Foothill’s student population averaged about 700 students most years and had a suspension rate nearly three times that of the district rate. The student population was mostly African American and Asian American, with only about 15% Latino students and fewer than 5% White students. 7. For scholarship addressing the benefits of Catholic schools, particularly for students from traditionally disadvantaged backgrounds, see Bryk et al. (1993), Coleman and Hoffer (1987), Coleman et al. (1982), Greeley (1982), and Hoffer et al. (1985). 8. I am, admittedly, not always very effective at learning from these lessons, at digging sufficiently when my students seem to be checking out, or at giving care in ways that are meaningful to my students. I also know that my job is infinitely easier than that of my colleagues who teach in K–12 public schools. My institution has plenty of resources, my class sizes are small, and

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my students are extremely well prepared for the task of learning. Acknowledging my own limitations, despite such a privileged teaching position and an embarrassment of institutional riches, always makes formulating recommendations seem like an awkward endeavor. 9. See, for example, the range of work on school discipline and its impacts by the Civil Rights Project at UCLA: https://www.civilrightsproject.ucla .edu/research/k-12-education/school-discipline. 10. See the work of Nel Noddings (1999, 2003, 2005) for extended discussions of how different actors in school settings conceive of care (e.g., teachers vs. students), of different definitions of care, and of the kinds of changes to the structure of schooling and curriculum that would yield caring relationships that are recognized by all involved in the process of teaching and learning.

References Bryk, A. S., Lee, V. E., & Holland, P. B. (1993). Catholic schools and the common good. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Coleman, J. S., & Hoffer, T. (1987). Public and private high schools: The impact of communities. New York, NY: Basic Books. Coleman, J. S., Hoffer, T., & Kilgore, S. (1982). High school achievement. New York, NY: Basic Books. Fordham, S. (1996). Blacked out: Dilemmas of race, identity, and success at Capital High. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Fordham, S. (1988). Racelessness as a factor in Black students’ school success: Pragmatic strategy or pyrrhic victory? Harvard Educational Review, 53(1), 257–293. Fordham, S., & Ogbu, J. U. (1986). Black students’ school success: Coping with the burden of “acting White.” Urban Review, 18(3), 176–206. Gallas, K. (1998). “Sometimes I can be anything”: Power, gender, and identity in a primary classroom. New York, NY: Teachers College Press.

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Gibson, M. A., Gándara, P., & Koyama, J. P. (Eds.). (2004). School connections: U.S. Mexican youth, peers, and school achievement. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Greeley, A. (1982). Catholic high schools and minority students. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction. Hoffer, T., Greeley, A. M., & Coleman, J. S. (1985). Achievement growth in public and Catholic schools. Sociology of Education, 72(2), 74–97. MacLeod, J. (1987). Ain’t no makin’ it: Aspirations and attainment in a low-income neighborhood. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Noddings, N. (1999). Caring and competence. In G. Griffen (Ed.), The education of teachers (pp. 205–220). Chicago, IL: National Society of Education. Noddings, N. (2003). Caring: A feminine approach to ethics and moral education (2nd ed.). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Noddings, N. (2005). The challenge to care in schools (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Rueda, E. (2001). Opinion formation in context: A qualitative study of Latino parents’ opinions about bilingual education. Unpublished master’s thesis, University of California, Berkeley. Rueda, E. (2015). The benefits of being Latino: Differential interpretations of student behavior and the social construction of being well behaved. Journal of Latinos and Education, 14(4), 275–290. Sennett, R., & Cobb, J. (1973). The hidden injuries of class. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Suárez-Orozco, C., & Suárez-Orozco, M. (1995). Transformations: Migration, family life, and achievement motivation among Latino adolescents. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Tyson, K. (2002). Weighing in: Elementary-age students and the debate on attitudes toward school among Black students. Social Forces, 80(4), 1157– 1189.

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Valenzuela, A. (1999). Subtractive schooling: U.S.-Mexican youth and the politics of caring. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Willis, P. (1977). Learning to labor: How working-class kids get workingclass jobs. New York, NY: Columbia University Press.

CHAPTER SIX

Under the School Roof, inside Classroom Walls The Power of Place-Based Plot Patterns to Shape School Stories of Happiness or Humiliation for Students Kathy Carter, Amanda Sugimoto, Kathleen Stoehr, & Griff Carter

It might seem crazy what I’m about to say Sunshine she’s here; you can take a break Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth — Pharrell Williams, “Happy,” 2014

Introduction At the beginning of the 2017 school year, approximately 50.7 million prekindergartners through twelfth graders made their way into the corridors of American public schools. Upon arrival, many of these students peered out the large rectangular windows of their bright yellow school bus to read the encouraging messages inscribed on their campus marquee—images promising

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enjoyment, engagement, equity, and high levels of happiness within educational settings. “Every kid, every school”; “Together we learn, together we teach”; “Education is every child’s birthright”; “Tomorrow’s school, tomorrow’s children”; “Welcome to another wonderful year!”; “As the leaves turn, students will learn; happy fall!” We wonder, how accurately do these feel-good slogans reflect what actually happens in the lives of schoolchildren? In this chapter, we utilize a narrative framework (Carter, 1993; Carter, Stoehr, Sugimoto, & Carter, 2013; Doyle & Carter, 2003; Sugimoto & Carter, 2015) to address this important question. Specifically, we focus our discussion on preservice teachers’ descriptions of the storied experiences of a special group of schoolchildren, those students who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, those who are questioning, or those whose sexual identity is routinely scrutinized by peers. Ultimately, our analysis compels us to query: Would this group of young students, experiencing life under school roofs and inside school walls, feel confident that they could “clap along” to an uplifting metaphorical beat embedded in the belief that “happiness is the truth”?

Background: A Storied Perspective For the past 25 years, the term “story” has increasingly captured the imagination of the teaching and teacher education communities. Thanks to an active research community in teacher education, much has been learned about the promise of story in our attempts to understand the many dimensions of teaching and the complexity of teacher knowledge. These years have shown us not only promise in attending to the storied nature of teaching, but also how much still needs to be learned about the nature of story and its value to the educational enterprise. The cumulative body of work on narrative has taught us that teaching is learned through an extended and storied “apprenticeship of observation” (Lortie, 1975). This apprenticeship spans many years, beginning when future teachers are pupils in elementary and secondary schools. This early school-placed learning continues, largely uninterrupted, through their teacher preparation program and field-based observations in classroom settings. Learning to teach is a long and intricate process of witnessing, remembering, and narrating school-placed events, and as a result, that teaching becomes a very personal matter. Indeed, this prolonged apprenticeship of observation may be far more powerful than the curriculum of teacher

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education in shaping attitudes and conceptions of how to teach (Carter, 1994; Doyle & Carter, 2003). Most importantly, learning to teach is clearly a nuanced and negotiated process, suggesting that both teacher education curriculum and pedagogy must support novices in their exploring complex understandings both of self and others as they become teachers. Connecting Storied Learning to Socially Just Teaching Recently, the teacher education community has focused on preparing teachers to work toward the goals of equity and care. The hope is that by implementing socially just practices, we can upend the status quo of schooling, where positive academic and emotional outcomes have historically accrued to students representing traditional lines of power and privilege. As preparation programs continue to evolve, one directive is clear: Much still needs to be learned about how new teachers interpret classroom events in which individual students or groups of students are treated in an inequitable manner. How do preservice teachers react to enacted stories of injustice in classroom settings? Do these witnessed events provoke patterned or widely varied responses from teacher candidates and affect how they envision teaching? In our attempt to consider these important questions, we have two interrelated and specific objectives for our chapter. Objective 1: We seek to understand the developing narrative knowledge of preservice teachers in field settings. This goal is met through a multiyear effort at a large southwestern Research I University. To date, we have analyzed over 1,500 well-remembered event narratives, a particularistic genre of narratives developed by Carter and colleagues (1993; 2017) to better understand the development of teacher knowledge. For this chapter, we will focus on the analysis of a subset of these narratives, written by preservice teachers enrolled in the first course of their teacher preparation professional sequence. Attached to this course was a 45-hour field component, wherein preservice teachers were placed with a mentor teacher for a full semester. During their field experience, preservice teachers completed various assignments to reflect on course content and apply it to teaching. One major biweekly assignment was designed with a narrative focus in mind: a well-remembered event, a written and detailed description of a significant event of the preservice teacher’s own choosing from the field-placement observations and/or teaching.

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Subsequently, we will summarize findings related to 268 preservice teachers’ field-based well-remembered events, written across a four-year period (2013–2016) and related to concerns regarding social (in)justice, in particular the narratives of events related to the enactment of in-school injustices experienced by out, outed, and/or scrutinized K–12 students. Through our analysis, we attempt to see through the eyes of preservice teachers as they share stories with recurring plot patterns involving lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, or questioning K–12 students. As a result of carefully examining these recurring plot patterns through the perspectives of the preservice teacher storyteller, we are able to frame LGBTQ students’ school-based experiences along disparate ends of a thematic continuum of happiness and glee or, alternatively, humiliation and shame. We are also able to imagine how intricate are the knowledge needs of preservice teachers who intend to teach with social justice in mind. Objective 2: We consider how to move beyond the rhetoric of social justice to actual change in the practice of teaching and teacher education. To be sure, we acknowledge the many willful and inspirational voices, young voices who have stood on the frontline and worked diligently to advance a socially just rhetoric of liberation across a wide array of settings. Simultaneously, we recognize that school structures remain solidly steeped in status quo systems, which preserve traditional lines of domination and subordination. And so we ask: How can we prepare teachers to push back against the status quo in schools? How might we as teachers and teacher educators engage in work toward the realization of a broader and more equitable spread of hope and happiness within school settings?

Starting With the Stories For this chapter, we analyzed 268 narratives that depicted classroom events involving LGBTQ students in K–12 classrooms. Our iterative analysis revealed several thematic and prominent plot patterns. To conceptually aggregate these varied plot patterns, we drew upon writers’ language to “title” plot patterns. Here, we describe recurring classroom-based plot patterns illustrative of school-placed stories provoking emotive themes of humiliation and shame or, alternatively, happiness and glee. For each of these contrasting themes, we briefly describe associated plot patterns and provide a prototypical narrative representative of each plot pattern within the theme.

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Theme 1: Humiliation and Shame Narratives Plot Pattern 1: Silenced by Silence: Stories of Shaming and Sorrow (Stories of gay bashing and bullying, taking place in a public scene, witnessed but not stopped by the classroom teacher.) This set of narratives shared a plot pattern in which gay bashing and bullying behavior directed at LGBTQ students was witnessed but unaddressed by a classroom teacher. Collectively, the well-remembered events corroborate statistical findings regarding the frequency of gay slurs in school settings (GLSEN and Harris Interactive, 2012) and point to the perils of routine exposure to these sorrowful events. In one typical narrative, a preservice teacher recalled an event that she finds herself “dwelling on” and “disgusted about.” In her well-remembered event, she observed a student “burn with embarrassment.” Chris (all names are pseudonyms) “was thought to be girlie or gay.” During an AP class lesson, Chris “raised his hand to ask a question, one that a fellow student, Matt, thought was ‘dumb.’” Following Chris’s question, Matt shouted out for all to hear, “Faggots are so stupid!” The preservice writer notes that the AP math teacher “most definitely heard this offensive comment but did nothing to make it stop.” The preservice teachers who share stories falling within this pattern all agreed that the silences on the part of teachers were not only clearly injurious to the shamed students but also had a profound effect on preservice teachers, as they provoked worries about how to intervene in similar situations when they themselves are teachers. Plot Pattern 2: Power Over, Going Under (Stories of teachers inadvertently or willfully “outing” students or publicly denouncing the “gay lifestyle” during whole-class academic events.) While other narratives poignantly describe scenes of sadness and sorrow for LGBTQ students, preservice teacher narratives that fell within this plot pattern are incredibly difficult to take in. In these narratives, teachers enacted whole-group activities that, in effect, “outed” students who embraced a spectrum of gender identity. These well-remembered events took place primarily in secondary settings and prominently occurred in discussion activities in language arts or social studies classes. In these events, participation structures required oral responses or position statements meant to be expressed publicly and to be heard by fellow classmates.

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One such “outing” narrative, well-remembered by a preservice teacher, described a current event, whole-class activity designed and set up by a high school social studies teacher. The teacher wanted students to engage in the current political debate about the controversial topics such as the “gay lifestyle.” Students were asked to “walk the line” regarding their belief systems about whether or not they “identified” with certain political positions or groups. This was a “forced choice” activity, where a chalk-line had been drawn by the teacher to divide the room. Following the teacher’s verbal prompts, each student was asked to agree with a position (and stand on one side of the line) or demonstrate personal disagreement (by standing on the other side of the line). One of these teacher prompts was “Do you identify with the LGBTQ community?” The teacher waited, in the words of the preservice teacher, for “what seemed like forever.” Ultimately two female students “made eye contact” and then walked to the right side of the line and reportedly “came out” in that moment. Seeing these girls standing there, the teacher “froze” and “said nothing.” Fortunately, to the preservice teacher’s surprise, students did not immediately question or criticize these students, but rather made supportive remarks and asked appropriate questions. However, the preservice teacher felt extremely anxious based on her experiences of seeing LGBTQ students questioned or outed in her own high school years. In her well-remembered event, she worried about the long-term toll that this kind of public outing has on all students required to participate in or observe it. Because such an activity, in which public participation is required for a grade, holds so much power, it has the potential to be injurious to any student, whether targeted by the topic or traumatized by trying to remain silent. Plot Pattern 3: Students Broken by the Big One (Stories of widely witnessed and deeply shattering acts of injustice.) Like the stories of Plot Pattern 1, these are stories of bullying events, but they are larger in scale and number of witnesses. The majority of these events were directed at rumored-to-be-gay young men. However, a smaller number, equally potentially injurious, was directed to female students or teachers presumed to be lesbian. In one particularly bleak example, a group of male students deliberately passed by a presumed gay student’s locker between classes each day. While doing so, this group of male peers would shout out to him with a loud and

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choral “Faggot!” On one of these days, this student arrived to find the word “Faggot” inscribed on his locker, and the locker door was “wrapped with pink paper and tampons tied to the front.” In yet another example within this plot pattern, a male student, who had just purchased a loudspeaker as an accessory for his raised, black Chevy truck, drove out the open campus main exit for lunch hour. Calling attention to a student, Jeremy, who had recently walked into the area, the student driver screamed through his speaker: “Everybody look at the fag with the pink shirt on!” In each of these large-scale and widely witnessed events, the preservice teachers reported that they were so “shocked” and “humiliated” and “fearful” that they did not know how to respond, but reportedly felt “broken” and “harmed” by the vulgarity of these events. Plot Pattern 4: Out and Proud: Staying Strong, but Suffering Long (Stories of “out” or “outed” students who tried to stand up to unjust acts but, when alone, felt the blows of longstanding verbal punches.) Preservice teachers wrote these narratives about “out and proud” students who stood up to unjust acts in the company of their classmates, but, when alone, reportedly felt the blows of longstanding “verbal punches” that were directed at them in many school situations. In a representative well-remembered event, a preservice teacher recalled a poignant memory involving a middle school student, Pete, whose gender expression was closely scrutinized by not only his peers but his teacher as well. On a day of “high excitement,” since it was pep-rally day prior to the big football game to be held that night, Pete was approached during homework check. His teacher, Mr. Brown, moved along the rows and columns of students’ desks to ensure that students were working quietly and had completed the previous night’s homework. Approaching Pete’s desk, Mr. Brown said in a loud voice, “So, Pete, are you on the cheer squad? I am sure you are just getting an earful from all of the jocks on campus!” The preservice teacher’s story continues with a description of Pete’s equally loud and public reaction. The writer notes that Pete flipped his blonde hair across his face and firmly replied, “My brother happens to be one of those jocks, and they are actually very jealous that I am best friends with the 15 hottest girls on campus!” After the event, this female preservice teacher attempted to be supportive of Pete and to be, as far as it was appropriate, his

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ally. Pete, who appreciated her concern, shared with her that, while he would not ever let Mr. Brown or his classmates know, he would “never, ever, ever feel comfortable” in that learning environment again. Plot Pattern 5: Calling Out: He/She is Gay, Without a Doubt! (Stories of peers’ relentless desire to spread rumors about or demand “confessions” of student gender identity.) Preservice teachers wrote powerful narratives about an apparently relentless desire on the part of students to spread rumors about or determine the sexual orientation of a student or a teacher. In narratives concerning teachers’ sexual orientation, students tried to “out” their teacher. In one event, a group of male students routinely interjected offensive homophobic language during lessons in hopes of provoking agitation on the part of the teacher, thus “proving” he was gay. In narratives concerning students, the stories revolved around rumors initiated by both male and female peers. Often, these rumors involved worries that “suspicious” students were “checking me out” or were “hitting on my friend.” In one illustrative narrative, a preservice teacher clearly describes the energy fifth-grade students expended to “prove” a female student was a lesbian, even though the preservice teacher felt strongly that these assumptions were false. Whether students’ suspicions were true or false, this preservice teacher said they felt “injurious” and “harmful.” The preservice teacher recounted how students routinely commented in sidebar conversations about how pretty the “suspicious” student was, but also gossiped quite often that she was “too tomboyish” because she “feverishly enjoyed” playing basketball and football. (As a sidenote, over the course of her observations, this preservice teacher learned that the questioned female student’s father and uncle both played pro football, and she had been strongly supported by her family in her love of and passion for sports.) The student in question was described by the preservice teacher as a “tough competitor” in after-school sports, with a record of “often bringing her team to victory.” This success reportedly created anger on the part of boys on the other team, many of whom were her classmates. Reportedly, when she joined in athletic games on the playground during recess, these boys often chanted at her, “Why don’t you just go play with the other girls, you dyke!” This preservice teacher reported that over the course of

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her semester-long observations, male students bullied and even threatened her, while female peers scrutinized her suspicious status, one that combined “classic female beauty” and “bold athleticism.” Plot Pattern 6: Clear Tears: My Tears Don’t Fall in Pink Colors (Stories about K–12 students who confided in preservice teachers and discussed their feelings of isolation due to ridicule from peers who labeled them with stereotypical slurs.) In a typical story, a fifth-grade student, who, when first encountered by the preservice teacher early in the school semester, “marched across the field to the playground like he was walking on a cloud.” The preservice teacher reported that it seemed like Jose “owned” the playground, “with all the girls wanting to be his best friend.” But across the months of the preservice teacher’s field observations, Jose began “dragging his feet and not strutting with the poise he usually carried.” Concerned, the preservice teacher approached him. She saw “sadness all over his face” as he “tried hard to hold the tears back.” He confided that the boys in his class were spreading rumors that he liked other boys and that they were being “so mean” to him. He finally let the tears fall and said, “They probably think my tears are pink, so I never let them see me cry. But see, my tears are clear just like theirs!”

Theme 2: Stories of Happiness and Glee Though fewer in number, preservice teachers did have some happy stories to tell about events that transpired during their field-based observations. This second set of stories calls our attention to those teachers and students who confronted injustice and ultimately changed the course of events for LGBTQ students in their classrooms. Through these narratives, we can envision what it looks like to act with courage toward social justice for LGBTQ students. Here, we learn of different heroes: teachers, LGBTQ students themselves, and in one case an entire audience applauding the first male member of the dancing squad at a football game. The writers of these narratives celebrated events in which someone stepped up for LGBTQ students in school settings. They especially recalled their appreciation for teachers who were “stand out” teachers, unlike those who allowed taunts, teasing, and injustice to go unaddressed. These narratives stand in stark contrast to many other descriptions of well-remembered classroom events, in which gay slurs were prevalent in classroom discourse,

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and where teachers would often stop minor offenses such as pencil tapping or gum chewing, but allowed public callouts shouted across a room, such as “You would like that, wouldn’t you, faggot?” Plot Pattern 1: Teachers Going Against the Grain: Celebrating Students’ Counternarratives (Stories celebrating teachers whose practice pushed back against heteronormative ideals.) These “stand up” narratives were written about incidents occurring across a wide array of grade levels. Many were about teachers who quickly stopped common classroom slurs such as “that’s so gay,” and, as a result, avoided potentially degrading events. In one illustrative case, a teacher who was also a coach, Mr. Clark, overheard Joe, one of the baseball players, call out across the room that something was “so gay.” Immediately, Mr. Clark told Joe to “please” refrain from referring to the topic of a peer’s conversation as “gay,” and he let Joe know, “This is my only warning.” The next day, the preservice teacher overheard Joe critique a different student’s oral comment as “stupid gay.” This slur was also immediately noticed by Mr. Clark, who calmly told Joe that he would be marked absent for the class on that specific day. Joe’s immediate reaction is to realize that this absence, by school policy, will keep him from playing in an important baseball game scheduled for later that night. Under extreme duress, Joe pleaded for several minutes with Mr. Clark, profusely and repeatedly apologizing. Joe stated, “There are no gay students in class anyways, and that if there were any, I would have chosen better words.” With the full attention of the class, Mr. Clark responded kindly but clearly, “I’m sure if you had known that my son is gay that you would have given more thought to your choice of words as well, wouldn’t you have, Joe?” The preservice writer recollects that Mr. Clark then spent the next few minutes talking about how proud he was of his own son, and that the word gay should not be used or recognized as a synonym for stupid or dumb. Ultimately, Mr. Clark ended his discussion, saying, “Alright class, please get back to work, and Joe please remove yourself from my classroom, . . . and oh, please make your parents aware of why you will not be playing today.” Space limitations prohibit us from writing all that we wish we could about heroic efforts by individual teachers who engaged in intentional acts

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to react to issues of social injustice directed toward LGBTQ students. The narratives display how these everyday acts clearly and quickly disrupted bullying incidents. A majority of preservice teachers clearly held these teachers in high regard and stated that they are the examples of socially just teaching they learned from and, moving forward, wished to emulate. Plot Pattern 2: And a Hero Comes Our Way (Stories of students who confronted binary-based stereotypes and ultimately changed the course of events for LGBTQ students in their classrooms.) Though small in number, these narratives show strength, resilience, and purposefulness in stepping up to protest gender-based acts of injustice. In this small set, young girls reacted to both boys and their female counterparts in an attempt to stop the harm and sadness they witnessed. In some cases, they tried to stop the teasing and taunting of other classmates by not joining in when pressed to do so, and at other times they attracted the attention of a teacher and asked for help. Sometimes, they began to cry themselves until a teacher responded and learned what was happening. In other instances, these young girls rebuked bullying directed at themselves by showing or stating that they refused to be bothered. In an illustrative narrative, Mr. Barrett, a fifth-grade teacher, opened his class with the exciting announcement that Johnson Elementary School just obtained its own football team! Immediately following this announcement, Jameson, a male member of this class, yelled across the room to his friends. Mr. Barrett quickly told him his excitement was fine, but that he needed to sit back down so that he could give all students permission slips required to become a team member. Reading the permission slip, Jameson again shouted out loudly, “What! No tackling? Are you kidding me?” Other boys began to chime in with, “Yeah, that is just dumb!” Mr. Barrett explained that the football team would be coed and that fifth-grade football meant no bodily contact with others. Jameson responded in an even a louder voice, “What? We’re playing with girls?” Other boys quickly joined in: “That is so lame.” “Girls don’t even like to play football!” And then suddenly, Isabella stood up, right next to Jameson. She said to him: “You need to stop talking and saying things like that! Mr. Barrett, I am sorry, but . . . ” (turning to face Jameson), she momentarily paused and then said directly, “Hey Jameson, I could kick your ass! See, my crazy Mexican mom always says, don’t ever underestimate a woman!” The class got very quiet and looked quickly in the

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direction of Mr. Barrett. Mr. Barrett turned his gaze to the whole class and said in an uncharacteristically loud voice, “What Isabella said!” and then he quickly moved on with a set of directions about completing the permission slips within specified timelines. The preservice teacher concluded her well-remembered event with the notation that “this became one of those classic you could have heard a pin drop situations.”

Storied Perspectives and the Possibility of Pushback Narratives to Disrupt the Status Quo Our analysis suggests that stories of shame and sorrow in school settings may be difficult to redirect. Indeed, Lorber (1996) and Daley, Solomon, Newman, and Misha (2009) argue convincingly that everyday socialization patterns exist to preserve binary and hegemonic hierarchies across many contexts. In the context of schools, much work will have to be done to dismantle the status quo and situational “sameness” embedded in the rhetoric of the purpose of schooling in America, that is, the production of an educated citizenry, which, in actuality, has been a deeply entrenched and often unexamined view toward producing and reproducing citizens that follow traditional lines of White and heteronormative power and privilege. The analysis of the large corpus of classroom-based narratives summarized here raises the important question: Is it possible to undo the uncontested norms embedded in classroom environments and to promote socially just change by making the familiar strange? By collaboratively sorting a socially just agenda through situational and storied understandings with both preservice and practicing teachers, we may imagine ways not only to break through the never-benign binary barrier but also to provide a source for hope along a spectrum of being and becoming, as teachers, teacher educators, and students. Here, we put aside “quick fix” solutions and instead pose a few “What if?” questions for teaching with social justice in mind. We hope to pose alternative frames drawn from both within and outside educational research. Each of the frames, in different ways, honors the idea that narrative scripts, enacted in classrooms, wield considerable power to shape future behavior. Each frame invites us to consider how we as teachers and teacher educators might reimagine our role as story makers, equipped to stand strong on the front lines of the present-day contentious educational stage.

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Promising Pathways for Preservice Teacher Learning Related to LGBTQ Students One outcome of the analysis of preservice teachers’ narratives is that we can no longer remain complacent about the present context of teaching as it relates to LGBTQ students. To ground these questions, we draw on work in education, psychology, and sociology. We hope to engage the teacher education community in discourse about what actually constitutes social justice pedagogy in classroom spaces. Specifically, we wonder how, and if, we can prepare new teachers to confront the now to transform the tomorrow for LGBTQ students. In an attempt to pose possibilities rather than prescriptions for rethinking teacher education toward social justice concerns, we ask, what if? 1. What if we, as teacher educators, renewed our emphasis on the combined intellectual and moral enterprise of teaching? We have often spoken in our scholarly work about teaching as a storied activity (Carter, 1993) and a moral practice with principles of an ethic of care (Noddings, 1992), but a persistent political force continues to push against the promise of these considerations. Certainly, there are cases where teacher preparation has successfully focused on preparing teachers with a pedagogy of hope (Cochran-Smith, 2010; Zeichner, 2009). However, the present political pundits successfully apply to schools the rhetoric of a different kind of responsibility, a responsibility tied to testing, teacher accountability, and performance standards. As a result, teacher education programs have been pulled off course from the more complex work of preparing teachers to develop their students’ capacities as learners. The political pendulum has swung to a simpler place, where “best practice” is, at its best, limited to a reductionist view of the work of teaching. 2. What if we, as a scholarly community attempt to understand the classroom environment according to the demands of social justice, so that teachers are prepared not only to manage it but also to transform it? Doyle’s (2006) work views classrooms as ecological settings and identifies features that create difficulty for novice teachers attempting to engage students in learning activities. Doyle describes the following: •

Simultaneity, the occurrence of multiple and competing classroom events at the same time that threaten smoothness and momentum in classroom lessons;

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•

Unpredictability, the lack of stability in classroom learning situations, as academic work is often pulled off course by internal and external interruptions as well as unforeseen events;

•

Immediacy, the power of the present moment in classrooms to sustain or interrupt smoothness and momentum.

Using frames from this ecological paradigm, we have, to some extent, been successful in preparing new teachers to navigate the classroom space in the context of these complex environmental features. We have prepared teachers to usher in and protect instructional activities through rules, routines, and procedures (Carter & Doyle, 2006). In addition, we have taught “withitness” skills (Kounin, 1977) in an effort to help teachers prevent common forms of misbehavior before it occurs. Importantly, our present analysis of preservice teachers’ narratives suggests that these same classroom environmental features figure prominently in the context of powerful and punishing moments for LGBTQ students. Narratives captured clearly how bullying often made its way to the public space in times of simultaneous events; unpredictable interruptions, disruptions, or dialogue; and in a highly charged immediate moment. However, in research to date, teacher education scholars have not explored how these same features operate together to create fragile, perhaps even opportunistic situational moments in which bullying not only takes place but takes hold. Perhaps by refocusing on this ecological paradigm in classroom settings, we can equip new teachers not only with the means of managing classroom spaces to create smoothness and momentum, but also with the mindfulness to embed managerial moves in moment-to-moment decision making consistent with goals of agency, integrity, equity, and care. In other words, preparing new teachers to manage classroom events successfully would entail careful decision making not only to preserve order but also decidedly to disrupt traditional hegemonic order, an ideal which has historically privileged a select few and marginalized so many others. What if we, as teacher educators, better prepared teachers to intervene in distress situations for LGBTQ students? As we analyzed the corpus of narratives for this study, we often asked the questions: Where is the help? Why does there appear to be so little movement to correct and care for the bullied LGBTQ student?

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Here, knowledge gained from sociopsychological research related to crisis or emergency situations can help. For example, considerable research has been accomplished on “the bystander effect” (see, for example, Clark & Word, 1974; Manning, Levine, & Collins, 2007). One principal finding from this research about why witnesses to an emergency/distressful event do not intervene relates to the number of bystanders that are present at the event. Several researchers have found that the greater the numbers of observers present, the less likely people are to help a person in distress. In other words, people appear to be less likely to offer help when they are in a group than when they are alone. Studies have suggested that a large number of witnesses results in a diffusion of responsibility, so that if others do not react, onlookers are less likely to intervene, in part because they do not feel reassured that a response is needed. In addition, this line of research has shown that if there is situational ambiguity for bystanders (who may be unsure that the situation is, in fact, an emergency), individuals are much less likely to react or intervene. Importantly, this line of research has also shown that similarity is a factor which influences whether or not help is offered, with people being more willing to help individuals they perceive are similar to themselves than people with whom they do not share a common background or set of beliefs. Finally, social norms for a particular setting have been shown to influence whether or not persons offer help (see, for example, Clark & Word, 1974; Burkley, 2009). Looking at the context of the often-crowded spaces of classroom life, we can entertain how concepts related to the bystander effect might hold promise for redirecting teachers’ and students’ reactions. The number element of the bystander effect is visible in classroom spaces, with general numbers of students at 20 or above for most classrooms. Given that witnesses to an event look to others to determine whether or not they should act, and given that one adult (the teacher) is in the company of children and youth, it is likely that students look primarily to the teacher to determine whether or not they should help. If teachers are not prepared themselves with professional understandings about how they might act on behalf of LGBTQ students, the “bystander effect” may be particularly exaggerated in classroom life, with a generalized reluctance to intervene becoming the situated social norm for all classroom participants. On the other hand, principles derived from the bystander effect might suggest how preservice teachers could be taught positive courses of action in

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crisis situations. For example, teacher education should make teachers aware that, in an ambiguous situation, the natural tendency among witnesses is to look to others for a decision about when and how to intervene. Moreover, teacher education should encourage teachers to “assume similarity” with marginalized students in crisis. Finally, teacher education could enable teachers to establish classroom norms concerning social interactions that would safeguard the dignity of LGBTQ students—and everyone else as well. These simple suggestions could be developed into a set of classroom guidelines that would carry the same weight as the rules we promote for other aspects of classroom life, such as student talk, student movement, and student downtime. 4. What if we, as educators and scholars, imagined classrooms as contexts for students’ developing stories about learning and about life? Similarly, what if we saw classrooms as mediated “stages” or as performance venues where individual students, groups of students, and their teachers seek to manage their impressions as they develop their own personal narratives and their social identity? Combining our findings from preservice teacher narratives with Irving Goffman’s (1959) theory of dramaturgy, we suggest viewing the classroom as a performance venue, a place where identity formation takes place in a social context. We posit that Goffman’s work has potential to help us understand anomalous behavior through examining such concepts as students’ “impression management” (Spencer-Hall, 1981), a process by which people attempt to present a public image of themselves in the service of “fitting in” (Goffman, 1959). Viewing the classroom as a performance venue, we can learn a great deal about the origins of bullying behavior, particularly as directed at LGBTQ students. Specifically, is it possible that some of these dramaturgical frames help us understand how the present classroom stage with respect to marginalizing gay students has been created and sustained? For example, Robinson and Ferfolja (2008) have argued that the gay slurs found to be so prevalent in classrooms can be explained through purposeful behavior involved in the kind of classroom “impression management” (Spencer-Hall, 1981). Robinson and Ferfolja (2008) note that multiple purposes may be served for the students who speak such slurs, such as identifying the speaker as heterosexual to classmates. In essence, gay slurs assist a student with projecting an image, defining a social identity as “not gay,” and managing a social impression, showing where he/ she “fits in” within the classroom cast of characters.

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In view of these dynamics, new teachers should receive help in understandings that these slurs effectively serve other, less benign purposes in the public stage of a classroom. Robinson & Ferfolja (2008) argue that these slurs concomitantly perpetuate negative feelings against the LGBTQ community and the “othering” of LGBTQ students while reinforcing their marginalization in the cultural hierarchy of schools. In this manner, pejoratives go beyond a simple expression of a feeling of dislike (or of an expression of where an individual “fits in”) since these spoken and heard statements serve to silence the LGBTQ student community and reinforce the heteronormative and heterosexist discourses that have come to dominate many school and classroom settings. These ideas cause us to wonder how we might prepare teachers to assist students in forging their own personal stories without building their identity at the expense of others. What if students’ goals to fit in through “othering” LGBTQ students could be confronted using approaches similar to other known methods for dealing with students’ mistaken goals (e.g., attention seeking, power seeking, revenge seeking), actions which have also been known to create disruptions in classroom events (see Dreikurs, 1968, 1993). Finally, we suggest that other dramaturgical concepts like “frontstage” and “backstage” (Spencer-Hall, 1981) may help revise teacher pedagogy toward social justice. With these concepts, perhaps we can provide new teachers with richer ways of thinking about the classroom space (both public and comparatively more hidden classroom venues). Both Spencer-Hall’s work (1981) and the present work reported here demonstrate that individual students select and use these very different spaces to manage their impressions on others. Perhaps we can design more dynamic means to spot and arrest the kinds of unchecked marginalization of LGBTQ students that has been documented in large-scale school studies and in narrative studies of classroom events.

Toward a Politically Relevant and Socially Just Teacher Education Curriculum: Creating Redemption Stories in School Settings One outcome of the analysis of preservice teachers’ narratives is the certain sense that we can no longer remain complacent about the present practice of teaching as it relates to LGBTQ students. Taken collectively, the narratives examined in this study provide a powerful voice for revising the teacher education curriculum toward equity and social justice. These stories require us to consider how, for each of our preservice teachers, the natural and pro-

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longed practice of narrating their school experiences affects how they come to know teaching. They ask us how we might better design teacher education experiences that help us, as well as the new teachers we are preparing, seriously to question whether or not our own preconceptions about others are characterized by cultural, gender-based, or political insularity. And most importantly, the voices in the narratives we studied ask us, How will our work as teachers and teacher educators affect the understandings of preservice teachers, who will soon spend their days in the company of children who enter their classrooms with hopes of experiencing happiness while accomplishing academic work? Can we write and then enact a socially just script for a school marquee that not only claims but carries out an equity-focused educative mission where, under the school roof and inside classroom walls, the out and proud possibility exists that “happiness is the truth”?

References Burkley, M. (2009, November 4). Why don’t we help? Less is more, at least when it comes to bystanders. Psychology Today. Retrieved from https:// www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-social-thinker/200911/why-don-t-wehelp-less-is-more-least-when-it-comes-bystanders Carter, K. (1993). The place of story in the study of teaching and teacher education. Educational Researcher, 22(1), 5–18. Carter, K. (1994). Preservice teachers’ well-remembered events and the acquisition of event-structured knowledge. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 26(1), 235–252. Carter, K., Carter, G., Stoehr, K, & Sugimoto, A. (2016, April). Preservice teachers’ well-remembered events of gender-based pedagogical and policing practices in elementary school settings. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association, Washington, DC. Carter, K., & Doyle, W. (2006). Classroom Management in Early Childhood and Elementary Classrooms. In C. M. Evertson & C. S. Weinstein (Eds.), Handbook of classroom management: Research, practice, and contemporary issues (pp. 373–406). Mahwah, NJ, US: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Publishers.

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Carter, K., Stoehr, K., Sugimoto, A., & Carter, G. (2013, April). Learning to teach out and proud: Preservice teachers’ well-remembered narratives of social injustice in school and field-based settings. Paper presented at the annual meetings of the American Educational Research Association, San Francisco. Carter, K., Sugimoto, A., Stoehr, K., & Carter, G. (2015, April). Preservice teachers’ well-remembered events about policing toward the gender binary: (X or Y, boy or girl?). Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association, Chicago, IL. Clark, R. D., III, & Word, L. E. (1974). Where is the apathetic bystander? Situational characteristics of the emergency. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 29(3), 279–287.  Cochran-Smith, M. (2010). Toward a theory of teacher education for social justice. In M. Fullan, A. Hargreaves, D. Hopkins, & A. Lieberman (Eds.), The international handbook of educational change (pp. 445–467, 2nd ed.). New York, NY: Springer Dordrecht Heidelberg. Daley, A., Solomon, S., Newman, P. A., & Mishna, F. (2007). Traversing the margins: Intersectionalities in the bullying of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender youth. Journal of Gay & Lesbian Social Services, 19(3–4), 9–29. https://doi.org/10.1080/10538720802161474 Doyle, W. (2006). Ecological approaches to classroom management. In C. Evertson & C. Weinstein (Eds.), Handbook of classroom management: Research, practice, and contemporary issues (pp. 97–125). New York, NY: Erlbaum. Doyle, W., & Carter, K. (2003). Narrative and learning to teach: Implications for the teacher education curriculum. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 35(2), 1–13. GLSEN and Harris Interactive (2012). Playgrounds and prejudice: Elementary school climate in the United States: A survey of students and teachers. New York, NY: GLSEN.

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Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Jansen, F., Westbroek, H., Doyle, W., & van Driel, J. (2013). How to make innovations practical. Teachers College Record, 115(7), 1–43. Kounin, J. S. (1977). Discipline and group management in classrooms. Huntington, NY: R. E. Krieger. Lorber, J. (1996) Beyond the binaries: Depolarizing the categories of sex, sexuality, and gender. Sociological Inquiry, 66(2), 143–159. Lortie, D. C. (1975). Schoolteacher: A sociological study. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Manning, R., Levine, M., & Collins, A. (2007). The Kitty Genovese murder and the social psychology of helping: The parable of the 38 witnesses. American Psychologist, 62(6), 555–562. Noddings, N. (1992). The challenge to care in schools: An alternative approach to education. Advances in Contemporary Educational Thought: Vol. 8. New York: Teachers College Press. Robinson, K., & Ferfolja, T. (2008). Playing it up, playing it down, playing it safe: Queering teacher education. Teaching and Teacher Education, 24(4), 846–858. Spencer-Hall, D. (1981). Looking behind the teacher’s back. Elementary School Journal, 81(5), 281–289. Sugimoto, A., & Carter, K. (2015). Divergent narratives: The story of schools, schooling, and students from the 1960s to the present. In K. Bosworth (Ed.), Prevention science in school settings: Complex relationships and processes (pp. 1–32). New York, NY: Springer. Williams, P. (2014). Happy. On Despicable Me 2 [CD]. New York City, NY: Columbia Records. Zeichner, K. (2009). Teacher education and the struggle for social justice. New York, NY: Routledge.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kids Love a Classroom for Everyone Rob Schulze

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chool is a place where children go to learn together. It is common for adults of all ages to remember certain special projects and lessons, perhaps field trips, a beloved teacher, the day that the fire alarm went off and it was pouring rain. Those memories linger. However, perhaps what many remember most is the fellow students with whom you attended school. It is impossible to separate our experience of school from the people with whom we experienced it—unless one never had that chance in the first place. Some students do not have these types of lasting memories, because some students do not have the chance to experience school with their peers. These tend to be students with some form of difference. In schools, that difference is usually couched as “special needs.” These students linger out of sight, in special education rooms in basements or odd nooks. The rooms may be populated with students of similar learning characteristics in some narrow way (reading ability, perhaps, or behavior). They may be predominantly with adults, not peers, performing tasks away from friends. When these students think back on their education, they will not remember all the different kids with whom they attended school. Their memories, like themselves, will be different. The other students in their grade will not remember these students either. Why would they? They are not really part of the “noticed” school environment. Perhaps these “special needs” students might appear in the

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cafeteria, or for an art class, and then return to their own unseen lives. A school is an entire world for the students within it, and students who are separated are like ghosts—they are real and unreal, occasionally seen but not part of the vital life of the regular school ecosystem. And yet these are actual children. They could be the friends, the enemies, the project partners that you remember the most now that you have grown up and look back at school, but likely are not. Why are they denied the opportunity to be part of these experiences, to create these memories? The answer lies within our schools, our teachers, and our teaching. School systems set policies that teachers enforce when they teach, and both policy and in-classroom teaching are informed by how we view the children in the school and outside of it. Over the years, as philosophy and pedagogies have evolved, our views of children in general have changed, from being small adults who learn by rote to active participants who construct their own learning. As a result, our teaching has changed, from rote recitation to experiential, constructivist teaching. While it may seem that theory and practice live worlds apart, they do connect in a very real way for students in the classroom. This chapter argues that it is our philosophy, our definition, of disability that greatly determines whether a student with disabilities loves or loathes school. We must transition from a medical model of disability to a social model if we want to make sure that our children have those fond memories and experiences as accepted members of the classroom.

Medical and Social Models of Disability Historically, the responsibility for their exclusion is placed upon the “special needs” child him- or herself. The child is hyperactive. The child does not read at the correct grade level. The child makes odd noises and stands up at the wrong times. The child looks/acts/sounds/thinks/works differently, and therefore the child does not meet the norms required by the classroom. These children are sent someplace where they can get the instruction they need and not bother anyone with all their distracting differences. This is an example of what has been called the “disablement process,” in which some characteristic of a person creates barriers for equitable participation (Masala & Petretto, 2008). This is the medical model of disability; it relies on the assumption that disability lies within the child and is a personal problem with which the child needs to deal (Areheart, 2008). Within this model, disabled persons need a

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cure, and this “fix” needs to be applied to help them be more “normal.” This assumption tends to be unquestioned, to go without saying; after all, “we may want diversity in all things, but not so far as in medicalized bodies are concerned. It is in this realm that ‘normal’ still applies with force” (Davis, 2013, p. 7). We want children to be unique, but not different. This philosophy leads toward the practice of exclusion. If the child is different enough, is “abnormal,” then the child does not belong with the rest of the kids. We put sick people in the hospital so that they can be treated separately from the rest of the population; applying the medical model to schools leads to the same result. Schools develop a variety of reasons that children with disabilities need to be excluded: they will hurt the education of the “normal” kids; they need “too much” from the regular education teacher; they are a distraction. So, off they go to their special room with the other nonnormals. And this exclusion leads kids to hate school. Why wouldn’t it? Children with disabilities are told they are flawed, broken, irregular. They are separated from peers for part or all of the day to get the instruction that they need, and the implicit (or too often explicit) message is that they aren’t welcome in the classroom because they are not good enough to be there. They do not merit inclusion. And once they receive their medical-model mandated “cure”—once they can sit, read, be silent, or otherwise fit the “normal” range of behavior, they will be allowed in. If such a student never makes it into that “normal” range, they will remain excluded. The medical-model approach is harmful not only to the students who are removed from the classroom. The other students suffer a worsened school experience as well. They do not know it, but their world has been limited. It has been made less diverse. I argue that the world is made richer by being populated with people different from me, and by that logic the rest of the students have been impoverished by their lack of peers with disabilities. When combined with some of the disproportionality in the racial background of students in special education, diversity is jeopardized in other ways as well by this exclusion (Blanchett, 2006). The point of this argument is not to suggest that differences do not exist among students. It is not to state that differences in bodies, neurology, or behavior do not exist. It is not even to suggest that all differences are positive—physical aggression and violence, for instance, are clearly not meant to be cast as just another aspect of our shared humanity. The point is that

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there is another way to approach these differences. There is another way to conceptualize disability. The social model opposes the medical model in many important ways and offers an alternative philosophy to create the conditions where kids love school. A social model of disability understands that disadvantages stem from the body’s interaction with the environment rather than any inherent impairment in the individual (Adams, Reiss, & Serlin, 2015). This is easy to visualize in terms of physical disorders. For instance, when a person in a wheelchair encounters a ramp, that person suffers no negative impact from their environment in entering a building. They are as able to complete that task as anyone with typical motor function; they are not disabled. However, when a person in a wheelchair encounters a set of stairs, they have been prevented from entering the building by its architecture. They have become disabled. From a social model perspective, the disability is not situated in the person. The disability did not come from their legs; it came from the design and construction of the building. How can one person be fully abled in one structure, and then cross the street to another and be disabled if the disability lies in the person and that person has not changed? If the person has not changed, the impairment had to have been produced by the environment around them. Consider another example. Dwarfism is a medical diagnosis, the most visible symptom of which is reduced height. According to the Little People of America, the average height of a person with dwarfism is four feet (Little People of America, 2017). People with dwarfism in their own home, with furniture and utilities built to suit their specifications, have no more difficulty doing any normal home-related tasks than do anyone else. They show no effects of a disability. But a person with dwarfism, in a house built for a larger person, would have great difficulty reaching items. A home not built to an appropriate scale is, according to the social model, the factor that caused the disability, not the person’s height. Indeed, if a person of average height—say, five feet, six inches or so—were to visit the house of a spectacularly large person, such as a professional basketball player, that person might find that everything in the home was built for the comfort of a person well over seven feet tall. The average-height visitor would suddenly have difficulty getting a glass from the top shelf. No one who is five feet, six inches tall would ever dream of calling themselves disabled because of it, but in those circumstances, they certainly would have had their ability compromised by the environment.

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The debate between these two philosophical frames may seem irrelevant. If a person cannot enter a building, what does it matter if the person or the building is to blame? However, this question is critical because the two models point to differing solutions. In a medical model, the person needs to get fixed. In a social model, the environment needs to be altered. These different philosophies lead to very different educational approaches in schools.

The Social Model and Universal Design for Learning The social model has great application to education. Viewed through the social model of disability, the reason that a child with special needs may be excluded from a classroom shifts dramatically. Instead of assuming a problem in the child, we look for a problem in the environment: the regular classroom. If a student has to leave the classroom because of an alleged reading disability, the problem is not a student who is too low-functioning to read; the problem is a classroom that does not provide access to reading at that student’s level. This lack of access causes the disability by limiting—or eliminating—opportunity for the student to learn effectively. This is a great shift from traditional notions of American education, according to which kids are supposed to sit in rows, complete the same task at the same pace, and meet the exact expectations of the teacher. If they cannot do these things they are viewed as obstinate or damaged and need to go. This is a strictly medical-model approach: deviation as a personal flaw. From a social model perspective, kids may well sit in rows, but they cannot possibly be expected to do the same thing at the same pace. Any teacher who tried to make them do so might will be labeled obstinate or damaged and need to go. Children are not now—and never were—interchangeable parts in a mechanical system. We cannot expect them to function as such, doing the same thing as everyone else around them. Following the social model, then, when a student is struggling, teachers must think of how they can change, how the teaching or classroom environment can change, how classrooms can be molded to make everyone succeed. Thankfully, there are strategies in place for teachers to help them create more inclusive classrooms. One way to help teachers in this task is the universal design for learning, a way to conceptualize and guide teachers as to how to use the social model of disability to create a classroom for everyone.

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The principles of universal design for learning (UDL) state that “variance across individuals is the norm, not the exception. . . . Therefore, the curriculum should be adaptable to individual differences rather than the other way around. . . . Traditional curricula have the ‘disability,’ because they only work for certain learners” (Hall, Meyer, & Rose, 2012, p. 4). By contrast, when lessons are universal, everyone can learn. All students can participate in the academic, social, and community-building aspects of education together. Content can be learned, friendships made, and understanding of those different from oneself can be achieved. All students are “full-fledged members of, not merely visitors to, the general education classroom” (Gargiulo, 2015). In traditional lesson planning, a lesson is made for the class, and then modifications are possibly made to it for students with different needs (and who are then, by implication, not really part of “the class”). This is a medical-model approach; there is one correct and “normal” lesson, and then it is modified for the abnormals. Universal design involves creating lessons from the very beginning for all students—everyone is part of the class. UDL takes a social model approach and provides tools to create a class for everyone, to make sure lessons are not disabling to any student. UDL involves some complex and layered design, but at its core it is focused on the idea of providing options for students. This idea of options in an educational setting is sometimes a difficult one for people who did not learn in a universal classroom. Most adults and even many people still in school today experienced their education with the same number of options in every class: one. The teacher gives an assignment, which usually involved doing one process to get one correct answer. Students read a passage and answer the questions. Students write down the answers to multiplication problems using the method the teacher explains. Students do the experiment per step-by-step instructions and write the lab report using the given format. Even when the assignment may have been “out of the box”—a diorama, dressing up as an author, creating a poster— still everyone must do that same out-of-the-box assignment. The problem is that one option will never work for all students. Some students will not be able to read the passage or to write the answer. Some will not be able to multiply using the teacher’s method. A portion of students will always be left behind when there is only one option. And when a teacher tries, on the fly, to create a new option for a student who needs it,

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that option may not be appropriate or well thought out. The ultimate solution may be to have the student leave the class to get what he or she needs somewhere else—exclusion that can make kids hate school. Using universal design, teachers plan, from the beginning, to have options in their lessons to keep all students in class. What matters is the final result—the learning goal—and not the process. These are often quite different. For instance, a learning goal could be to understand the causes of the Civil War, but the process to demonstrate this learning could be via writing, or oral presentation, or original song. By offering options, teachers can enable students to stay in the classroom and meet the learning objective. The control is less rigid, and students who would have had to leave can now be a part of the classroom community. Put another way, the goals for the students are challenging and rigorous, yet the materials and methods are flexible, and diverse student populations can be supported (Hitchcock, Meyer, Rose, & Jackson, 2002). UDL focuses on three main areas: representation, action and expression, and engagement (Hall, Meyer, & Rose, 2012). Representation is what the teacher does. A UDL-savvy teacher might look at instruction and ask: Is material only auditory? Only visual? Can it be both? Can students choose how they wish to access that material? When teachers have different ways of clarifying, explaining, or demonstrating, then they are using multiple means of representation. Action and expression is what the students do. In a UDL classroom, they have a choice in how they show a teacher that they have (or have not) met the learning objectives. Part of the flexibility is in thinking that the process is not always integral to the result. Is writing very important for a learning objective in writing? Yes. Is writing very important for a social studies learning objective? Maybe. But also maybe not. And definitely not every time. Perhaps some students who are talented writers would choose writing to demonstrate what they have learned, and perhaps other students could do something different (oral report, art project, website) to demonstrate their progress. Engagement is how students remain interested. From a teacher’s perspective, there is nothing worse—and I say this from personal experience— than seeing a class of bored students tuning out in front of you. Instead of blaming the students, teachers should think of how to make their lessons more universal so that the students can maintain their focus and learn the

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material. Giving students choices of topics, opportunities to reflect, and even chances to move physically can help students remain invested in a lesson. The idea that teachers can plan their lessons in such a way as to include all their students in the lesson is a powerful one. It is a concept which can really drive children toward a love of school. The key point in UDL is the option of choice. In some classes, there are different groups or projects available, but the teacher assigns each student to a group at the teacher’s discretion. There are options, but only for the teacher—students do not get to have a free choice among the projects. A crucial element is missing. In good UDL, there are options for how students can access, demonstrate, and engage with their learning, and the students can choose the way that works best for their learning style.

Applying Universal Design for an Inclusive Classroom Teachers have been applying the social model through universal design for some time now, with positive results. Practical application really shows the power of inclusive teaching. A strong example of how choice can work is a high school English teacher colleague who was teaching a unit on J. D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye. This particular book is a standard part of the curriculum in many American high schools but is a challenging one due in part to some of its themes and symbolism. Nonetheless, an inclusive class with students of many different ability levels made their way through the text and learned quite a bit. Finally, it was time for the summative assignment. In many cases, the standard summative assignment for a high school class after reading a book is a five-paragraph essay about it. This can be so engrained in school culture that it becomes a reflex; it just happens without any critical thought as to why. Writing is indeed an instructional standard for high school English language arts courses, as it should be. It also is not necessarily required to be tied into every single summative book assignment, something this teacher realized. He gave his students options and let them choose which one worked for them. The goal of the summative assignment was for the students to show that they understood the evolution of the main character, Holden Caulfield. They could, indeed, write a five-paragraph essay on this topic. Students with strengths in writing chose this option. Another option was to create a graphic novel/comic book dramatization of sections of the book. This appealed

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to students who had strong visual arts talent and creativity; instead of using words exclusively, they could use both words and visuals to convey their understanding of Holden’s conflicts, growth, and journey. Another option was for students to create a CD of specifically chosen songs which would chart Holden’s journey over the course of the book. (This dates the assignment a bit; students now could create a playlist which would serve the same function.) To go with this CD, they handed in a written explanation of their choices; it went song-by-song and explained why each song related to Holden’s experience at a certain point in the book and how each song led to the next. Students who were interested in music or had musical talent could combine that with writing skills to show their learning about the character’s journey in the novel. There were other choices as well, each emphasizing a different required skill or aptitude in order to demonstrate the expected learning objective. The teacher made a special point to note that he would grade all submissions equally rigorously: no matter what format students used to demonstrate their learning, if they did not prove it at the expected level of proficiency they would not be successful. As it turned out, the class was up to the challenge. Students absolutely loved this assignment. Sixteen-year-olds who had built their entire self-​ image around hating school were excited to complete it. The assembling of options and the granting of choices was exceptionally powerful. All the students could learn together in ways that suited them, and for a time at least all the students loved school. Students who were not excellent writers had a chance to show their learning and earn a good grade in the same way as peers who were talented writers. Students diagnosed with writing disabilities by the medical model were disabled no longer. Their strengths stood out, not their weaknesses. UDL enabled them to share their learning about The Catcher in the Rye. It was wonderful. At the elementary level, students’ love for school is especially precious and fragile—and at great risk. A student who hates school in the third grade will likely become one of the teenagers mentioned above who would rather skip than attend. Especially students who struggle in reading at that age can become disillusioned by school (Fiester & Casey, 2010). Reading is a central focus in elementary school—as well it should be—but a student who is behind in his or her reading level can gradually fade out of the classroom entirely. These students can become disabled by a nonmodified curriculum, eventually being separated from their peers for most of the school day.

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While it is good pedagogical practice for students with reading disabilities to receive special education reading services in a specific, structured reading program, having to do all academics in a separate setting because of one’s reading level is not likely to build the love of school. One effective solution to this problem is the application of UDL to technological innovations. Many elementary teachers I have worked with solved this conundrum by the use of technology. Educational technology is a runaway train—it moves at a breakneck pace and only gains momentum. What is current today is embarrassing tomorrow. However, an inclusive and universal teacher stays abreast of the latest developments and uses them to create a classroom for every student. For reading, technology use is a wonderful methodology to prevent a disabling environment. If a student comprehends the written material but cannot access it because of a personal characteristic, technology can create options for representation. Students can have their information provided via e-readers, magnified so that the text is visible to their level of vision, highlighted word-by-word so that they can track it, or translated into their first language. Now able to access content, they can be a meaningful part of the classroom and engage in learning that might have been denied them. They will be with their peers, and their love for school can continue to grow. The need for inclusive practice continues into the college level. The National Center for Education Statistics estimates that, as of the 2011–2012 school year, roughly 11% of students in higher education had disabilities (U.S. Department of Education, 2016). College students are not protected by the same laws as K–12 students, yet they still confront disabling conditions that prevent them from the best education they could receive. I once asked a student of mine with a disability what she would like her professors to know. She replied, I would want them to understand that it does take me longer to understand material and to get work done. I take more time to get work done. So, because there are times where it comes across like I’m being lazy and pushing an assignment off to the side when I’m not, it’s just taking me either longer to understand or it’s taking me longer to do because of having a hard time understanding it. So, if they understood that I feel like I work well with teachers to get my work done and to help better my understanding of assignments.

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This student wanted her professors to understand her, to enable her by understanding and working well with her, and not to disable her by labeling her as lazy. When not disabled by her classes, she was successfully progressing toward a degree that she perhaps could not have earned at an institution that did not value inclusive education.

Conclusion: All Students Can Love School What should teachers do to make kids love school? They should follow a basic tenet of contemporary teaching: everyone deserves an education. One side of the Boston Public Library has this statement etched in stone: “The Commonwealth Requires the Education of the People as the Safeguard of Order and Liberty.” It is a stunning sentiment, and it makes no exceptions for who constitutes “the people.” Everyone is included. Teachers should enact this sentiment in their classes. It starts from a philosophy: Should a teacher truly believe that all students can and should learn together? Should a teacher separate the students in your classroom to “my” students and “your” students? Once you believe that all students are “our” students and that they belong together in one community—a rejection of the medical model—then you are ready to learn how to make it happen. You can rely on the support system in your school. Special educators are knowledgeable resources who can help you serve all students. Related service providers, like speech and language pathologists, occupational therapists, and behavior analysts, can also give you strategies and insight. Administrators can provide further resources you need (technology, for instance) to create an inclusive environment. Another resource is the extended body of work on universal design. If you want to become inclusive, spend more time studying universal design learning and then take a look at your lessons. Are they universal? How can you improve them to ensure that they will benefit all your students? If you are having problems with your students, try to pinpoint where in the flow of your class they occur, and look hard at your planning to see if you could solve that problem before it begins. You might find that students who previously gave you a hard time, refused to work, or were told to leave will be in class and excited to learn. Remember the student from earlier—the ghost, living a strange educational half-life, not really part of the vital energy of the class or school.

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Try to visualize a student in your school who fits this description. With a social-model philosophy, backed by universal planning and skillful teaching, that student can be resurrected to the classroom. That student would never have known that they were not “normal.” At this point you will see the impact these improvements have on your practice. All students together, learning, laughing, creating friendships, understanding human diversity— loving school.

References

Annie E. Casey Foundation. (2010). Early warning! Why reading by the end of third grade matters. KIDS COUNT Special Report. Baltimore, MD: Fiester, L. Retrieved from www.aecf.org Areheart, B. A. (2008). When disability isn’t “just right”: The entrenchment of the medical model of disability and the Goldilocks dilemma. Indiana Law Journal, 83(1), 181–232. Adams, R., Reiss, B., & Serlin, D. (2015). Keywords in disability studies. New York, NY: New York University Press. Blanchett, W. J. (2006). Disproportional representation of African-American students in special education: Acknowledging the role of White privilege and racism. Educational Researcher, 25(6), 24–28. Davis, L. (2013). The end of normal: Identity in a biocultural era. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Gargiulo, M. (2015). Special education in contemporary society (5th edition). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Hall, T., Meyer, A., & Rose, D. (2012). Universal design for learning in the classroom. New York, NY: The Guilford Press. Hitchcock, C., Meyer, A., Rose, D., & Jackson, R. (2002). Providing new access to the classroom curriculum. TEACHING Exceptional Children, 35(2), 8–17. Little Peopleof America. (2017, March 7). Frequently asked questions. Retrieved from http://www.lpaonline.org/faq-

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Masala, C., & Petretto, D. (2008). From disablement to enablement: Conceptual models of disability in the 20th century. Disability and Rehabilitation, 30(17), 1233–1244. U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics. (2016). Digest of Education Statistics, 2014 (NCES 2016-006).

CHAPTER EIGHT

Forgotten Learners Academically Strong Kids in Struggling Schools

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mart kids should love school—shouldn’t they? But on- and abovegrade learners in my elementary school did not love school—they were bored and sometimes disruptive and often detached. When vacation time or long weekends came around, these students were the least excited about returning to school and the most reluctant to become involved in extracurricular activities. What do you do when you begin to lose your strongest students? How do you engage on- and above-grade-level students when all resources are focused on struggling learners? These were the questions my colleagues and I found ourselves asking as we sat around the teachers’ room table. The reality in my struggling Title I school was that our focus was on our failing kids—kids who, either because of language issues, learning challenges, or low performance were given a strong system of federal, state, and locally funded interventions and supports. As our testing data poured in, I could see that our series of interventions was working. While our struggling students were still not performing on grade level, they were performing better and were showing improvement in both math and reading. However, the more I explored the data, the more it became clear that our on- and above-gradelevel learners were not performing better on the standardized tests; in fact, the

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data showed a steady decline in their performance over the last several years. I found in my initial research that this phenomenon is not uncommon among Title I schools because of the amount of resources and teacher training dedicated to working with struggling learners. As Tom Loveless of the Brookings Institution wrote, “There is almost no policy reward for getting a proficient student to advance but there are big payoffs . . . for boosting below-basic kids up, especially basic kids to proficient” (2012). As I began to look at these students more closely, I saw that many of them were disengaged in the classroom. Teachers reported them as disruptive or just plain bored. As a teacher educator and instructional coach, I worked with my teachers and principal to create a systematic approach to engaging these “forgotten learners.” We did not want to lose these kids before they even started their academic careers! Research showed that one of the strongest strategies for engaging reluctant or indifferent learners is to make their learning come alive through the integration of technology (Tucker, 2012). Combining this finding with further research (David, 2008), my colleagues and I created a comprehensive program in which teachers and student teachers work with small groups on project-based learning driven by school-based technology (Wilson, Nabors, Berg, Simpson, & Timme, 2012). Students worked on independent and smallgroup projects using iPads and MacBook Airs to do research on a variety of topics in math, social studies, science, and literature. We tracked data on standardized testing and looked at how a group of 40 students in grades 3–5 performed against national norms before and after the intervention. This essay will discuss these students and the interventions that were conducted using a case study approach. It will also discuss individual student activities and grade-level projects that improved both academic performance and attitudes toward school.

Our Town, Our School, and Our Students I teach in a 400-student K–5 elementary school in an old mill city in New England. These cities have striking, 19th-century architecture and massive mills that in big cities like Boston, Brooklyn, or even Buffalo get turned into trendy hipster lofts and locally sourced food emporiums. Our city is poor with a shrinking tax base, dwindling middle class, and run-down Victorian-style homes broken up into apartments, housing immigrants and poor families trying to make ends meet and working at minimum-wage jobs in the service sector. As teachers, that means we have lots of kids with challenging home lives, many of

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whom are English language learners. This is not a sad place—it’s just a complicated place. Our kids are inspiring and hardworking; they make you happy and proud to be a teacher, but they also make you work for your paycheck. Of the 400 students in our school, nearly 70% were performing below grade level. Of that group, over 90% received free and reduced-price lunch. About 120 of our students (30%) were English language learners, speaking eight different languages. As a Title I school, we receive federal funds to support our lowest performing kids and provide our free and reduced-price lunch program, which in turn is based on family income. We are part of a 10-school district that is “failing.” Our school, while a high performer in the district, is still a failing school compared to statewide averages. The Title I program provided money for academic interventionists, after-school support programs, and classroom materials that support struggling students and increase their test scores. These demands left little or no money for enrichment activities for children not identified as academically at risk.

Our Problem—Not Just Our Problem Our students take NWEA MAP standardized tests three times per year. We really like NWEA testing in our school (we don’t like all standardized testing— trust me) because it gives us a good sense of how our students are doing and what specific skills they need to work on. Students are given a computer-based test which adapts to their level. The results tell me if my fourth graders are reading at a fourth-grade level, a sixth-grade level, or a second-grade level. They tell me the same in terms of mathematical skills. I get that data back within 24 hours of the test. This is a huge advantage in terms of teaching to my students’ strengths and deficits. As a classroom teacher, I found this information very helpful, and without going into too much detail, NWEA provided many, many resources to dig deep into the test and discover the specific areas where my students needed support or challenges (Cordray et al., 2012). After I left the classroom and became an instructional coach, part of my job was to analyze the data to understand how our kids as a whole and as individual students performed. I worked with classroom teachers to utilize the data and decide which students would get reading or math interventions and remediation. We only provided these programs, which ran during and after school, to students who were performing below grade level. We worked on vocabulary development, phonics, reading comprehension, geometry, math facts, and homework and organizational skills. These programs were great, and we got a lot of bang for our

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buck. Our below-grade-level students’ performance went up! They were placed in small groups with trained interventionists (most of them retired teachers or new teachers not yet assigned to a classroom). Each program addressed a specific skill set and targeted instruction with military precision. We were the SEAL Team Six of second- to fifth-grade interventions and were very proud of our students’ growth. Some of our teachers were seeing 60–70% growth in reading among these students; in some cases we were seeing 90–100% growth in math. Although the students who participated in these programs—sometimes more than one at a time—were not performing at grade level, they were improving and reaching the targeted growth established by NWEA and by our district. We were very proud of this work and the programs we created, and we were proud of our students—teachers love it when kids succeed. At the same time, the results raised some significant questions. As we examined closely at each student’s performance, one of us would say something like, “Wow, I can’t believe how poorly Student X did! She’s so smart and she’s just not making any progress since last year.” Or, “Look at Student P—he was such a good kid and so smart, but his scores are going lower and lower. He might be eligible for an intervention group—what happened to him?” This kind of discussion went on and on, and it took us a while to see the emergence of a pattern. More than half of the students who had been strong in their first three years of school, kindergarten through second grade, tested well at the beginning of third grade but began to show a decline as third grade progressed. In a nutshell, the scores of our strongest learners, who performed at or above grade level in fall 2014, decreased five points by winter 2015; the students had lost approximately a half year’s growth. But the scores of their below-grade-level counterparts increased by an average of six points, more than half a year’s growth. Plucker, Burroughs, and Hardesty (2013) found that students in low-income (Title I) schools are less likely to maintain high achievement scores than their wealthier counterparts. That pattern of low achievement noted in the research was clearly evident in our students. It is not uncommon in Title I schools to find students who had been performing at or above grade level begin to slide as they go up in grades.

The Story of Sara Sara is eight years old and in third grade. She is one of the smartest kids in her class. She is enthusiastic and gets all her work done, usually much quicker than everyone else. She is reading at a fourth-grade level. Sara finishes third

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grade and everyone is happy. Sara proceeds to fourth grade and again has a great year, with standardized testing showing her above grade level in math and reading. The teacher tells Sara’s mother, “She’s so smart she doesn’t need me to teach her. Sometimes I just let her read in the back of the room or do some extra math sheets.” Sara is eager to do as much work as possible, and her parents think it’s great that she gets all As. She finishes fourth-grade reading at a sixth-grade level and is easily doing fifth-grade math. Sara has a great start in fifth grade. She is a teacher favorite, a great reader, and a hard worker. But as the year goes on her performance begins to flatten. She is less driven to do extra work. She is not disruptive, but she is definitely less engaged. She still reads above grade level and excels in math class, but she begins to make sloppy mistakes. Her standardized testing starts to show a decline. Rather than performing at a seventh-grade reading level—she started the year at a sixth-grade level—she is still reading sixth-grade material. Her math has stagnated, and she is no longer a top performer—though she is still on grade level. By sixth grade, Sara is still a “good kid,” but her scores have dropped further. She likes to read, and in her Title I middle school she is still in a top reading group. However, her reading level has not increased; she is simply reading at grade level. Her math scores are also just at grade level. Sara (and many of her peers) may be on grade level but she hasn’t made any growth. There is no red flag for this performance in our school systems. Teachers really can’t complain about a kid who is doing grade-level work—but Sara has lost her passion and her drive. Sara’s decline continues into her middle school. She is still a “good kid,” but not the student she could have become. So much time was lost with Sara!

Jaimes’s Story Jaimes, like Sara, is a great kid and very, very intelligent. He is a passionate reader and a whiz mathematician. Jaimes’s standardized testing scores in second and third grade show him performing two grade levels above his grade. He is equally strong in both subjects. By fourth grade, he is known as a hard worker and an extremely intelligent person. One of his fourth-grade teachers remarked that she wishes there was some kind of gifted and talented program for him. Jaimes finishes everything early, but in fourth grade that is a recipe for disaster. He is disruptive and his work has become sloppy. He understands concepts and his testing is still strong, but he is trouble if he is not busy. He plays the class clown and will constantly involve his peers

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in his mischief. Interestingly, Jaimes always does the work—he may be sloppy, but he’ll always try to finish anything he’s given. But Jaimes’s behavior gets worse, and his scores continue to flatten or even drop. By sixth grade, he is, in the words of one teacher, “a smart criminal.” These stories were not uncommon in our school. There were many children like Sara and Jaimes. We decided that it wasn’t fair to these children for us to be satisfied with their on-grade-level performance—our job wasn’t done. We needed to own that our academically brightest kids were not making the progress they were capable of. We also had to own that we were not challenging them—at all. Sara and Jaimes had no opportunities to experience learning at their level rather than at the level of their grade or even below grade level (since, as you recall, most of our kids performed below grade level and our teachers worked diligently to engage those belowgrade-level learners). When we met as a staff, we realized that we systematically and culturally ignored the needs of our high performers. As one colleague said, “We just trust that they get everything we teach, and they do. But they don’t get what they need. They really are our forgotten learners.”

Our Solutions for Our “Forgotten Learners” To be honest, we had no idea what to do with these students. Our skills and our training were in working with those children who needed extra support. Most of us had worked with the “needy” students our entire careers—and for some of us those careers were longer than we cared to admit! For our newer teachers, their training was in modifying material for our neediest learners. Many of our teachers had dual certifications or endorsements in special education or reading remediation. Yet the research was clear: providing programs that were challenging to our students would breed greater academic success and increase their self-confidence beyond their elementary school years (Olszewski-Kubilius & Clarenbach, 2014). We needed to train ourselves in creating challenges for these children. Improving their performance wasn’t going to change our evaluation—we had already hit the grade-level growth mark we were evaluated by—but as teachers we wanted so much more for these academically strong students.

Our Theoretical Grounding We began to research our options for above-grade-level intervention. Since our district had long ago cut the gifted and talented program, we looked

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at gifted and talented programs in other inner-city schools and saw several common threads: challenging curriculum, STEM (science, technology, engineering and math) and technology-based programs, a cooperative learning framework, and project-based learning. The STEM research on instructional techniques gave us the clearest focus. The more we read the more it became clear that this research could give us some specific methods for engaging and enhancing our students. First a caveat: none of us had a strong grounding in STEM; rather, we looked to this material for instructional guidance. We did not have a science specialist available to us, and our knowledge of engineering was extremely limited. But we knew math instruction, and a few of us had strong technology backgrounds. We had seen local STEM programs that were highly successful, and we suspected that the literature might give us insight and support our thinking. Slavin and Lake (2008) reviewed the literature on math instruction and found that those programs with the strongest effect included cooperative learning and computer-based instruction. They found no significant achievement gap between lower-income and middle-income students when using computer-based instruction, but they did find that simply using computerassisted instruction really only helped with computational skills rather than problem solving. Finally, they determined that supplemental math instruction benefited learners at all levels of competence. We had seen that technology was a strong engagement tool, but we didn’t want to just park our students in front an iPad or Chromebook without a purpose. Project-based learning (PBL) supported by technology could provide it. As teachers, we knew PBL to be highly engaging and easily differentiated (Walker et al., 2011). We wanted to be able to incorporate technology into this work, not only because it would engage even the most reluctant learner but also because it would provide online resources using the iPads, MacBooks, and Chromebooks we had available in our school. Most of our students came from homes where this type of technology wasn’t readily available. We wanted them to see technology as a learning tool that would prepare them to compete with more privileged students who would be their peers in middle and high school. Olszewski-Kubilius and Clarenbach (2014) found that the most successful programs for academically gifted students had a purpose. Students were learning not to just increase academic skills but to solve real-world problems. Gallagher and Gallagher’s 2013 study of underperforming sixth-grade students in low-income schools found that by using a PBL-based curriculum in science,

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teachers exploited their students’ high academic potential, and independent raters had the same result. In fact, Merrit, Lee, Rillero, and Kinach’s 2017 review of the literature found that project-based or problem-based learning was a highly effective strategy for teaching science and mathematics to all kindergarten through eighth-grade students regardless of achievement level. These findings were consistent with both our research and our outcomes. Our takeaway from all this research was twofold: we needed to create a program that both utilized our existing technology without depending on it for instruction and included concrete, real-world applications. In addition, rather than simply asking our students to focus only on their standardized scores as measures of success, we wanted them to answer bigger, real-world problems that they and their families faced. For this reason, we adapted the Stock Market Game and created Math in My Future. These programs address financial literacy and life goals, two areas in which our students could use instruction and encouragement. The principal and I began by talking with teachers informally about these forgotten learners in our classrooms. We then formalized our conversations in our data team meetings and PLCs. We showed the teachers the data from their classes and spent time talking about project-based learning and infusing technology into their lessons. I should share at this point that life wasn’t all roses and lollipops in terms of staff being willing to buy into this commitment to challenge these students. Many of the teachers were adamant that they were not going to change the way they taught. Some actually said in private that they didn’t feel qualified to teach above their grade level (!). A fourth-grade teacher looked at me and said, “I don’t know fifth-grade work.” I looked at her and said, “But you have two master’s degrees—I think you can handle fifth-grade math!” Encountering this resistance, it became clear to me that there needed to be programs both outside and inside the classroom. An alchemy of classroom project work and afterschool programs seemed like it might provide the right balance.

Our Interventions First, let’s talk about the money component. Our total budget for this initiative was very close to zero, so we had to get “creative.” This took considerable research in the beginning as well as support from our principal. We had some limited funds to pay two to three teachers and paras to stay after school, one or two hours a week. Many of us just simply volunteered our

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time—welcome to the life of a teacher! Our after-school programs were all either free to schools or developed by us. We used technology already available in the building. The double-edged sword of increased standardized testing in economically disadvantaged schools often means that these schools get lots of technology to take tests. We had 50 new MacBook Airs and 30 new Chromebooks bought to take the various benchmark tests required of us by the state and federal mandates. When we weren’t testing, that technology was available to use in the classroom. This technology became a key enrichment tool for our teachers. We found we could best engage all our students, no matter what their academic performance, by finding what they found interesting and letting them explore it using technology as a research and creativity tool. For the above-grade-level learners in our building, this was the magic wand we had been looking for. As we began to build our program, we realized that we needed a focus—trying to address each and every student’s deficits was impossible. But we simply didn’t have the means or the time. Our focus became numeracy in the broadest sense, since we wanted to build math skills. We made this the connector that brought together many different types of research and programs. We also decided to focus on fourth and fifth graders. While the literature and some of our own data showed an initial performance slide in grade 3, we felt that, with our limited funds and staff, we would have greater impact focusing on the older students. From a total of approximately 150 students in these two grades, we identified 40 to work with in our program and to track. The majority of these students, 27, had scores that were stagnant or sliding. The rest were high performers who had shown growth, but we felt that it was important not to exclude those students from programs we knew they would enjoy and find enriching. Project-Based Learning We encouraged our teachers to do project-based work in their classrooms and to use the technology we had in our school. As an instructional coach, I encouraged teachers in their classrooms, working with them and their students when they were planning or implementing classroom projects both large and small. Sometimes I served as an extra set of hands and sometimes I helped plan a project. I also worked with our grade-level data teams to brainstorm ideas for project-based learning. I utilized materials from BIE, Edutopia, and Scholastic. I also used Kaitlyn Tucker’s book Blended Learning as a guide

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for incorporating technology. While most of the teachers were comfortable with projects like shoebox dioramas and “All About Me” posters, they really needed support both in creating hands-on experiences that enhanced lessons and in creating multiphase projects that represented work done within a unit. With support and encouragement, many of our teachers began to infuse their lessons with projects: students created models of their perfect house to learn area and perimeter; students used online resources to understand the ivory trade when reading about elephants; students did a penny drive and adopted sea turtle nests as part of their science unit on habitats; rather than reading about European explorers from a textbook, students created games that detailed their journeys based on online and textbook research. Two of our teachers actually gave the students the opportunity to explore a topic area on their own. One fifth-grade teacher told her students, “You are going to find out everything you can about geometry—why we use it, where it comes from, and why we should study it,” before she even taught her geometry unit. A fourth-grade teacher used a similar approach with fractions, asking her students to design lessons to teach the class how to identify both the larger of two fractions and equivalent fractions, and how to multiply and divide fractions. These teachers who committed to using PBL saw the greatest performance growth overall. Their class projects were not specifically directed toward their underachieving, academically strong students but benefited them the most. While participating in PBL activities, forgotten learners showed high engagement and excitement. The role of the teachers was critical. They allowed their students to make mistakes and, at times, to slow down the process, a commitment demanding great trust in their own abilities and that of their students. Beyond the PBL in the classroom, there were specific enrichment opportunities offered primarily after school. Math Team We started with an established program, Math Team. Our goal was to make it cool—not a small feat. Every year, two or three students from each class, on their teachers’ recommendations, took the test for one of the six available slots for Math Team. We decided to make it a big deal to even take the test. We opened the test up to everyone, and the teachers who ran Math Team began giving out study packets. Students could choose to stay after school for coaching. We made it fun, played music, and practiced puzzles and complex multistep problems that encouraged kids to work together. Once students

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took the test, we chose our six competitors, who would ultimately compete against students from other schools in our district. Those who were chosen had to participate in Math Team boot camp: there was more loud music, lots of in-group competition, and the opportunity for each student to evaluate other students’ work. To top it all off, there were snacks and “uniforms” (Math Team T-shirts). We used materials from mathcounts.com, which runs the national Math Team competitions. Math Team became a huge deal. In a district where sports teams had been cut and music programs decimated, our mathematicians became rock stars! Math Team members wore their T-shirts to school on district competition days (just like sports teams in high school). They were announced at rallies that pumped up the whole school (also like a sports team) and were given a special awards ceremony and party. Our goal was to make younger students want to be on Math Team and it worked! We had students in second and third grade coming to our coaches saying, “I want to be on Math Team!” and “I’m going to work hard in math and learn my multiplication tables so I can be on Math Team!” The Stock Market Game The Stock Market Game has been around for a long time and has a strong research history. Many students do this game when they are in high school or middle school; however, it can easily be used with elementary school students in fourth and fifth grade with supplementary materials keyed to younger students. The Stock Market Game is free to schools and comes with amazing resources: online support, guest speakers, comprehensive lesson plans, webinars, and regional and national prizes. In the game, students are broken up into teams and given “investment money.” They then research companies and the stock market to decide where to invest their money. Even though it deals with numbers, the game is not aimed primarily at good math students. It teaches research skills. We identified 25 students in fourth and fifth grade who were performing at and above grade level. Most had scores that were sliding (forgotten learners), but some were continuing to make progress (about a third of the group). These students were mixed together purposefully with the idea that the passion of our consistently high performers would rub off on the others. The research component of the Stock Market Game is really at the heart of the whole process. Students need to understand how companies work, what profit and loss means, and how consumers influence the economy—this is complex material for nine- and ten-year olds, but our students did a great job!

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First, we brainstormed what products they liked to buy and looked up their manufacturers or sellers online. We assigned students to teams, which each produced a portfolio of different companies and industries. The materials from the Stock Market Game were a big help, as were the online resources (webinars and website for teachers)—especially for this teacher, who is hardly a financial expert! Our teams competed on a regional level and performed respectably, with one of our teams ranking 19th out of 52 schools in our region. We had five teams, and three of them made money! There are several program lengths that the Stock Market Game offers. We chose the eight-week version because we were new to this. It was so much fun for the teachers and the students. We were very pleased when our students asked if they could do it next year. PBL Afterschool—Math in My Future! The year we began to focus on our forgotten learners, we were lucky to have a school counseling intern from our state university. He was a fantastic resource, not just for his knowledge but for his energy. He proposed that the students create a career fair. It would require all the research and presentation skills involved in a science fair but would focus on careers and demonstrate how math plays a role in everything the students want to do. This project was not only a tremendous success, it was also very costeffective. We began by talking with students about what they wanted to do when they grew up. We gave them reading material to get them thinking about what they would like to be and what they are good at. We talked with them, one-on-one and in small groups, about how people choose and prepare for careers. Then they began their research. Not only did they work after school, but some also became so passionate about their plan that they asked to work with us during lunch and recess! The program had a few requirements: the students had to create a career plan and from that plan create a poster board that they could share with their families at our curriculum night. They had to find the math in their chosen career, and they had to try to talk with or email someone in their chosen field. For example, if they wanted to become a hairstylist, they needed to measure chemicals to make hair dyes, understand accounting to run the business side, and speak with a hairstylist about these topics. Students loved this program! We had 25 students, all of them identified as underachieving high-ability students. They chose careers as diverse as pastry chef, graphic designer, computer hacker, financial lawyer, baseball

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player, soccer player, singer, cosmetologist, and even elementary school teacher! They dressed up as their chosen career and presented trifold boards on our curriculum night to parents, faculty, administrators, and their peers.

Lessons Learned It would make a lot of sense for educators to begin their interventions with high-achieving students in the earlier grades, before they start to lose their passion and their academic strengths. Some students had shown academic promise early on, as first and second graders, but by fifth grade were so substantially behind that it was hard to know if they got into their situation because of behavior, performance, or both. Their grades were so low that we could not include them in our enrichment programs. But I often wonder what would have happened if we had gotten to them sooner. The graphs below include data from our second and third graders. We did not include these grades in our formal intervention; however, the teachers at those grade levels decided to take matters into their own hands. They began their own intervention program, working on math and reading skills—topics like fact families, multiplication tables, phonics, and decoding skills. They used several apps that were available on our iPads: Lexia, Flashcards, Sushi Monster, and MarbleMath Junior. The growth in second- and third-grade achievement was significant and based completely on the teachers’ desire to prep their students for the upper grades. I believe this improvement in performance was because of a culture change in the school. It is this culture change that I think will help us maintain this growth long past my tenure in the building. PBL proved to be a double-edged sword. We based our program development primarily within the constructivist framework in which we had always taught. Students used their new knowledge to solve problems while teachers provided strong scaffolding. We were successful, but I do wonder if we could have done more, especially as our students’ competence and knowledge grew. Project-based learning has multiple theoretical applications beyond constructivism: clinical-medicine education or learning by doing, the functional or curriculum design definition or practical classroom application, and the conceptual change definition which promotes inquiry with an emphasis on cognitive scaffolding (Merrit et al., 2017). In retrospect, it might have challenged our learners even further if we had utilized one or more of these other perspectives. We created this program as a response to a lack of differentiation, and now in retrospect I see that we could have differentiated more.

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A Teacher’s Reflections The graphs below show our growth—it was substantial! We saw the greatest achievement for our students in math. Numeracy had been our focus, so this growth made sense. This was a difficult process, and while it was fun and frenetic, it was also very hard work. We were trying to implement programs and at the same time change the way our teachers thought about these students and their own teaching. As our principal and I reflected on the process, we realized that what started out as an attempt to raise standardized test scores ended up being an effort to change the culture of our school. I think that many of my colleagues did not see our academically strong students as needing their attention. Rather, they spent all their time and energy addressing the needs of their challenged learners. Since these students need and deserve their teacher’s total commitment, there really was not much left over for less needy students. We as teachers had to change the way we looked at our students, both the academically challenged and the academically strong—this change in focus enabled us to grow as educators. I believe we grew into a better school for our children and for us.

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References Cheu-Jey, L. (2015). Project-based learning and invitations: A comparison. Journal of Curriculum Theorizing, 1(3), 63–73. Clark, W., & Luckin, R. (2012). The problem of context: The circumstances in which ICT can support learning. The University of the Fraser Valley Review, 4(2), 1–13. Cordray, D., Pion, G., Brandt, C., Molefe, A., & Toby, M. (2012). The impact of the Measures of Academic Progress (MAP) program on student reading achievement: Final report. Retrieved from:  http://files.eric.ed.gov/ fulltext/ED537982.pdf David, J. L. (2008). What research says about . . . / Project-based learning. Educational Leadership, 65(5), 80–82. Deke, J. & Sekino, Y. (2012). Impacts of Title I supplemental educational services on student achievement. Washington, DC.: National Center for Education Evaluation and Regional Assistance, Institute of Education Sciences, U.S. Department of Education. Dynarski, M. & Kainz, K. (2015). Why federal spending on disadvantaged students (Title I) doesn’t work. Evidence Speaks Reports, 1(7), 1–5. Finn, C. E., & Wright, B. L. (2015). Failing our brightest kids: The global challenge of educating high-ability students. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Education Press. Gallagher, S. A., & Gallagher, J. J. (2013). Using problem-based learning to explore unseen academic potential. Interdisciplinary  Journal of Problem-Based Learning, 7(1), 111–131. doi: 10.7771/1541-5015.1322 Huebner, T. A. (2010). What research says about . . . / Differentiated learning. Educational Leadership, 67(5), 1-3. Loveless, T. (2012). How well are American students learning?  (Brown Center Report on American Education  Vol. 3, No. 1). Retrieved from  https://www.brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/0216_brown_ education_loveless.pdf

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Maich, K., & Hall, C. (2016) Implementing iPads in the inclusive classroom setting. Intervention in School and Clinic, 51(3), 145–150. Mango, O. (2015). iPad use and student engagement in the classroom. The Turkish Online Journal of Education Technology, 14(1), 53–57. Merritt, J., Lee, M., Rillero, P., & Kinach, B. M. (2017). Problem-based learning in K–8 mathematics and science education: A literature review.  Interdisciplinary Journal of Problem-Based Learning, 11(2).  doi: 10.7771/1541-5015.1674 Olszewski-Kubilius, P., & Clarenbach, J. (2014). Closing the opportunity gap: Program factors contributing to academic success in culturally different youth. Gifted Child Today, 37(2), 103–110. Pelton, T., & Pelton, L. F. (2012, July 11). 7 Strategies for iPads and iPods in the (Math) Classroom [Weblog post]. The Journal. Retrieved from http:// thejournal.com/Articles/2012/07/11/7-Strategies-for-iPads-and-iPods-inthe-Math-Classroom.aspx?p=1 Plucker, J. (2016) Excellence gap in education. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Education Press.  Plucker, J., Burroughs, N., & Hardesty, J. (2013). Talent on the sidelines: Excellence gaps and America’s persistent talent underclass. Retrieved from University of Connecticut, NEAG School of Education. Center for Education Policy Analysis website: http://webdev.education.uconn.edu/static/sites/ cepa/AG/excellence2013/Excellence-Gap-10-18-13_JP_LK.pdf Slavin, R. E., & Lake. C. (2008). Effective programs in elementary mathematics: A best-evidence synthesis. Review of Educational Research, 78(3), 427–515. Tucker, C. R. (2012). Blended learning in grades 4–12: Leveraging the power of technology to create student-centered classrooms. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. Wainwright, A. (2013, February 18). 8 Studies show iPads in the classroom improve education [Web log post]. Securedge Networks. Retrieved from  https://www.securedgenetworks.com/blog/8-studies-show-ipads-inthe-classroom-improve-education

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Walker, A., Recker, M., Robertshaw, M., Osen, J., Leary, H., Ye, L., & Sellers, L. (2011). Integrating technology and problem-based learning: A mixed methods study of two teacher professional development designs.  Interdisciplinary Journal of Problem-Based Learning, 5(2), 70–94. doi:/10.7771/1541-5015.1255 Wilson, T., Nabors, D., Berg, H., Simpson, C., & Timme, K. (2012). Smallgroup reading instruction: Lessons from the field.  Dimensions of Early Childhood, 40(3), 30–39.

CHAPTER NINE

Chain Link Poetry Robin Brandehoff

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orking with gang-affiliated youth is hard. Like poetry, these children are youthful metaphors, filled with creativity and carved by the tragedies they have experienced growing up in difficult neighborhoods ridden with bullets and imagination. Behind locked doors and tall chain link fences, these youth continue to thrive, despite the hardships they are up against. Like poetry, gang-affiliated youth bring their passions, emotions, and experiences to the classroom, sometimes filled with terror, oftentimes filled with rage, and it is up to the teacher to piece together that symbolism brought in from the streets, and tend to it like ivy that transcends the chain link boundaries of their education. No amount of research or teacher licensing program can prepare a person to work with gang-affiliated youth. It is exhausting and messy and dangerous and confusing and painful. Not everyone is cut out for it, but many well-intentioned saviors try. It is easy to throw money at these “lost causes” and continue community programs for the young, or watch movies about young teachers able to reform a class of just 25 students. But real life is not easy. And the streets do not care about the string of pearls around your neck, the five-course dinner you treat others to, or your intentions to save. Rather, The streets care about survival, opportunity, and time. Surviving is color-coded maps drawn in the dark, the power of your protection held in the lining of your belt, and the number of family members you have at your back.

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Opportunity is rising through the ranks, but dreaming of getting out; realizing that your freedom weighs less than your little siblings that would not be saved if you flee. Time is about how much you have left and what you are going to do with it before your hour is up.¹ My first year of teaching, I was a 21-year-old female, looking at a classroom of mostly male, gang-affiliated students on probation, who ranged from 13 to 19 years of age. My first year of teaching, I faced student fights, a school riot, student homelessness, foster care, Child Protective Services, three students with attempted murder charges, and countless acts of vandalism and robberies. My first year of teaching, I celebrated, because I scored a job as an intern, which in the state of California meant you could bypass your six-month, unpaid, student teaching requirement in lieu of a $30,000 salary with full benefits and your own classroom. My first year of teaching was also my last year of my credentialing program, and I realized that no matter how many classes my college would have me take, nothing would prepare me to work within my trailer disguised as a classroom. My first year of teaching was not the hardest; ironically, my first year was, by far, my most rewarding. My first job was as an English and ESL teacher at a court-ordered continuation school in East Los Angeles. The district had perfected their sorting system like a chemistry procedure: 12 elementary schools funneled into five middle schools, which funneled into one high school (and if you are thinking that the math does not work on that, you are quite right). The local comprehensive high school had the power to expel students for major and minor infractions, which then led them to our establishment across the street. Our school was always at capacity, which meant that the slightest misstep of my students would send them out onto the streets, where, unless they could manage the GED on their own, the gangs would sweep them up. It was a sick, cyclical process, but I learned more about teaching, classroom management, student learning, and administration protocol and politics than I ever got from the textbooks that built the foundations of my degree. Learning and teaching is in a sense a poetic act, one that must be balanced, tended to, and practiced daily, despite circumstances of state

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assessments, standards, and community tragedies that can occur within and outside of one’s classroom. As educators, even the most well-seasoned and well-intentioned instructors struggle to teach in these circumstances. So, how do we continue to help our hardened youth, children who have experienced senseless acts of trauma and tragedy, to create poetry of themselves and encourage that learning to stretch beyond the confines of the chain link fence that barricades our schools? How do we keep our own hope in the system alive, and how do we encourage our students of trauma to enjoy learning? Is it possible? Is it worthwhile? Is it something reserved only for the mighty or the saviors of Hollywood? Should schools simply house these miscreants until they age out and enter the prison system? These are all questions that are regularly asked of our soldiers of fortune, and the answers vary and waver depending on which side of the communal map a teacher lives. Teachers who have experienced a life of power and privilege in their youth and adulthood may enthusiastically nod their heads and agree that, “Yes! Of course, we must save them and help them get to college!” But the veterans of street wars will simply offer a grim smile, and reply, “I’m doing my best, and I’m not leaving.” Meanwhile, the teacher of privilege struggles, sometimes leaving the profession before the school year is up. This happens all too often in our schools for gang-affiliated and incarcerated youth, and no amount of strategically placed, or strategically lacking, career and technical education programs, or well-meaning charter schools, will “cure” our hallways of academic apathy. But, why this divide? How did we get here, and why are our alreadymarginalized students always the ones to suffer?

From Play to Education The prospects of a formal education have been reserved for those with privilege enough to afford it. For the lower classes and marginalized populations, education has come at a great cost, sometimes monetarily, other times through being oppressed by those in power (Freire, 1972). Anthropologists suggest that indigenous children of the Americas were encouraged to observe and play in their environment and communities, as this was the best form of learning of how to become an effective adult (Gray, 2008; Lancy, Bock, & Gaskins, 2012). The land taught you what you could eat and the tools you could work with, while the adults of the community gave you the skills to serve your family long after the elders had passed (Lew-

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Levy, Reckin, Lavi, Cristobal-Azkarate, & Ellis-Davies, 2017). In Europe, the Middle Ages reserved formal courses of tutoring and education for the wealthy, but distributed empty vessels of opportunity to the lower classes. This deficit was a form of educational oppression, as the lower classes were now offered opportunities to trade in their field labor to work as servants for the wealthy in the cities but denied opportunities to learn how to read and write (Gray, 2008). In the “New World,” the wealthy settlers were claiming foreign lands as their own and forcing labor and an oppressive culture (disguised as education and personal salvation) on the natives of many countries. With the introduction of organized agriculture, children stopped their active play to work in the fields alongside their families, becoming apprentices and forced laborers, learning only enough to maintain the status quo (2008). This system of oppression meant that once these children became adults, they became so entrenched in their labor and reliance on their employers that they would not rise up against the tide of the existing hierarchical structures of their employment. Industry brought even more occasions for labor, taking children away from the fields and opportunities for organized schooling to work and to fuel their family’s home. Wealthy industrialists used capitalism and labor to rotate the cycle of oppression, keeping it well-oiled for generations to come. Meanwhile, families born into wealth and status had the privilege of enrolling their children into formal educational structures, whether through organized schooling or private tutoring, allowing a smaller rotating cog to propel the machine of societal evolution forward on the same dusty path toward enlightenment. While forms of labor have evolved, education itself has not changed much. There have been advancements in the ways in which we view an effective education and the ways in which we recognize the continued oppression of marginalized youth (Lee, 2008). Referring back to the methods of education set out by indigenous and hunter-gatherer cultures, we are beginning to see a retroactive form of learning and development that includes various systems of education involving the students’ environments, family members, and the members of their² community (Bronfenbrenner, 1976). Recent research into the characteristics of learning show significant points of contact with the informal norms of education in indigenous and hunter-gatherer societies (Tudge, Mokrova, Hatfield, & Karnik, 2009):

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The examples that he [Bronfenbrenner] provided (“playing with a young child; child-child activities; group or solitary play, reading, learning new skills” and so on) are the types of things that regularly go on in the lives of developing individuals. They constitute the engines of development, because it is by engaging in these activities and interactions that individuals come to make sense of their world and understand their place in it, and both play their part in changing the prevailing order while fitting into the existing one. (p. 3) Here, education via the systems of one’s community, family, and environment are being recognized for their effective learning outcomes across the United States. Though these systems may not directly refer to “play” as their prime motivator, the concept of learning outside of school is not a new one—though for students of color and those living at or below the poverty line, these methods of education and research are often disguised as outreach opportunities to help “[communities of color] and the poor without any expectation that the findings from the research might contribute to the expansion of fundamental knowledge about human learning and development” (Lee, 2008, p. 272). Brigid Barron (2006) is an advocate of extending learning beyond the classroom walls to pursue self-initiated knowledge through the activities and relationships cultivated in learning ecologies. Agreeing with Bronfenbrenner’s understanding of the important contexts within a learning ecology (1976), Barron (2006) states, “The breadth and qualities of these activities are significant developmentally as are the roles and relationships that emerge across contexts” (p. 194). Diving further beneath the surface, Barron examines how learning occurs as one matures, adapting and responding to the environment around him or her. Citing Bronfenbrenner, who referred to these responses as “ecological transitions,” Barron feels that these can be both “consequences and motivators of development” (p. 196). As mentioned earlier, throughout history, modes of adaptability in learning were essential for survival. Hierarchical oppression and enslavement eventually forced the indigenous and hunter-gatherer cultures to evolve and tend to the fields to serve others outside of their community who possess higher status. Young learners had to first alter their learning ecologies to include teachers from outside of their immediate communities. Children then had to adapt

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their learning to encompass the skills and knowledge of their ancestors, while embracing the new skillsets required of them as a result of organized work and territorial occupation. Learning ecologies have taken on a less defensive state than our ancestors faced in the fields and cities of our past; however, for the marginalized youth of today, many of the opportunities available are just as oppressive as ever. In particular, schools entrenched in impoverished and marginalized communities often face the greatest of these oppressions with run-down buildings, a lack of teacher diversity mirroring the demographics of its students, and poor or non-existent resources to adequately support its students and families. In this way, these schools struggle to operate behind the barriers of the chain link fences that symbolize their oppressive states, yet they are still required to raise test scores and encourage student expression and creativity. Bronfenbrenner’s (1976) learning ecologies offer a viable and sustainable solution for schools to adopt. They allow educators to overcome boundaries of learning and utilize resources based on teacher and student interests (Barron, 2006). Lee (2008) suggests that “learning is influenced by intersections among thinking; perceptions of self, others, and tasks; emotional attributions; and self-regulation” (p. 268). In order for this type of learning to be successful, mandatory facets of interest-driven ecologies must be achieved. These facets include involving a learning broker, or mentor, who is able to parse out learning opportunities for students (Barron, 2006); ensuring that learning is self-sustaining (2006); and creating a “redundancy of support” or multiple pathways and/or people to help students pursue cognitive and social goals (Lee, 2008; Ching, Santo, Hoadley, & Peppler, 2015). Learning in a community of practice, with experts and novices working toward common goals and interests, can be an effective way to promote lifelong learning, passion for one’s occupation, and commitment to making a contribution to one’s own community. Unfortunately, there is always a caveat to the tried-and-true testimonies of our past. We continue to see how learning ecologies and communities of learning can be thwarted when placed in the wrong hands. Spivak (1988) relates the stories of his own ancestors, the “subaltern,” who were oppressed by the Westerners’ expansion of territories, thus cutting off the voices of the Indian nation (p. 27). As mentioned earlier, the oppressed farm workers, serfs, and slaves of our past worked to survive and to keep the feudal cog

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of the economy turning, but Spivak asks, “On the other side of the international division of labor from socialized capital, inside and outside the circuit of the epistemic violence of imperialist law and education supplementing an earlier economic text, can the subaltern speak?” (p. 25). Learning ecologies can shape young minds through intrinsic motivations to pursue learning and creativity that is of personal interest. This type of learning can cultivate opportunities to create symbolic poetry through education. By establishing a strong community and a redundancy of support, students are open to play, explore, and learn from the experts in their fields, much like the hunter-gatherer cultures of our past, but these relationships to learning are delicate. Unfortunately, we must also remember the ramifications of our history, and the ways in which dominating populations seized territories, cultures, and educational opportunities from marginalized peoples in order to better their own social and economic status. Our ancestors of the fields, of the cities, and of industries taught us that. In his questioning of whether the subaltern have a voice, Spivak (1988) reminds us of that. Can the marginalized populations speak for themselves today? We are long past the days of the feudal system, the Middle Ages, and the hunting and gathering cultures. Some may argue that we are no longer actively dominating territories and enslaving populations for our own social and economic pursuits as we have in the past. However, when examining the educational opportunities available to students of color and lower socioeconomic status in America today, it would appear that not much has changed and that learning ecologies are not a one-size-fits-all solution to learning and development.

“Just Give Them a Hammer!” Schools have been plantations for workforce bodies for years, but they have always disguised it well. In war times, it was to satiate factory and agricultural needs (Oakes, Lipton, Anderson, & Stillman, 2015), and today it is to fill the growing fields of technology. The influx of career and technical education (CTE) schools should be examined critically before being loftily applauded for its forward thinking and advancement. Having worked in East L.A. and the Central Valley at CTE schools, I too was blinded by the wonder of the programs available to students in poverty. Classes in agricultural fieldwork and management, child development and care, construction, and criminal justice were plentiful. These

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courses allowed students the chance to explore career fields and graduate with certificates to advance in those areas (given that they completed their associates degree in a timely manner). Seeing the poverty and devastation that my students grew up in, I immediately accepted these CTE programs as bastions of hope. It took me a much longer time to realize that these programs were ways to keep local schools monetarily afloat and to flood the uninviting and unforgiving work fields with fresh crops of students for entry-level manual-labor jobs every few years. In this way, our young poets remained barricaded behind the chain link fences of their new “career opportunities.” These types of schools were often labeled as alternative charter programs to gather as many funding options as possible; however, their true purpose was to house the students left behind—students not dangerous enough to be locked up, or recently impregnated, or so far behind in credits and academic ability that the comprehensive schools would not risk marring their reputations by taking them in. Most of my students were on probation, some were convicted of murder or attempted murder, many were in the foster care system, and some were even homeless. These were desolate environments, and though these schools were little more than renovated tire and mechanic shops or trailers, to my students, these schools were home. For the most part, each school’s relatively diverse staff represented the community from which the students came. A quarter of the staff may have worked as field and factory hands when they were in school, migrating up and down the coast with their families to look for work before finally settling in the various urban and rural locales of California. Half of these educators lived, or had lived, in poverty, including myself; but many of them represented the White and affluent neighborhoods into which our students were not allowed. These teachers had their hearts in the right place, but unfortunately, many of them were burnt out, underpaid, and not built for the students we worked with. This was deeply reflected in the referrals written up, the classroom fights that would break out, and the numerous teacher absences throughout the year. To our student body, these teachers were the enemy (Papert, 1993). The popular trend of my teacher training years was constructivism and encouraging one’s students to lead their own learning. To the inexperienced educator, or the teacher of alternative programming, constructivist approaches are hopeful and well-meaning, but difficult to implement in

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classrooms suffering from instability, enrollment fluctuation, and academic disdain. Both Papert (1993) and Sheridan et al. (2014) discuss the promise and potential that true constructivism can bring to the development of a school’s curriculum and classrooms, but without the proper resources to execute such plans, these opportunities for learning fall to the wayside. This might be why, in their wake, CTE programs have wrapped themselves into the school systems of urban and rural landscapes, masked as the economic saviors of our students’ adulthood, but instead, they are the workplace overlords dictating the pathways of “growth” within certain communities in an effort to implement structure and encourage our students to “fall in line.” Blinded by a lack of options and the academic knowledge, experience, or ability to question what lies beyond the chain link perimeter, my students accepted our schools with their CTE programs as a nurturing home: reliable, safe, and pregnant with “opportunities.”³ Sadly, these students were not privy to the tensions of what our schools lacked as compared to the private charters nearby, or the larger affluent schools two zip codes away (Papert, 1993). Yes, our students were afforded opportunities with the CTE programming; however, most charter alternative schools lack the A-G requirements (high school courses students must complete in order to apply to University of California or California State University schools) allowing students the option to enroll in four-year universities, which meant that if they were to go to college, their only option was through the local community colleges. This often meant that any certificates earned through our program could not be utilized until after graduation and enrollment in a four-year university or technical school. Unfortunately, many of my students were not privileged enough to reach this point and succumbed to their financial and familial responsibilities or early trauma and death. As an educator, I often utilized my classroom to pose these observations and hard questions of social and educational inequities and to explore the realities that my students were faced with, encouraging them to challenge what was expected of them and to rewrite their stories (Soep & Chávez, 2005). It is vital that social and educational inequities are never hidden from our students, but exposed and discussed at length to bring about social change (Tandon, Bianco, & Zion, 2015). In having these conversations with my students, we found ways to challenge the status quo by soliciting the district for new books, leading projects within the community, and creating after-school programs that allowed students to pursue their personal inter-

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ests while keeping them off the streets and “out of trouble” (Sheffield, 2011; Tandon, Bianco, & Zion, 2015; Ching, Rafi, Hoadley, & Peppler, 2016; Kumpulainen & Sefton-Green, 2014; Ito et al., 2013).

“Just Create a Makerspace!” Much of the professional development that I have encountered has been to promote the possibilities of “makerspaces.” The makerspace movement is a collaborative effort to gather resources and people to work together and playfully learn through making and creating (Barton, Tan, & Greenberg, 2016). Creating a makerspace (Sheridan et al., 2014; Santo et al., 2015) would do wonders for the students and community of urban and rural locales. Much like many other public schools, my sites did not have the funds to buy basic supplies for the classroom. At one site, our construction students were the ones who initially built the interior of the school when it opened, and extended it beyond the confines of the used tire shop it once housed. Though this would seem to be the epitome of a makerspace, the opportunities to work with outside community members and to engage continually in functional creativity throughout the year were extremely limited. These schools attempted to provide alternatives to standardized testing in the form of CTE classes and experiences in construction, art, and criminal justice (Vossoughi, Hooper, & Escudé, 2016), but often overlooked the dangers and frustrations of the students and their families in an effort to gain free labor and funding under the guise of educational change. To date, construction and art students are still the ones building and repairing these schools. They create furniture to beautify city establishments, but their own schools continue to utilize broken and rusted desks for learning. These chain link restrictions would choke the creativity out of any student poet, and yet many of our students continue to work and create in order to grow and thrive in these unforgiving landscapes. The lofty hopes of creating a real makerspace, which would allow the students to tinker and play and learn from creating through the physical and mental resources and experience of our local community, still linger in the hallways of our nation’s schools. The opportunities for true growth and development would be boundless, but it is just as important to be critical of what these opportunities entail. Unfortunately, as Vossoughi et al. (2016) point out, this movement, on a national level, would still be in line with corporate values rather than social change (p. 212). The creation of a theoretical makerspace

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would have to be justified by the county, the community members brought in would have to be vetted (and then possibly denied for their records or citizenship status), and anything worthy of display would be plucked by the district before it benefited the school or went to its rightful creator. Opportunities for access in urban and rural areas is always about the capital gain, which is why CTE programs are flooding the alternative education and lower socioeconomic comprehensive high schools, and STEM is flooding schools in dominant and affluent neighborhoods where tech companies abound (Howell, Tofel-Grehl, Fields, & Ducamp, 2016). Programs truly focused on educating their students for corporate harvesting will spare no expense in preparing their future workforce—which is why it is up to the educators, the infantry soldiers fighting on the ground, to question why these programs are in existence and who is truly benefitting from educational shifts.

“I’m Part of the Infantry—What Can I Do?” As stated earlier, educators struggle to teach when they come up against the odds that our students face: survival, opportunity, and time. In these instances, when the dire needs of students and their traumatic experiences override the academic needs within the classroom, collaborative learning can be thwarted before it can begin, especially when the classroom is divided by the colors of the students’ identity (Esteban-Guitart & Moll, 2014), community, and the privilege in the wallets of those fortunate enough to own one. Young women combat the needs of getting an education versus the obligations placed on them at home, by their partners, and by the gang that owns them. Some of these young women face the dire consequences of abortion or pregnancy, alone, as well as the abuse received for “becoming pregnant in the first place,” and the religious aftermath of shame and disgrace on her family. Young men face the consequences of their parents and grow up quickly with the begrudging title “man of the house,” and at worst must take up arms to maintain the “family business.” Students shouldering the loss of friends and family to violence come to school not always because they are forced to attend but because they find there a safety net for grieving and comradery that the streets do not allow. These barriers of chain link, and the constant reminders of sirens, gun shots, powders, and deals, are visual cues that time is running out, and lofty goals of college and long-term careers in business suits simply do not matter when you are

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16 and trying to help your family put food on the table and make it home alive before dinner. But teachers are supposed to disregard these factors as obstacles to learning and get their students to perform well, stay out of prison, create anthologies of poetry, and go to college by any means necessary. In fact, they must join forces with others to race to the top so no child is left behind. Veteran teachers know their students come to class each day bearing the weights of their block. They see below the depths of makeup and foundation hiding bruising. They notice the hand-me-down shoes that are two sizes too large and tripping the student as he swaggers into class. They recognize when a student is pregnant and if it was a willing “transaction.” They know whether or not a student’s failing grades and outbursts are due to drugs or loss. They recognize how a student is holding their stomach and know whether it is due to hunger or a bender to cope with the stresses of existence. Veteran teachers of the trenches just know, whether it is because they have been teaching in these schools for too long, or because they come from their students’ community and survived. Yet every year they are still asked: How does one engage these students to learn? Educators cannot simply write off their students as being “at risk,” and avoid recognizing their possibilities and strengths (Bell, Bricker, Reeve, Zimmerman, & Tzou, 2012), because this will only perpetuate the school-toprison pipeline. Educators must first roll up their sleeves and harden their hearts into armored chambers, because in order to engage, one must learn to love their students harder while being cussed at, threatened, and pushed away. It is a vital component of initiation at schools in gang-affiliated communities. Once these connections are made and trust is earned and maintained, the chain link can be breached, and learning can occur. Building that same trust in a divided classroom is difficult, but it is not impossible. By examining common routines, chores, and activities central to all households, the educator can link these experiences to contentarea learning and connect learners through such commonalities (Lave, Murtaugh, & de la Rocha, 1984). Grocery shopping is a commonality that all students can relate to; however, the shopping experiences of the privileged will be different from those of lower socioeconomic backgrounds. Students of poverty often know how to shop on a budget. They can examine the weights and measures of deals, build simple meals that can be divided evenly to fill the bellies of their family, recognize which items can be put back if

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the register calculates higher than expected, and understand how to use and barter food stamps. The privileged may not always possess this particular skillset, but if the educator does, and shares this background narrative with his or her class, a trust and comradery will be built that stretches beyond the divide of teacher and student. This integration of knowledge and class discourse can work to merge the first space of the home (grocery shopping), with the second space of the school (content-area learning), and though not a physically different field, a third space can be created in the classroom where learning and exploration can occur and motivate further scholarship despite affiliations, borders, and colors (Moje et al., 2004). Here, opportunities to create a makerspace could be indulged through forming a schoolsite food pantry, teaching cooking classes, or encouraging creative venues for students to collaborate with community members to raise awareness about their neighborhood needs. A strong educator will utilize these common problem-solving skills in the classroom and apply this knowledge to what is being learned within the collaborative third space cultivated by the class’s cultural connections, funds of knowledge, and content-area learning (Lave et al., 1984; Moje et al., 2004), pointing out that the students know more than they choose to let on. This is a form of poetry not taught in textbooks. To be successful with students who have experienced trauma and poverty, it is vital to tap into the wealth of knowledge that these students bring to the classroom each and every day (Nasir & Hand, 2008). Students may not be able to immediately grasp textbook questions about integers, fractions, and train schedules; however, they often have a strong command of money concepts, bus scheduling to meet deadlines and avoid trouble, and the fractions required to cook a basic meal or divide goods evenly when instructed. By creating cultural learning pathways in the classroom, educators are able to utilize these unusual academic connections and create a series of linked actions that bring together cultural experiences and complex processes of learning from the student’s life (Bell et al., 2012). Though the expert mentors of their neighborhoods may not be considered the “most appropriate” of educators, the education that many of our gang youth receive outside of school, or have access to, allows them to be apprenticed into jobs and roles of status within their community (Nasir & Hand, 2008). As an educator in this system, one cannot deny or invalidate this education. Clearly, one should not condone its measures and outcomes, but an important facet

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of gaining youth engagement and exercising their funds of knowledge is finding ways to harness their knowledge and apply it in new and positive ways (Esteban-Guitart & Moll, 2014; Goodman, Hertzberg, & Finkelstein, forthcoming; Nasir & Hand, 2008). Finally, once educators have found ways to encourage learning in the content areas through applied funds of knowledge, how are students to be assessed? Traditional tests will always be encouraged and mandated at the district, state, and federal levels, but for students who have experienced trauma and are working against time, these tests often mean little. A measurement of learning should then be examined as to how the student can look at the world around them, apply their new learning and discovery, and reflect on the experience long after the bell rings (Goodman, Hertzberg, & Finkelstein, forthcoming). Consistent check-ins with students to process and reflect on their learning will encourage engagement and amplify a stronger, more positive mentor-apprentice bond within the confines of the school or makerspace. Reflective writing allows students to look back on their learning and development over time and examine their growth throughout the course, while discussions and vocalizing curiosities in class will allow the students to come together to examine their learning and the ways in which they can move forward without stepping back. So, is it worth encouraging students of trauma to enjoy learning? To continue bandaging chain link fences with their narratives of poetry? Of course, but you gotta werk it.4

Notes 1. Poetry written by Robin Brandehoff. 2. To symbolically equalize gender, I have to use the gender-neutral pronouns of they/them/their to represent participants within the scope of this evaluation. 3. Note: I am not saying that all CTE programs are like this; however, I am reflecting on what I have personally seen and experienced in California, primarily in East L.A., the Bay Area, and the Central Valley. 4. Poetry written by Robin Brandehoff.

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An examination of everyday funds of knowledge and discourse. Reading Research Quarterly, 39(1), 38–70. doi: 10.1598/rrq.39.1.4 Nasir, N. S., & Hand, V. (2008). From the court to the classroom: Opportunities for engagement, learning, and identity in basketball and classroom mathematics. Journal of the Learning Sciences, 17(2), 143–179. doi: 10.1080/10508400801986108 Oakes, J., Lipton, M., Anderson, L., & Stillman, J. (2015). Teaching to change the world. Florence, KY: Taylor and Francis. Papert, S. (1993). The children’s machine: Rethinking school in the age of the computer. New York, NY: Basic Books. Santo, R., Peppler, K., Ching, D., & Hoadley, C. (2015). “Maybe a maker space? Organizational learning about maker education within a regional out-of-school network.” FabLearn: Conference on Creativity and Fabrication in Education, Stanford, CA. Sheridan, K. M., Halverson, E. R., Litts, B. K., Brahms, L., Jacobs-Priebe, L., & Owens, T. (2014). Learning in the making: A comparative case study of three makerspaces. Harvard Educational Review, 84(4), 505–531. Soep, E., & Chávez, V. (2005). Youth radio and the pedagogy of collegiality. Harvard Educational Review, 75(4), 409–434. Spivak, G. C. (1988). Can the subaltern speak? Basingstoke: Macmillan. Tandon, M., Bianco, M., & Zion, S. (2015). Pathways2Teaching: Being and becoming a “Rida.” In C. E. Sleeter, L. I. Neal, & K. K. Kumashiro (Eds.), Diversifying the teacher workforce: Preparing and retaining highly effective teachers (pp. 111–125). New York, NY: Routledge. Tudge, J. (2008). Cultural-ecological theory and its implications for research. In J. Tudge, The everyday lives of young children: Child rearing in diverse societies (p. 68). New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Vossoughi, S., Hooper, P. K., & Escudé, M. (2016). Making through the lens of culture and power: Toward transformative visions for educational equity. Harvard Educational Review, 86(2), 206–232.

CHAPTER TEN

Alternative Education Programs Changing Our Vantage Point

Lynn Hemmer & Michael Watson

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n setting out to address the call for why kids love (and hate) school, we begin this chapter by renarrating student voices (Fielding, 2011) from certain environmental and ecological conditions that are present in traditional and alternative education programs. We present Angela and Ryan (pseudonyms), two students identified as at risk of school failure. Because our own identity is inextricably linked to our experiences working with and researching students who are enrolled in alternative education programs, it is important to share our place in the institutional narrative of an alternative education program, Buena Vista Learning Academy (pseudonym). We then engage in a critical dialogue with the literature and educator practices addressing students who are at risk of school failure. We close the chapter by offering a modest framework for practice in which teachers and administrators can be responsive to the needs of students at risk of school failure.

Perspective and Voice Angela and Ryan Angela, a 17-year-old Latina high school student from an upper-middle-class family, transferred to New Horizons Academy (pseudonym), an alternative

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education program (AEP) in Texas, in order to complete her high school education. Upon entering the ninth grade at the regular, traditional high school, Angela struggled. She shared, I wasn’t making it at the high school. If I went to school I would leave every day after fourth period because I would stress so much. I basically just shut down and couldn’t focus on the work, and then I would end up failing. . . . My folks didn’t know what to do, my teachers were at a loss. Shit, I was lost. Her high school classes didn’t mean much to her: Yeah, I knew I needed them to graduate, but I just couldn’t imagine sitting in seven classes, five days a week, listening to the drone of teachers talking and talking for the next four years. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to graduate, I did! Angela went on to explain that, as she kept spiraling downward, her parents and teachers were always on her, reminding her she had to do better. But, for her, nothing was clicking. She shared: Everyone thought it was me, that if I just applied myself, if I just got myself organized, if I just stopped hanging out with so and so. . . . Well, what no one saw was that I was on the fast track to nowhere. She continued, “At the same time, I knew in my heart I wasn’t a failure, but if I wasn’t a failure, what was I?” Things started to turn around for Angela once she turned 16 and got a job at a local fast-food restaurant. According to her, I liked working, I like getting paid, but most importantly, I loved the independence! But I still had to go to school, and now having skipped so many classes I was failing like crazy. When I should’ve been going into the tenth grade, I had classes I had to make up from the ninth grade. In other words, the school still saw me as a freshman.

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Compounding her dilemma, Angela found herself pregnant at age 16. Ryan, who is half-Hispanic and half-Caucasian, dropped out of school at age 16. School records showed he lived with his mother in a rent-subsidized apartment complex. Ryan shared that his mom suffers from manicdepression, and at times she was difficult to live with. The one saving grace for him was that the apartment was near the ocean; all he needed was “a place to lay his head at night, so he could surf all day.” However, more often than not, Ryan would go to his grandparent’s house on the other side of town to sleep, even though his grandmother suffered from severe, chronic depression and his grandfather was a recovering alcoholic. It was where his father lived. Yet no matter where he slept, Ryan was always having to navigate some sort of chaos. His dad, a high school dropout, left school early to work in the oil fields. When he was 10 years old, his dad was diagnosed with HIV. Ryan states it as a matter of fact, without emotion. Parenting was unfamiliar to his dad. Ryan shared that whenever his dad tried to exert discipline, it was done haphazardly. For instance, when Ryan started smoking pot, his dad told him not to. But it was from his dad that Ryan learned the difference between good weed and bad. Yet whenever Ryan spoke of his dad, he expressed admiration and a desire to follow in his dad’s footsteps. For as long as he can remember, Ryan struggled with school. By the time he entered junior high, he was cutting class to surf, smoke weed, and hang out with his friends. Ryan explained, School sucked. I got to the point I didn’t care about anything but surfing and smoking weed. I got reckless with it and ended up getting caught smoking [weed] in the restroom at school with another student. After I got busted, I was sent to KEYS [the district’s discipline alternative education program}. But once I got back to my school, my teachers gave me shit for not doing my homework. Then my dad gets on me for giving shit right back to the teachers. Next thing I know, the principal is suspending me, again. Who the fuck cares? I’m fine with that. It just gives me time to surf during the week when there aren’t any crowds.

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A year after dropping out of school, Ryan’s dad gave him an ultimatum: move out or return to school. At age 17, Ryan opted for the latter. He applied to and was accepted into Second Chances High School (pseudonym) in California. Buena Vista Learning Academy The students slowly trickled through the metal doors of their refurbished school that was originally built to educate middle school students in the early 1970s like they did every morning. The building has served multiple purposes since its construction. Half of the building is dedicated to the Buena Vista Learning Academy (BVLA) while the other half, which is partitioned by a wall constructed during the most recent remodel, houses roughly 40 district curriculum and instruction personnel. As the students walked through the doors they were greeted by the principal: “How you doing this morning?” he shouted enthusiastically. Before the students even had a chance to respond the principal immediately answered his own question with “Awesome!” Some students retorted, “You didn’t give me a chance to answer,” to which he responded, “I already knew you were doing awesome because you are here!” Taking his lead, other students then joined in and shouted, “How are you doing? Awesome!” After this morning ritual, the students do not necessarily report to a classroom. Rather, they might make their way down to the open learning space to sit in the soft chairs or at one of the café-style bistro tables. Others found an open classroom, though not necessarily their actual classroom; any classroom will do. While some students quietly visited with their friends in these spaces before school started, others browsed social media on their cell phones and still others used their cell phones to complete their coursework online. It was not unusual for students at BVLA to work on their courses nearly anywhere, at any time.

Dilemmas and Tensions As educators and researchers working with students at risk, we (the authors) are invested in ensuring that educational access, opportunity, and equity exist for students at risk. However, we often find ourselves mired in the dilemmas and tensions that stem from social constructs of what it means for students to be at risk and the educational programs designed to assist them. At first glance, some readers may place blame on Angela and Ryan and assert they brought troubles onto themselves. However, doing so

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dismisses differences and ignores one’s own assumptions and dispositions as to what it means to be considered at risk. Over time, AEPs have emerged as a safe haven, a second or even a last chance, for students at risk of not completing school. Yet there is a particular irony in providing students an alternative as to where and how they are educated. The AEPs, because of the students they serve, are now linked “with unsuccessful students—with those who by virtue of being ‘disadvantaged,’ ‘marginalized,’ or ‘at-risk’ cannot or will not succeed in a regular program” (Raywid, 1994, p. 26). The contradictory conceptions between place and student raise concern as to how an AEP can enhance or detract from the stigmatization of being at risk. The AEPs that school districts use to provide access to students at risk soon run up against entrenched social constructs that brand both the student and the AEP as less than. Students enrolled in AEPs are often perceived as failures, if not social and economic liabilities. For instance, academic failure, pregnancy, addiction, and/or homelessness help label these students as outsiders and characterize them as other even before they leave the traditional high school. Influenced by prejudices and biases, some teachers and administrators from the regular education programs assume they can expect less from students at risk, sending them a message to lower their own aspirations and expectations. As a result, students sense from teachers, from administrators, and from other students at their home campus that they do not matter, leaving many of these students feeling unworthy, undesirable, and insignificant (Harbour & Ebie, 2011; Messiou, 2012). Rather than question or challenge the regular school’s systemic problems, regular education administrators and teachers mostly ignore or explain away the current design of the regular school and its failures. They convince themselves that the AEP is a viable educational structure that better serves failing and/or disruptive students. But, in doing so, they send an implicit and explicit message that the AEP is a “throw-away campus, with throw-away kids” (Hemmer, Madsen, & Torres, 2013). These negative assumptions about students at risk obscure significant complexities in the school-student relationship, especially for students who experience multiple high-risk factors, such as pregnancy or parenting, homelessness, poverty, English as a second language, and academic failure. Angela’s and Ryan’s stories assist in articulating these stories and are quite common for students at risk of dropping out of high school in public educa-

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tion. Absent a strong legal and cultural competence background to understand the complexities of what it means to be at risk, teachers and administrators may intentionally or unwittingly hold low learning expectations for students who are identified as at risk for school failure. Educators should realize that students like Angela and Ryan submit to enrolling in AEPs, as they seek a different pathway to graduation when some obstacle(s) exists that otherwise might lead them to drop out of school. These vulnerable students may also be pushed out of the traditional schools because they require a departure from the standard approach to schooling. All too often, teachers and principals, especially at traditional, comprehensive high schools, have limited expertise in responding to the sociocultural and academic needs of students at risk of dropping out of school.

The Vantage Point This chapter offers a different vantage point in which to discuss AEP research and practices within an AEP. From our vantage point in the field, we credit AEPs as an increasingly important role in educating students at risk because they are inclusive, relevant, and accessible. We pay particular attention to how teachers and administrators within an AEP work to transform the learning experiences for students at risk, systematically and intentionally. We also recognize that alternative education in many ways is an enigma, alluring, yet unknown because of their individuality to respond to the specific needs of students at risk. Due to the authority afforded to local education agencies to set up an AEP, these programs can vary tremendously in design and definition. Similarly, the label “at risk” for a student has a myriad of definitions, and policy makers, researchers, and practitioners have not agreed on which one to use. As a result, it is not unusual to have AEPs designed dependent on the nature of risk that is attached to a student. For instance, AEPs can be designed as credit recovery schools, targeting students who have failed courses. Others may serve students who have committed violations against the student code of conduct. A normative vantage point from teachers and administrators in traditional school programs may not separate the specific purposes of AEPs from one another, thus leading to a highly subjective interpretation of an AEP. Raywid’s (1994) work helps to clarify the different types of AEPs. A Type I AEP is for the student experiencing school failure due to grade retention, failure to pass state assessment, or a lack of course credit; they may enroll in

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a dropout prevention/intervention AEP. These types of AEPs reflect innovative teaching practices (e.g., hybrid or flipped), target individual needs of students, and provide accelerated instruction or a self-paced curriculum. Another type of AEP, Type II, is geared toward remedying student behavior that resulted in persistent or severe violations of the student code of conduct. In this type of AEP, the program is punitive in nature and used to prevent expulsion. A third type of AEP, Type III, attends to the social, emotional, and academic needs of the students, most often through rehabilitation. However, even with these categories, attempts to define AEPs remain problematic. For instance, Type I AEPs assume that difficulties may be a result of a poor fit between the student and school; thus, a change in program and environment may alter a student’s performance. Type II and Type III are more punitive in nature. Due to misconceptions, the varying constructs of risk in the boundaries between the three types of AEPs are blurred. In this chapter, we focus primarily on Type I academic AEPs of choice designed to prevent students from dropping out of school and not the AEPs (II and III) that seek to change behavior in the student. While there are dominant trends in the literature that suggest many students at risk are pushed out of or excluded from the traditional setting and referred to the AEP, we draw attention to a lesser known phenomenon in which students actively seek out an AEP on their own. From their vantage point, knowing that the traditional path to a high school diploma is not a viable option, these students search for educational space in which they feel welcomed and where they can be successful. For some, it is within an AEP. Yet mapping a student’s path to an AEP is complex. Educational policy coupled with educator practice may limit students' access to an AEP, especially if they are not considered at risk enough. For some students, they find that in order to gain entrance, they first must be labeled as troubled kids. It is from this particular vantage point that dialog around who may or may not attend AEPs needs to be created between policy makers and educators. By the time students enroll in an AEP, they are labeled, and defined by a risk. A systemic need exists to improve instructional structures and social processes to allow these students a supportive and nonjudgmental educational environment. Students should be able to create their own cultural identity, one not defined by risk and not one that in turn defines their voices.

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Re/Design Intentional Practice We now return to Buena Vista Learning Academy (BVLA), an AEP that is designed as a school of choice. We argue that while traditional education can often suppress students at risk and relegate them to positions of powerlessness, BVLA shows what practices help students at risk succeed. Education at BVLA is designed to connect students with teachers in positive relationships and to provide personal instruction tailored to individual needs. These factors, together with administrator strategies for change to ensure that students have the opportunity to complete high school, are discussed in turn. Connectedness Buena Vista Learning Academy is seen as the safe, supportive, if not consistently stable force in a troubled and turbulent life of a student at risk. Many of the students at BVLA now have an opportunity to develop healthy, positive relationships with their peers, parents, and teachers that in turn have a meaningful influence on their social and academic outcomes. One of the most enduring elements of its culture is keeping the student at the center of all teacher and administrator efforts. For instance, unlike traditional high schools, where teachers are compartmentalized within subject areas, teachers at BVLA have adopted a collaborative model in which students are viewed as “our students” not “my students.” It is not unusual to walk into a science classroom at BVLA and see a student working on another subject, such as English Language Arts. The teachers have embraced the idea that it does not necessarily matter what a student is working on as long as they are making progress by earning credits toward graduation. The teachers have taken on the mantra that each student is everyone’s responsibility. Consistent and open communication among teachers includes discussions surrounding particular instructional techniques that work for specific students. Sometimes, teachers will even have students work with other teachers because they know they will be a better instructional and relational fit or that students are trying to finish up a particular course. The teachers recognize that, although a student may not be making adequate progress in a particular class, the student may experience success in another class or with another teacher. Rather than shutting down a student’s momentum, teachers embrace it and encourage the student to finish whatever they are

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working on, knowing that once a student finishes another course, that student will then dedicate more focus on their course. Beyond that, teachers constantly communicate with each other to develop cross-curricular projects and find themselves assisting students with other courses, which provides further opportunities for teachers to build relationships with students. The BVLA teachers have an understanding and compassion for each student’s unique situation that goes beyond just building relationships with students. Some teachers have trusting relationships with certain students and can motivate them as appropriate. But there are other students with whom they definitely do not have a positive relationship, and they must work harder to develop an alternative scheme to meet the same goal, the successful completion of course credit.  Instructional Practices Like many other AEPs, instruction at BVLA is grounded in practices that are more flexible than the traditional sit and get models generally found at comprehensive high schools. At BVLA, students have some autonomy over where and when they can complete their work, thus contributing to a more learner-centered atmosphere, one that allows for students to take ownership of their own learning as relevant to their lives. By providing space for student autonomy, the learning environment becomes less stressful, and students do not feel pressured to keep up with peers. Self-paced and blended instruction. Because many of the students enrolled at BVLA are lacking course credit, the program utilizes a self-paced blended instructional model which offers more flexibility in terms of how and when students complete their courses. Many students enrolled need to earn credit for courses they previously failed. For instance, Algebra I is of particular concern, because many BVLA students have failed the course in the ninth grade. In fact, by the time students like Angela and Ryan get to a school like BVLA, they are likely to have sat through Algebra I multiple times, but, having missed too many classes or not completing homework, they are required to retake the course, again. But at BVLA, the course is selfpaced, and a student is more likely to pass. Self-paced learning is typically synonymous with mastery-based learning, which lends itself to individualizing and differentiating curriculum for students. Blended learning is a mixture of online coursework and direct teaching. BVLA matches the best of each to provide an engaging learning experience

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where students have some control over time, place, path, and pace. Together, this means an individual student can complete some of his or her work virtually anywhere, anytime, as long as he or she has an Internet connection. Self-paced coursework at BVLA extends beyond a set semester. Students are not held to a particular academic calendar defined by six-week or semester benchmarks. Rather, self-pacing allows a student to complete a course at any time during the academic year by showing proficiency in the subject matter. For some students, what is a semester-long course at the traditional high school may be completed in five weeks. Filling in the gaps. Teachers at BVLA work to ensure that lessons are adjusted for students who may have fallen behind at the traditional school. Meeting students where they are academically has been key to BVLA’s success. As soon as students are enrolled, teachers begin getting to know them, assessing their academic strengths and weaknesses so as to help students fill knowledge gaps. If a student clearly knows the material, he or she has an opportunity for acceleration, while a student who struggles to grasp a concept is afforded remediation, either in a face-to-face format or online. Essentially, at any given time, students receive the amount of assistance and support they need to be successful. A powerful indicator of this model’s success is the removal of fear. By the time students are accepted into BVLA, they have been conditioned to not ask questions for fear of being looked down upon. Within a few weeks, these same students who had operated under the radar are now comfortable, if not confident, not only to answer questions but to ask them. In fact, many of the students who used to be afraid in a traditional setting become so comfortable at BVLA they start to ask too many questions, so that the teachers encourage the students to build confidence in their ability to work on their own until a communication equilibrium is established.  Strategies for Change Administrators of both the regular and alternative education programs need to be aware of the ever-present tension between the cultural norms of schools and social constructs projected onto students at risk. This tension is formed by the competitive linkages between societal expectations regarding schools, regulatory frameworks, educator practices, student behaviors, and academic deficits. Administrators need to be prepared with a strong legal and cultural competence background to understand the complexities of

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AEPs. Fortunately, there is an increasing interest in systematic and holistic interventions, and prevention administrators can use to target changes in teaching and learning for students at risk. First, hiring certified and highly qualified teachers is the responsibility of the school administrators and requires strategic planning to ensure the right teachers are properly placed in a particular grade level or discipline. Additionally, an administrator at an AEP may need to hire a teacher to teach multiple subjects. Hiring for an AEP teaching position also means matching teacher personality with student needs so as to promote the advancement of the AEP’s mission and purpose; therefore, finding the right fit is essential. In one case at BVLA, the principal hired a teacher for a dual position to teach both social studies and English Language Arts (ELA), but this teacher had no experience teaching ELA at the high school level. The principal did recognize that the teacher had previous experience teaching in a center for newly arrived immigrants, which gave the teacher experience in working with English language learners. Prior to that, the teacher taught seventh-grade language arts, thus gaining experience teaching beginning writing, a critical need for the student population at BVLA. Administrators of AEPs have to recognize where academic gaps exist for students at risk and which state assessments are most problematic in order to hire strategically. In the case presented above, many of the students not passing the state assessments were students identified as English language learners and were performing academically well below grade level. Since hiring this teacher, many of those students have been able to pass their ELA state assessments. Second, AEP administrators keep class sizes small, with low studentto-teacher ratios. This is particularly important for students who are marginalized or at risk. In alternative education settings, teachers often find themselves serving as an academic, social, and emotional safety net. With small class sizes, teachers have the opportunity to know who each student is, what their situation is, and what courses they need to complete to graduate. Students understand that the teachers are there not only to be teachers but also to be cheerleaders. In turn, students who know that the adults on campus know and care about them are less likely to fall through the cracks and drop out. Third, administrators can best support their students by first supporting teacher autonomy. In recent years, standardized testing eroded the professional practice of teaching, and it became difficult for teachers in the regular

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education program to support mastery learning through individual and differentiated instruction. However, teachers at AEPs often enjoy greater autonomy, with a corresponding benefit for the students enrolled in them. For instance, even though students are held to the same curriculum standards and state assessments, they do not come to the AEP with the same skills and ability. At AEPs, teachers in this particular pedagogical system practice innovative ideas that allow students to learn anywhere and everywhere, inside and outside of the classroom. But there is also an important understanding among the teachers in AEPs: it is not their job to teach students things they already know. As students enter the program, teachers are provided data in which to inform their understanding of a student’s strengths and areas in which they need to grow academically. Prior grades, standardized test scores, and attendance and discipline records are provided to AEP teachers prior to students starting a course. Once students begin the course, teachers perform multiple formative assessments to begin appropriately individualizing the course for both the low- and high-achieving students. Providing data immediately empowers the teachers to allow learning to become dynamic rather than static and repetitious.

Looking Forward Often overlooked by scholars and practitioners alike are the alternative education settings and the students who attend these programs. Alternative education programs are designed to offer a student at risk of dropping out of school a different pathway to graduation. Without an opportunity to enroll in an alternative education program, in all likelihood, Angela would have joined, and Ryan would have remained a part of, the more than 500,000 15- to 24-year olds who left school without obtaining a high school credential (National Center for Educational Statistics, 2013). Angela’s and Ryan’s stories, though different from one another, remind us how difficult of a journey they traversed. The AEP helped them make it. Angela and Ryan both went on to graduate from their respective AEP. Angela eventually moved with her daughter to a larger city in the central part of Texas to attend community college. Not sure what she wanted to do career-wise, Angela focused on taking a few online core courses. She liked the flexibility, which reminded her of when she was at the AEP. This allowed her to work full-time. After earning several credits, Angela wanted to reconnect with her family. So she packed up and moved again; this time

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out of state, to where her family had moved. After settling in, she realized she needed a job that would allow her to provide for her and her daughter. Rather than chipping away at courses at the university, she opted to learn a trade at the community college and enrolled in the surgical tech program. Angela completed her training, landed work at a hospital, and loves her job. She shared, “I’m in a great place. I am so thankful that New Horizons was there for me. I don’t feel like I lost out on any opportunity by attending it. I actually was able to find myself there.” Ryan also graduated from his AEP, Second Chances, but not without first having earned a GED certificate. Interestingly, Ryan could have walked away having earned the certificate, but when he was told that GED students must wear a cap and gown different in color from that of high school graduates for the graduation ceremony, he said “Bullshit” and went on to earn his high school diploma. Shortly after graduation, Ryan started working full-time at a car tire shop. Two years later, his grandmother died. His grandfather followed months later. Within a week of having the funeral for his grandfather, Ryan told his dad, “I’m out of here,” meaning California. He bought a one-way ticket to Hawaii, which is where his girlfriend and her family had moved. Knowing he did not have anyone to take care of him, he hustled to find work. He tried his hand at carpentry, then moved into water well-drilling, before landing a handyman job at a ranch on Oahu. While in many ways Ryan continues to follow in his father’s footsteps, perhaps it is his mom’s illness that has influenced him in ways he cannot fully explain. Ryan is prone to making grandiose plans, only to fall short, and he is quick to lose jobs because of his mood swings and argumentative ways. Still, Ryan does try to find comfort in an expected, if unlikely place surfing. However, he does more than surf; he volunteers for an organization which provides tandem surfing for anyone with a cognitive or physical disability. This giving of himself to others is perhaps the biggest lesson he learned while at Second Chances AEP. He shared that, once he experienced how kids from the GED program were treated differently at the graduation ceremony, he was determined to secure his high school diploma. His principal and a technology teacher worked with him to schedule his classes. They opened up their office and classroom so he could work independently to complete online courses. They would listen to him vent, frustrated by the challenge of having to complete so many credits in such a short period of time. According to Ryan, without them, he would not have graduated from high school.

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Much research has documented academic shortcomings of students at risk and their struggles, pain, loss, or brokenness as a means to establish need for a different type of educational setting. However, all these depictions do is prove one is damaged. Absent from the conversation is how teachers and administrators in AEPs create liberating classroom conditions in which students develop practical situational skills. This chapter discussed our understanding of AEPs, paying particular attention to the social and critical educational theories and practices concerned with how teachers and administrators in these schools work to transform the learning experiences of students at risk, like Angela and Ryan.

References Harbour, C. P., & Ebie, G. (2011). Deweyan democratic learning communities and student marginalization. New Directions for Community Colleges, 155, 5–14. Hemmer, L., Madsen, J., & Torres, M. (2013). Critical analysis of “at-risk” policy discourse: Implications for school leaders. Journal of Educational Administration, 51(5), 655–679. Lehr, C., Tan, C., & Ysseldyke, J. (2009). Alternative schools: A synthesis of state-level policy and research. Remedial and Special Education, 30(1), 19–32. Messiou, K. (2012). Collaborating with children in exploring marginalisation: An approach to inclusive education. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 16(12), 1311–1322. National Center for Educational Statistics. (2013). Trends in high school dropout and completion rates in the United States. Retrieved from https:// nces.ed.gov/programs/dropout/findings.asp Raywid, M. A. (1994). Alternative schools: The state of the art. Educational Leadership, 51(1), 20–31.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Listening to the Voices of our Students A Framework for Engagement in Science Rachelle A. Haroldson For many years I was a chemistry teacher in a medium-sized urban high school with a diverse student population. In my last year teaching at the school I asked my students to participate in my dissertation research, which focused on students’ perceptions of formative assessment. Over the course of that academic year three African American male students, Willis, Delano, and Monte, displayed increasing levels of engagement and understanding of chemistry. Their stories represent success within a chemistry class actively implementing formative assessment. Through individual interviews and interactions, it became clear that they not only loved school, but more importantly they had developed insight into their learning. When these students were able to struggle, persevere, and receive the proper scaffolding, their learning developed a fluid quality. Their responses reveal the need for high expectations, culturally relevant pedagogy, and warm-demander pedagogy. Furthermore, their thoughts on the student-teacher relationship, classroom engagement, and opportunities to learn from their mistakes provide the reader with ways to support African American males in shaping their view of themselves as learners. While the

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themes that emerge in this chapter can be applied to many disciplines, it is especially reassuring to see these findings within a science classroom.

Achievement Disparities in Science Education Given the achievement disparities and inequities for students of color (Atwater, Lance, Woodard, & Johnson, 2013; Muller, Stage, & Kinzie, 2001), reform efforts often focus on the development of scientific literacy (Atwater, 2000; Edmin, 2011; Mutegi, 2011; Watanabe, Nunes, Mebane, Scalise, & Claesgens, 2007). While many have emphasized the achievement gap in areas like science and mathematics, a group of concerned researchers advocates for pushing beyond this deficit thinking or “gap-gazing” (Gutiérrez, 2008; Ladson-Billings, 2006; 2007). The science achievement gap, which is usually measured from the results of standardized tests, can have profoundly negative impacts on African American students, especially due to the threat of stereotyping and the corresponding low expectations of their academic success (NGSS Lead States, 2013; Rodriguez, 1998; Steele & Aronson, 1995). Gutiérrez (2008) proposes moving away from negative narratives about students of color and moving toward research on effective teaching and learning environments for them. One avenue forward is to employ diverse teaching methods. These are needed to combat systemic underachievement, particularly in science (Lee, 1999; Prime & Miranda, 2006). Formative assessment is one such method that improves teaching and learning by basing decisions about instruction on student understanding (Carlson, Humphrey, & Reinhardt, 2003; National Research Council [NRC], 2001). By embedding formative assessment strategies such as descriptive feedback, self-assessment, and summative tests (used formatively) into the curriculum, teachers can better meet the needs of students (Black, Harrison, Lee, Marshall, & Wiliam, 2004; Wiliam, 2008). In addition, formative assessment takes into account what the student brings to the classroom, prompting teachers to establish a culturally relevant environment (Ladson-Billings, 1994). Because of national support (National Research Council, 1996; 2007; 2012; NGSS Lead States, 2013), much research has focused on teacher implementation of formative assessment strategies (e.g., Black & Harrison, 2001; Gioka, 2009; Sato, Coffey, & Moorthy, 2005). However, minimal research has focused on students’ perceptions of formative assessment in secondary science (Brookhart, 2001; Cowie, 2005a; 2005b). Researchers

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have also looked at the success of African Americans in mathematics and science (Russell & Atwater, 2005; Thompson & Lewis, 2005), but again, this research lacks any attention to African American students’ experiences with formative assessment as an avenue for success. I began my own inquiry with a focus on students’ perceptions of formative assessment as a pedagogical tool. However, by listening to their voices, I stumbled on an unexpected insight: formative assessment strategies coupled with the student-teacher relationship created an atmosphere of confidence, individualized learning, and second chances. Students acknowledged that various strategies like feedback, quiz corrections, and clear learning targets were all helpful for learning, but, more importantly, that these tools brought positive engagement and empowerment in the classroom. Interview excerpts from the voices of Willis, Delano, and Monte reveal why these students love school. Each student discusses unique and collective ways of being in the science classroom that support learning.

The Voices Willis was a junior with a positive, charismatic personality. He was older than most of the students in class, causing him to look more mature physically. In the fall, he played on the high school football team. Because of his age and leadership role on the football team, students looked up to him. Willis was friendly and enjoyed socializing with his peers. Early in the year, he continually looked for ways to arrive to class late or leave during class, as he had a difficult time sitting still. Upon leaving the classroom, Willis mostly roamed the halls and interacted with other students. When Willis started to engage in the classroom activities, particularly the labs, his behaviors changed. Delano was a sophomore with an energetic, silly personality; he was always quick with a joke. He had a hairstyle that seemed to change with the days of the week and consistently matched his personality. He was as likely to go off-task as he was ready to work hard. He had a quick wit and used humor to create a connection between us. At the beginning of the year, I realized his hidden talents in science and math and held him accountable. For the rest of the year, he worked hard, although not necessarily for long periods of time, in a given class. At grading periods, he made it clear in our conversations that he wanted an A or B and said he could do this through extra studying and focus.

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Monte was a sophomore with a casual, playful personality. Originally from a region in Western Africa, Monte had lived in the area the longest of all three students, having attended the middle school down the street. He was on the football team and often talked football with Willis in class. His immediate family had moved to a different city, and he chose to remain behind, living with another family in the area. He worked hard, but when learning a new or challenging concept, he needed constant reassurance. For this reason, Monte required teacher attention and encouragement, specifically as it related to learning difficult concepts.

Listening to the Voices Monte, Willis, and Delano each provide insight into what contributed to their learning. While they were asked about the formative assessment strategies, their responses illuminate two large themes contributing to their love of school: empowerment and student-teacher relationships. Love of School Is About Empowerment Confidence. Empowerment comes from confidence. In science and mathematics, the voices of successful African American males are seldom heard, so when we publicly recognize them we can elevate their academic confidence and self-concept (Garibaldi, 1992). Willis, Delano, and Monte voiced confidence in their understanding of chemistry because of pedagogical strategies like labs, clear instructions and procedures, and positive encouragement. Willis’s confidence stemmed from engagement in labs and his ability to move through content procedurally when provided with clear verbal explanations. I felt confident about my learning when I . . . Okay, for instance, when we was doing labs, I felt very confident that everything we went through you was with us step-by-step. See, I understand basically because when I was learning how to do it and then you came over and showed me how, and I recognized I was going to the right point, because everybody was asking me how you do that and how you was finding this. And pretty much when you was coming over telling me and when you showing me step-by-step-by-step, I was cooperating on everything that you was telling. So it was easy for us to learn.

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Willis felt confident that he could show other students how to do chemistry. In his mind, paying attention and listening allowed him to be successful, specifically when he was given individual attention. He even noted that he considered becoming a chemistry teacher in the future. Over the past year, I learned so much in this class. I learned about atoms, combustion, sharing. I got so much in this class. Chemistry is basically the whole world—you learn about the atmosphere, plants, how atoms create. And there’s just so much you can take in, like it got me to a point where I really want to be a chemistry teacher, because I did learn so much about it and I really think that I can show kids that I know how to do it. That’s why I believe that you’re a wonderful teacher and that you showed me so much in this class, and that all you have to do is just pay attention, listen, and there you go—As and Bs. That’s why I love this class, chemistry. Delano attributed confidence in his learning to encouragement, meaning that when I pushed him to work, he knew that he could understand the material. He responded well to my encouraging words that challenged him to maintain his focus and ultimately his confidence in his own capability to learn. The way you teach? Like you force us. Not force us, you like help us do . . . you say, Come on, or like, just the way basically you teach. For Delano, he felt more confident when information was broken down, because it made the material easier to understand. Through my explanation and modeling, he was able to complete assignments. Like you break something down, make sure everyone understand it, and you like . . . like most teachers, they will just give you an assignment, let you do it, not you, you show us how to do it mostly. Yeah, basically that’s it. [Okay, what do you mean by, break it down?] Like explain it where you can understand it in an easier way.

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Delano felt empowered about his experiences because the topics were interesting to him. In addition to honest, straightforward explanations, he identified fun as an element that improved the learning environment. I told you it was the way you teach and, . . . it was just like I was interested. You made a lot of things interesting for me, like more fun to understand, better. Like I said, it was like telling me something straight, in like an orderly fashion, like you would tell me different examples. Monte felt confident in his learning when in the laboratory, doing hands-on activities and working with other students. He thrived on social interaction and constructivist pedagogy. Since most activities with a handson nature were done in groups, he was able to get help from other students. Well, on specific why I learn like, sometime when we’re, you know, doing a lab stations, I feel confident doing that because I got help from people you know, it’s not me, you know, plus I like to get my hands on things you know, so I feel pretty confident in that. Monte also associated his confidence in learning with good grades, good test scores, information recall, and the ability to teach the idea to someone else. If I’m getting good, like good scores on tests and stuff, then I really know I learned it and I don’t forget it like down the road in my future you know. That’s how I know I learn something like really good. [Okay, so you’re able to recall it later?] Yeah, and I can teach it to somebody else you know. So yeah. In general Monte felt empowered because of hands-on activities that got him thinking and asking questions about the world around him. I like chemistry because you know it gets, I mean, it gets you moving around, gets your hands on stuff, and also it gets you think-

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ing, you know, you know that there’s always questions to ask, you know, just I mean about our everyday world, you know. That’s it. Always gets me thinking and asking questions, you know. So that’s what I like about it. Individualized learning. For these students, empowerment was not limited to a sense of confidence. They also felt empowered due to the individualized nature of different interactions and activities, from learning targets to feedback. This informed student learning and increased advocacy for learning. Willis elaborated on what it means to have personalized interactions and verbal feedback, even when there are lots of students needing help. One-on-one, like . . . it’s like . . . it’s more attention to you to let you know where you messed up at and how . . . what can you do to help. Like, say if I didn’t understand this, or I got confused about this, you’re right here to show me hands-on. Or even if I’m in a lab, if I’m there and I don’t understand what I’m doing, you’re there to help me, show me the step, but yeah, I still have to do it myself just to learn. So I think that is . . . that is . . . like that is great for all teachers to learn how to do hands-on. Even though I know you have like a whole full class but that’s still helpful. Individualized explanations were important because, as Monte points out, students like him are easily distracted in large classes. Having focused teacher-student conversations allowed him to concentrate more and refocus. I mean, it’s less distracting you know, I’m .  .  . I can concentrate more you know, and I can understand the teacher a lot more instead of, you know, like being in a group with a whole bunch of kids that talks and you scream over their head. Second chances. For these students, having more than one opportunity to demonstrate their knowledge made a difference. They felt they had the most control over their learning due to the ongoing nature of the formative assessment strategies. Practices like quiz corrections and test retakes sent the message

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that students learn at different rates about different topics. By having a classroom centered around assessment for learning to “help students understand what success looks like, [to] see where they are now, and . . . to close the gap between the two” (Stiggins & Chappuis, 2006, p. 11), students perceived learning as fluid and dynamic. Making mistakes was part of the learning process, as was having a chance to learn from those mistakes and try again. Love of school is about trying, failing, persisting, making mistakes, learning from mistakes, and having a safe place to make and learn from mistakes. For Willis, corrections and quiz retakes provided other opportunities to be successful. Yes, it is good because we get to go back and find out what we got wrong. And even though like either people . . . like even if you doing a test, it’s either you got this answer or this answer in your head that you’re picking between. And you . . . Some people always pick the wrong answer. You can go back, write that wrong answer, and like okay, I got another answer that’s in my head I believe is true. And that you get to write down everything that’s messed up, like everything you got wrong on that one sheet of paper, then go back and see and fix it. So when you do the retake it’s giving you a better chance to pass it. It’s not like every teacher just giving you one chance, you get another chance to proceed and be successful. Willis also acknowledged the ongoing nature of learning. He knew that if he or another student did not understand a concept on the first assignment, there would be another chance to show understanding. And yet you give us another chance to recuperate the words, and I think that’s very helpful because it’s telling every child like he got another chance or tell him where he messed up, so he like regenerate from the next test or learning target. Monte, like Willis, thought having a second chance was a way to do better as well as to communicate to the instructor that he identified his mistakes and wanted to try again.

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Uh, yeah, I really like that you know, because like if you get a one or something, you know, you’re trying to . . . I mean if you study hard you’re trying to tell the teacher that, “You know I messed up the first time, right, but if you give me a second chance you know I can do better.” And if you . . . if you do a retake you know you get a better score, I mean that’s telling the teacher something you know that you messed up the first time and you want to just give it a try again. Having second chances develops perseverance because students have the option to try again. Delano recognized that giving up was not going to lead to success, but studying hard and persisting would lead to doing well on an assignment or assessment. That’s good, because if you don’t understand something, you don’t just have to give up and take the F, you can do it again. Anyway it means you can get as high as you can, like if you get it you have to just study hard. Like Willis and Monte, Delano had developed an intrinsic motivation for trying again. Multiple opportunities to show understanding encouraged them to persevere in their studying. They talked about their decisions and choices in order to do better, score higher, and learn more. For these students, the learning appeared to be iterative, with more than one instance necessary to be successful. A learning environment that supports a spiraling of efforts toward understanding through second chances leads to empowerment. Experiences that instill confidence, support individualized learning, and give second chances demonstrate culturally relevant pedagogy’s goal of empowering students in all aspects of their being and “involv[ing] students in the knowledge-construction process . . . The ultimate goal is to ensure that they have a sense of ownership of their knowledge—a sense that it is empowering and liberating” (Ladson-Billings, 1994, p. 77). This sentiment is echoed in science education: “When youth find science education to be empowering and transformative, they are likely to embrace and further investigate what they are learning, instead of being resistant to learning science” (NGSS Lead States, 2013, p. 10). Ultimately, we want teaching methods that embed culturally

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relevant pedagogy, high expectations for students, and a rigorous learning environment, because they counter low achievement (Casteel, 1997; Howard, 2001; Ladson-Billings, 1994; Prime & Miranda, 2006). Love of School Is About Meaningful Student-Teacher Relationships Building a relationship that is caring and trusting promotes students’ interest in science (Xu, Coats, & Davidson, 2012), and African American students’ academic achievement in science and mathematics is influenced by the relationship with their teacher (Brand, Glasson, & Green, 2006). Meaningful relationships employ the practice of warm-demander pedagogy (Bondy, Ross, Gallingane, & Hambacher, 2007; Vasquez, 1989; Ware, 2006). “Warm-demanders” are effective teachers of African American students who care and respond to students while holding high expectations for academic standards. Willis, Delano, and Monte all expressed their need for teacher support to be successful. Over time, through personalized teaching and learning opportunities, these students developed a comfort level with me. They recognized when help was needed and felt comfortable asking for it. Delano, Monte, and Willis knew instructor support was available and held them to high expectations. Willis felt empowered to work when he connected with me, allowing him to feel safe to take risks. Monte realized he was easily distracted, so one-on-one student-teacher interaction inspired him, especially when he was frustrated. Delano needed me to believe in him and constantly push him toward success, a challenge he sought. The teacher-student formative assessment loop and my role as a warm-demander led to a learning environment in which these students felt cared about and confident regarding their abilities and capabilities in science, although their needs in terms of teacher support and the teacher-student relationship differed. Monte realized when he struggled that he would get angry and oftentimes either shut down completely, with his head down on the desk, or turn to disruptive behavior. Therefore, he needed my support to reassure him as he worked through a challenging topic. He recognized his frustration and persisted in getting help until he felt comfortable in his understanding of the topic. [laugh] Sometimes I get mad at myself, you know. I try to figure it out but if I can’t I raise my hand and get a lot of help like usually

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I do with you, you know. And yeah, then if you don’t . . . if you explain it and I still don’t get it, I just keep making you come back until I get it. Delano recognized that he did not always want to focus on assignments. I provided the necessary support to motivate him, constantly pushing him, never letting him sit idle for too long. You forced me. Like you didn’t let me slack in class and just lay around. You would tell me to get up and do my homework and stuff like that. And for Willis, my support provided guidance and direction when he needed help. Willis was able to recognize a “helpless response” (Dweck, 2000) when he was challenged by a topic, but explained how over time he stopped shutting down and sought out my assistance. By the end of the year, when he struggled he asked for help. In his mind, he was in relentless pursuit to get the help he needed. He would even go so far as to skip the line in front of other students to interact with me. When I struggle, I usually just stick to myself and not do any work. But now, as I’ve been in your class lately, it just . . . when I struggle I come straight to you. I come straight to you. And it’s easy to get work because even if you have been somewhere, you will help them and then move on to this person, and ask them, “Do you get it?” And then you’d be like, “Okay, I’ll be right with you. Have this person [inaudible].” Even though got a class full of like 24 students, you still able to help everybody. So that’s what I like about this, because you love me so much, and I be in your face so much, it’s great. [What do you mean by in my face?] Oh, I . . . Say if I’m stuck on a problem, I jump the whole line just to ask you the question. Willis realized that by asking for help, he was going to get help. When he encountered a difficulty, he used this as an opportunity to seek help from me. His comment, “because you love me so much,” expressed his

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acknowledgment of my concern regarding his learning. By feeling loved and encouraged, Willis learned that it was safe to take risks and get back up again if he faltered. Personalized and meaningful interactions helped Willis, Delano, and Monte understand that they were going to receive instructor support. As a result, they started advocating for themselves. For Monte, this meant time when he was not distracted, either by his own social personality or the noise of other students in the classroom. Willis was able to get a level of emotional support from the one-on-one time that was necessary for his learning. And for Delano, instructor support provided the extrinsic motivation to persist and complete assignments. This meant he could no longer get away with being unproductive, because the material was broken down and explained in a way that he understood. All three students required instructor support for encouragement in the learning process, and they maintained a growth mindset about their learning. They perceived themselves as advocates of their learning when they were persistent about seeking my attention. Despite the large class sizes, Monte and Willis knew they were going to get individualized help. My role in supporting and nurturing student success involved a devotion to their individualized needs. I constantly went around to students to check in, keep them on task, redirect their attention, and model problem solving.

Final Thoughts Formative assessment strategies coupled with culturally relevant pedagogy and warm-pedagogy is foundational for cultivating a love of school. This chapter has highlighted practices that teachers might use to promote a positive school culture. By exploring student perceptions, we can understand the ways teachers can create a space for students to learn. As indicated by the narratives of Willis, Delano, and Monte, love of school stems from being empowered within a science classroom environment that allows for second chances, cultivates individualized learning, and instills student confidence, combined with a positive student-teacher relationship. Listening to the voices of students is paramount to establishing a meaningful and trusting relationship, one that opens our minds and hearts. When teachers give students a voice in their learning, listening to and caring about the students belonging to those voices, we can have profound impacts on students’ experiences in school. Engaging students involves more than the

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assessments and activities we use, even though those practices are important. It means designing a classroom to include instructional strategies and interpersonal connections that address both students’ backgrounds and learning needs. Only when teachers are in tune with students’ needs can we empower our students to love school and love learning.

References Atwater, M. M. (2000). Equity for Black Americans in precollege science. Science Education, 84(2), 154–179. Atwater, M. M., Lance, J., Woodard, U., & Johnson, N. H. (2013). Race and ethnicity: Powerful cultural forecasters of science learning and performance. Theory Into Practice, 52(1), 6–13. Black, P., & Harrison, C. (2001). Feedback in questioning and marking: The science teacher’s role in formative assessment. School Science Review, 82(301), 55–61. Black, P., Harrison, C., Lee, C., Marshall, B., & Wiliam, D. (2004). Working inside the black box: Assessment for learning in the classroom. Phi Delta Kappan, 86(1), 9–21.  Black, P., & Wiliam, D. (1998). Assessment and classroom learning. Assessment in Education: Principles, Policy & Practice, 5(1), 7–74. Bondy, E., Ross, D. D., Gallingane, C., & Hambacher, E. (2007). Creating environments of success and resilience: Culturally responsive classroom management and more. Urban Education, 42(4), 326–348. Brand, B. R., Glasson, G. E., & Green, A. M. (2006). Sociocultural factors influencing students’ learning in science and mathematics: An analysis of the perspectives of African American students. School Science and Mathematics, 106(5), 228–236. Brookhart, S. M. (2001). Successful students’ formative and summative uses of assessment information. Assessment in Education: Principles, Policy & Practice, 8(2), 153–169. Carlson, M. O., Humphrey, G. E., & Reinhardt, K. S. (2003). Weaving

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science inquiry and continuous assessment: Using formative assessment to improve learning. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press. Casteel, C. (1997). Attitudes of African American and Caucasian eighth grade students about praises, rewards, and punishments. Elementary School Guidance and Counseling, 31(4), 262–272. Cowie, B. (2005a). Pupil commentary on assessment for learning. Curriculum Journal, 16(2), 137–151. Cowie, B. (2005b). Student commentary on classroom assessment in science: A sociocultural interpretation. International Journal of Science Education, 27(2), 199–214. Dweck, C. (2000). Self-theories: Their role in motivation, personality, and development (1st ed.). New York, NY: Psychology Press. Garibaldi, A. M. (1992). Educating and motivating African American males to succeed. Journal of Negro Education, 61(1), 4–11. Gioka, O. (2009). Teacher or examiner? The tensions between formative and summative assessment in the case of science coursework. Research in Science Education, 39(4), 411–428. Gutiérrez, R. (2008). A “gap-gazing” fetish in mathematics education? Problematizing research on the achievement gap. Journal for Research in Mathematics Education, 39(4), 357–364. Howard, T. C. (2001). Powerful pedagogy for African American students: A case of four teachers. Urban Education, 36(2), 179–202. Ladson-Billings, G. (1994). The dreamkeepers: Successful teachers of African American children. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Ladson-Billings, G. (2006). From the achievement gap to the education debt: Understanding achievement in U.S. schools. Educational Researcher, 35(7), 3–12. Ladson-Billings, G. (2007). Pushing past the achievement gap: An essay on the language of deficit. Journal of Negro Education, 76(3), 316–323.

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Lee, P. (1999). In their own voices: An ethnographic study of low-achieving students within the context of school reform. Urban Education, 34(2), 214–244. Muller, P. A., Stage, F. K., & Kinzie, J. (2001). Science achievement growth trajectories: Understanding factors related to gender and racial-ethnic differences in precollege science achievement. American Education Research Journal, 38(4), 981–1012. Mutegi, J. (2011). The inadequacies of “Science for All” and the necessity and nature of a socially transformative curriculum approach for African American science education. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 248(3), 301–316. National Research Council. (1996). National science education standards. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. National Research Council. (2001). Classroom assessment and the national science education standards. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. National Research Council. (2007). Taking science to school: Learning and teaching science in grades K–8. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. National Research Council. (2012). A framework for K–12 science education: Practices, crosscutting concepts, and core ideas. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. NGSS Lead States. (2013). Next generation science standards: For states, by states. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. Prime, G. M., & Miranda, R. J. (2006). Urban public high school teachers’ beliefs about science learner characteristics: Implications for curriculum. Urban Education, 41(5), 506–532. Rodriguez, A. (1998). Busting open the meritocracy myth: Rethinking equity and student achievement in science education. Journal of Women and Minorities in Science and Engineering, 4(2–3), 195–216. Russell, M. L., & Atwater, M. M. (2005). Traveling the road to success: A discourse on persistence throughout the science pipeline with African Amer-

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ican students at a predominantly white institution. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 42(6), 691–715. Sato, M., Coffey, J., & Moorthy, S. (2005). Two teachers making assessment for learning their own. Curriculum Journal, 16(2), 177–191. Steele, C. M., & Aronson, J. (1995). Stereotype threat and the intellectual test performance of African Americans. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 69(5), 797–811. Stiggins, R., & Chappuis, J. (2006). What a difference a word makes. Journal of Staff Development, 27(1), 10–14. Thompson, L. R., & Lewis, B. F. (2005). Shooting for the stars: A case study of the mathematics achievement and career attainment of an African American male high school student. High School Journal, 88(4), 6–18. Vasquez, J. (1989). Contexts of learning for minority students. Education Forum, 52(3), 243–253. Ware, F. (2006). Warm demander pedagogy: Culturally responsive teaching that supports a culture of achievement for African American students. Urban Education, 41(4), 427–456. Watanabe, M., Nunes, N., Mebane, S., Scalise, K., & Claesgens, J. (2007). “Chemistry for all, instead of chemistry just for the elite”: Lessons learned from detracked chemistry classrooms. Science Education, 91(5), 683–709. Wiliam, D. (2008). Improving learning in science with formative assessment. In J. Coffey, R. Douglas, & C. Stearns (Eds.), Assessing science learning: Perspectives from research and practice (pp. 3–20). Arlington, VA: NSTA Press. Xu, J., Coats, L. T., & Davidson, M. L. (2012). Promoting student interest in science: The perspectives of exemplary African American teachers. American Educational Research Journal, 49(1), 124–154.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Restorative Practices Beyond Sensitization to Building Skills and Organizational Change Robert C. Chalwell Jr.

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he history of public K–12 education in the United States exhibits a heritage of (1) a heavy dose of nationalistic, exclusionary bias; (2) an emphasis on cohesive cultural identity; and (3) a disturbing institutional inertia that renders the system unable to respond effectively to the needs of a diverse student population (Steinberg, 2014; Olneck, 1989). This heritage is still at play today in education policy and political debates on the local, state, and federal levels. These persistent vestiges of our political history are most profoundly visible in the increasingly persistent counterefforts to undo the post–civil rights era move towards inclusion, equity, and effectiveness in public education (Skiba, Michael, Nardo, & Peterson, 2002), and to dismantle the most potent civil rights policies which provide this movement with its primary legal pillars. Through the interdisciplinary lenses of urban socioeconomics, restorative practices in education, and the study of organizational change, this chapter explores the history and culture of exclusionary practices in U.S. education and its diverse impacts on the experience of students of diverse racial, ethnic, and disability status, and national backgrounds in K–12 education. The critical analysis provided asserts that “kids love school” when school policies and practice promote the goal of students being authentically seen, heard, and engaged with by their teachers.

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The process laid out in this chapter leads from issue sensitization and awareness building as an important early step in the professional capacitybuilding process. However, as a result of leaders not employing appropriate adult education practices following this early step, teachers and administrators are left floundering—wrestling with feelings of personal guilt and other conflicting emotions. Many are overwhelmed to find that they have left the professional development workshop with little to no new skills or guidance as to the specific application of newly acquired knowledge. This essay further argues that deliberate thought, intentionality for change, and explicit expectations of measurable skills building, practice, and effectiveness must be an integral part of professional development forums, particularly in the introduction of Restorative Practices in education.

The Impact of History on Our Thinking About School As a starting point, the notion of kids “loving school” or “hating school” should be contextualized through a historical lens. The view in many cultures, that school is a privilege and should be something kids love, is arguably rooted in the cross-cultural practice where regular formal schooling was only afforded to the children who came from families of means (Basu & Tzannatos, 2003). Even then, schooling was restricted by gender and often birth order (Marrou, 1956; Basu & Tzannatos, 2003). Instructional forums reliably existed for passing on knowledge and skills that served the productivity and security of individual households and the community broadly. However, restrictive access to the linguistic fluency afforded by formal education is born out in the low levels of global literacy, which persisted well into the early 20th century (Kaestle, 1993). The expectation of kids loving school should also be scrutinized metacognitively with the understanding that for much of history, children worked alongside their parents, in preparation for assuming adult roles, including parenting, by their mid-teens (Marrou, 1956). The prevailing adult thought was that if children do not have to work as their parents do, and can delay assuming adult responsibilities, then kids should love the alternative, school. Kids “loving” or “hating” school is complex to deconstruct as there are multiple layers to conceive of before any investigation, analyses, or concrete understandings can be arrived at. The social and political history of slavery and of marginalization by race, ethnicity, gender, disability status, socioeconomic status, and national origin, barely hinted at in the opening

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paragraph, is but the tip of the iceberg. Below the surface lie the conflict between federal vs. state rights in guiding education policy and competing thought on instructional practice, curriculum design, curriculum content, assessment strategies, school funding, zoning, and teaching and leadership standards. Amid this fracas, student safety, socioemotional well-being, and academic performance, as default foci for school reform, have allowed other still unresolved debates to continue in echelons virtually disconnected from day-to-day teaching and learning, but affecting every classroom and the souls within them. Among other works, Willingham (2009), a scientist whose research on children’s cognitive development prioritizes story, emotion, memory, and enjoyment as necessary components to schooling, asserts that students do not like school because of the focus on thinking, devoid of context. He endeavored to equip K–12 teachers with the knowledge of how children cognitively experience school to inform and improve their teaching. In a rare critique of Willingham’s otherwise well-received work, Gray (2009), a psychologist, asserts that Willingham’s work avoids the central issue, that “school is prison.” Or, more accurately, schools are run like prisons. In a Psychology Today online blog, he contends, In both places you are stripped of your freedom and dignity. You are told exactly what you must do, and you are punished for failing to comply. Actually, in school you must spend more time doing exactly what you are told to do than is true in adult prisons, so in that sense school is worse than prison. (Gray, 2009) The present discussion will not take a full accounting of Gray’s argument as fact. His premise that students flourish when they have the “freedom to learn” complements my underlying assertion that students love school when they belong to a school community supported by policies and practices which value them and meet their needs. The intersection of Gray’s argument and mine is this: students have the freedom to learn when they are authentically seen, heard, and engaged by their teachers. The pursuant discussion unpacks this premise by emphasizing the importance of building authentic relationships with a diverse student population.

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Not Your Parents’ School Culture Over the last two decades of the 20th century, the national median age of primary and secondary school teachers increased from 36 to 43 (U.S. Department of Education, 2009). Since 2000, teachers ages 40 and over have accounted for 60% of the teacher population, compared with 40% in 1980. The increase in the median age of teachers varies by region. The Midwest, for example, saw the median age rise from 34 in 1980 to 45 in 2000, while the median age of teachers in the West increased by only five years during this period, from 37 to 42 (Skiba et al., 2002). The National Center for Education Statistics reports that 83% of U.S. public school teachers are White, upwards of 75% female, 66% above the age of 40, the average salary earned being an estimated $56,383, and the percentage of White students decreased to 50%. This convergence of change indicates that there is likely to be a social gap between many teachers and the very racially, culturally, and linguistically diverse student population which now accounts for 50% of enrolled students in public K–12 education. While the expected high number of older, White, middle-class female teachers  remains predictable, in some urban and rural districts, and certainly in specific schools, the percentage of low-income and minority students is estimated to be as high as 76–100% (Usher & Kober, 2013). The discussion supported herein does not, in any way, suggest that teachers from differing backgrounds cannot teach minority students effectively. The unequivocal assertion, however, is that teachers must be equipped with the sensitization, multiliteracies (Cope & Kalantzis, 2009), and Restorative Practice skills necessary to meet the demands of educating a diverse, increasingly minority and lower-income, 21st-century student population. An additionally sobering analysis of socioeconomic data of U.S. students by race and ethnicity finds that two thirds of African American and Latino/a students attend schools in which more than 50% of the students are from low-income families. Less than one third of Asian American students and one fourth of White students attend schools with poverty rates this high (Usher & Kober, 2013). Enrollment disparities in schools in which more than three fourths of the students are from low-income families are even starker. Usher and Kober (2013) further highlight that 35% of African American students, 37% of Latino/a students, and 27% of Native American students attend schools with this very high level of poverty, compared with just 13% of Asian American students and 5% of White students.

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The correlation between poverty and educational performance is well-established (Coleman Report, 1966). More recent research by Reardon (2013) traces the achievement gap between children from high- and lowincome families over the last 50 years and finds that it now far exceeds the gap between White and Black students. Data from the National Assessment of Educational Progress show that more than 40% of the variation in average reading scores and 46% of the variation in average math scores across states is associated with variation in child poverty rates (NCES, 2016). Deciphering how this correlation with poverty affects the educational performance and behaviors of our students is often short-circuited by the sheer overwhelming scope of additional dynamics at play. Additional dimensions of low-income communities include disproportionately high incarceration rates, high mortality rates, high percentage of single-motherheaded households, and a staggering variety of nutrition, health, and safety and security concerns—an avalanche of problems that would cause many a sensitive soul to cry out, “Please stop, this can’t all be true!” The data, however, and the daily lived experiences of our inner-city students evidence these correlates to be reliably true. For these reasons and many more, teachers and schools play an important role in student motivation, picking up where parents leave off or stepping in when parents are absent (Usher & Kober, 2013). Teachers, individually and collectively, affect student motivation and behavior through their interactions with students, choice of assignments and assessment, and the relationship-driven classroom climate they promote (Caspe, Lopez, Chu, & Weiss, 2011; Balfanz, Herzog, & MacIver, 2009). Higher educational attainment has been found to have positive intergenerational impacts on individual families and their communities (Reardon, 2013; Davis-Kean, 2005). The racial gap in school suspensions has grown considerably since 1973, especially for African American students. By virtue of K–12 suspension rates having at least doubled since the early 1970s for all non-White students, access to those benefits are increasingly restricted. In the 1970s, Black students had a suspension rate of about 6%— twice that of White students (about 3%). But as a result of zero-tolerance policies, Black children experienced a 9-point increase in suspension rates, from 6% in 1973 to 15% in 2006 (Skiba & Rausch, 2006; US Department of Education, 2016). The White suspension rate also grew but gained less than 2 percentage points during the same period. With evidence of crisis-

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level disproportionality in the discipline practices of suspension and expulsion affecting African Americans students generally, and African American male students in particular (Vaandering, 2010; Skiba et al., 2002), clearly more must be done. As a response, many school districts have borrowed from a number of social science disciplines, ironically giving credence to the assertion of Gray (2009) that school is prison—Restorative Practices—as a primary countervailing approach has its roots in the modern criminal justice system (Morris, 2005).

Restorative Practices and Its Discontents Restorative Practices evolved from restorative justice, a criminal justice approach that emphasizes “repairing the harm done to people and relationships rather than only punishing offenders” (Vaandering, 2010). The primary shift in thinking required of educators is in school discipline policies “being restorative” rather than just “punitive.” The Restorative Approach is inclusive of the following broad goals: • • • • • • • •

promote personal and shared accountability reduce criminality, violence, and bullying incentivize peaceful conflict resolution model prosocial behavior strengthen civil society provide effective leadership restore relationships repair harm

Restorative Practices also establish informal and formal structures which preempt wrongdoing, effectively de-escalate presenting behaviors before they become chronic, and redirect students to more prosocial and productive behaviors. The foundational structure of Restorative Practices is the building of a sense of community to reduce conflict and equip community members with the skills to de-escalate and resolve conflict (Hirschfield, 2008; Casella, 2003; Eglash, 1977). In the context of the U.S. system of criminal justice, restorative justice is not even a half century old. In the context of the U.S. system of education, Restorative Practices is even younger. In both cases, the process of fully integrating a system of Restorative Practices, the translation of theory into practice and widespread adoption, is

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persistently confounded by debate over funding and effectiveness. In short, without substantial designated and continuous funding, the perceived cost of implementation and training Restorative Practices skills is prohibitive. Further, many educators and policymakers lack confidence in the ability of Restorative Practices to effectively address negative societal behaviors. This disbelief is supported by Hobbes (2006) who promulgated the position that humans are brutish and predisposed to violence. In fact, in his influential work Leviathan, Hobbes identifies one primary role of government as the protection of citizens from each other. As such, and with taxes being the main source of funding for Restorative Practices initiatives, there is no wonder why taxpayers are less concerned about the well-being, rehabilitation, and successful reintegration of offenders than those perceived to be innocent. The community’s discretionary concern holds for school-age offenders and adult offenders alike. In school and in the proverbial real world, the default response to anti-social behavior is to exclude. Despite the evidence that punitive, exclusionary discipline predicts academic decline and future disruptive, risk-taking behaviors (Skiba et al., 2002), prevailing thought defaults to wanting kids who exhibit challenging or disruptive behavior to “know” and “feel” the consequences of their actions. These expectations are often accompanied by ardent assertions that children aren’t getting enough (or any) consequences and “I wouldn’t have gotten away with this type of behavior when I was in school.” Teachers who repeatedly use these types of statements are experiencing a cognitive dissonance, choosing to work in an environment with students whom they have difficulty appreciating, while longing for the mythical “good” students they remember through the skewed lens of their mind's eye, or that they know exist in someone else’s class, a different school, or another school district. Instead of building needed ability to teach their students, they return to the classroom ill-prepared to be the teachers their students need and deserve. This dynamic inevitably breeds reciprocal resentment (teacher-student, teacher-teacher, teacher-administration, and teacher-parent), and exacerbates much of the classroom disruption that could otherwise be quickly and effectively addressed without involving a teacher-dean, sentry, or administrator. Identifying that these dynamics are occurring is paramount to effectively addressing them. Restorative Practices calls for responsive educators to look beyond presenting behaviors and be equipped to intervene with an awareness of underlying causes.

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Building Restorative Practices Skills Broadly, Restorative Practices is a cadre of interventions that meet many needs of a student population. These practices include but go beyond mediation, which, in its various forms, is often identified as the extent of restoration. Mediation is but one Restorative Practice, which includes or combines the following: • • • •

Adult-led conflict resolution Peer-led conflict resolution Group conflict resolution Restorative Circles

Mediation must be recognized as an intervention to address a conflict that has already occurred or is occurring still. The forms of mediation above allow the students involved to come together with an objective third party who facilitates the process of conflict resolution and some measure of reconciliation. The unifying goal of each form is beginning, repairing, or enhancing the relationship to establish social capital between individuals and groups. For the purpose of this discussion, social capital refers to connections among individuals and groups and the expectations of reciprocity and trustworthiness they produce. Putnam (1993) identifies social capital as closely related to what some have called “civic virtue.” Putnam further delineates that social capital calls attention to the fact that civic virtue is most powerful when embedded in a network of reciprocal social relations. As such, the presence of high levels of social capital is negatively correlated with the likelihood of irreconcilable conflict. At the core of Restorative Practices (see Table 1) is the mandate for teachers and other adults to invest in building strong and authentic relationships with students and to promote the same among students. On this foundation of community, subtle changes in student appearance, behavior, and interactions can be identified early enough to preempt a full-blown conflict or severe disruption caused by the behavior of an individual community member. Once a particular intervention strategy is determined as appropriate, the first guiding question should be, “What is the capacity of the adults in the school to facilitate this strategy?” This point in the process is pivotal, primarily because so many districts have gone the route of outsourcing Restorative Practices from teachers to student support services. In so doing, structures

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Table 1. Selected Restorative Practices Skills

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Community building Social capital building Community outreach De-escalation Active listening Socioemotional skills building and coaching Behavioral lntervention Advocacy Strategic self-reflection Emotional intelligence Facilitating restorative pre-conferences and restorative conferences Circle keeping Building restorative skills in students Conflict resolution Culturally responsive pedagogy Conflict negotiation, resolution, and reconciliation Multiliteracy Intercultural communication Demonstrating authentic care Mediation Empathy Teacher-activism Mentoring Student empowerment Respecting diversity

parallel to teacher-student relationships are created, de-emphasizing the importance of building the restorative capacity of the adults whom students interact with most and who are their first line of intervention. On a basic level, not robustly investing in building Restorative pPractices ability in teachers impedes Restorative Practices uptake and effectiveness (perceived and actual), and will not catalyze desired improvements in behavior. Logically, if the student’s authentic relationship is with an adult other than the classroom teacher, his or her commitment to the classroom community will be compromised. In this case, the adult who is not the classroom teacher must leverage his or her relationship with the student, to reconnect

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the student to the classroom community, and ideally to the classroom teacher. But the step of reconnecting the student to the classroom community is often not explicitly understood between teachers and student support services personnel. Teachers view student support personnel as someone whom difficult students “go to,” as opposed to thinking, “My student goes to someone else because they don’t feel connected to me.” When building teachers’ Restorative Practices capacity is not adequately invested in, a language and cultural barrier is likely to exist between teachers and student support services personnel. For a variety of reasons, many adults may not naturally incline toward cultivating authentic relationships with students. However, familiarity with the structures of authentic relationships and strategic capacity building can equip all teachers with the ability to engage effectively with their students and the skills to use sound classroom interventions. Positive Messaging, Authentic Care, Intrusive Interventions (or High Touch Interventions) are relationship-building practices which foster a sense of belonging, validation, and the belief that teachers are invested in the well-being and success of their students. Most importantly, ordering matters! Without Positive Messaging, Authentic Care may come across as disingenuous. And without Authentic Care, interventions may come across as simply intrusive. At this point, it is appropriate to expand on these relationship-building strategies further. Positive Messaging is intentional communications, which includes non-verbal (body) language, active listening, and a teacher’s general demeanor. Verbal communication requires consideration for vocal intonation, the use of nondefensive language, and the repetition of the ideas and concerns expressed by the student. Teachers should exercise discretion and limit public criticism of students. Alternatively, teachers must find opportunities to praise students publicly. Getting to know one’s students requires sensitivity to those students who may be embarrassed by public praise initially. The goal of Positive Messaging is to validate a student and promote a sense of belonging. Authentic Care is a group of intentional practices, which include regular, consistent engagement and feedback; a supportive attitude; and acknowledgment of the student’s humanity. Being aware of differences in a student’s presence, demeanor, and behavior will give early indications that a student may be in crisis or is being adversely affected in some way. Authentic care is more often than not rewarded with a student’s commitment to

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their own academic success and personal accountability for their behavior in class. To facilitate these expressions of Authentic Care, teachers might arrive a few minutes early and leave a few minutes late to class, connect with students as individuals, and set aside time to engage with students outside of the scheduled instructional period. Instead of waiting for students, first, to recognize their own need and, then, to ask for help, teachers must responsively practice Intrusive Interventions, which are proactive engagements with students. Inquiring about the upcoming weekend or vacation plans can be an entry point for discussing how class performance or even an assignment grade can be improved by simply doing something fun that is already planned. Intrusive Interventions are tricky but essential to meeting the needs of our students, particularly those from low-income households. Teachers must be willing to offer support rather than waiting to be asked. For example, a teacher might offer an excited account of what he or she had for breakfast as a primer to inquiring what a student had for breakfast, a strategic way to find out if indeed a student ate at all. If not, the student acting distracted or disruptive on a given day may actually be manifesting hunger rather than a desire to challenge the teacher’s authority. Teachers must not be discouraged by initially unresponsive students or adopt a “prove yourself first” approach. In consideration of the trauma that too many of our students exhibit, we have to prove that we care before certain students allow themselves to trust us. We must check in regularly with students. When significant concerns or challenges occur, we should avoid simply directing students to services. Instead, facilitate a personal connection with a colleague, “a friend” in student support services, in the guidance office, or, after consulting with the student’s family, a responsible and trustworthy adult in the community. Relationship building is not rocket science. The key is consistency. If students experience teachers’ interest in authentically engaging with them as inconsistent, their trust will also be inconsistent. Relationship building is so foundational to Restorative Practices that a student who experiences great performance anxiety about a particular subject could still love the class, if the connection to the teacher and class community is strong. So much more could be said to unpack the skill of relationship building and demonstrating authentic care. In fact, for the purposes of effectiveness, each Restorative Practices skill should be exhaustively explored by district leaders, administrators, teachers, student support services personnel, and other

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adults in the school building. However, its success is determined by the leadership. The following discussion looks at how leadership can do this effectively.

Leadership for Organizational Change The discussion provided so far has examined students loving school as a function of whether adults in a school building authentically see, hear, and engage with students through Restorative Practices. As the approach may be a significant departure from existing practice, considerations for leading organizational change should include the following: • • • • • • • • •

History—Has school discipline been more punitive in nature? Organizational Culture—Are there existing practices which promote community, and the opportunity for offenders to make amends? Community Dynamic/Rapport—Is there a high level of social capital? Informal Groups—How well organized are subgroups in the organization? Level of Diversity—Does the organization already evidence to value difference? Restorative Practices Capacity—How proficient is the staff in individual Restorative Practices skills? Alignment of Policy and Practice—Are organizational practices aligned with existing policies? Is policy reform called for? Accountability Structures—How functional are the organizational structures of individual and shared accountability? Measures of Effectiveness—How is effectiveness measured? Are the measures reliable indicators for organizational effectiveness?

In consideration of the historical, cultural, and modern social impediments to Restorative Practices, nothing short of transformational leadership will bring it about (see Table 2). Transformational leaders serve as models of integrity and fairness, set clear goals, have high expectations, encourage others, provide support and recognition, stir the emotions of people, get them to look beyond their self-interest, and inspire them to reach for the improbable (Bass, 1985; Bass & Avolio, 1993). Further, a transformational leader goes beyond managing day-to-day operations and crafts strategies for taking the organization, department, work team, or classroom to improved quality, productivity, performance, and success.

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Table 2. The Steps for Effective Organizational Uptake of Restorative Practices



District

Building

Classroom

1. Identify or Establish Accountability Structures (Individual or Team) 2. Conduct Community Diversity Assessment 3. Identify Community Partners & Contract Service Providers 4. Develop Implementation and Communication Strategy a. Establish Pathways for Broad Community Engagement 5. Issue Sensitization & Awareness Building 6. Formative Assessment 7. Establish SMART Goals 8. Facilitated Skills Building 9. Formative Assessment 10. Monitoring, Ongoing Supports & Skills Coaching 11. Summative Assessment 12. Summarize Findings in an Analysis

1. Identify or Establish Accountability Structures (Individual or Team) 2. Conduct Building Diversity Assessment 3. Develop Implementation and Communication Strategy a. Engage with Families and other Community Stakeholders to Build Partnerships. b. Establish recurrent Forums for Community Building. c. Identify Opportunities to Participate and Be Present in the Broader Community. 4. Issue Sensitization & Awareness Building 5. Formative Assessment 6. Identify School Team Leaders 7. Establish SMART Goals 8. Facilitated Skills Building 9. Formative Assessment 10. Monitoring, Interventions, Ongoing Supports & Skills Coaching 11. Summative Assessment 12. Summarize Findings in an Analysis

1. Conduct Classroom Diversity Assessment 2. Engage with Families & Become Familiar with Community Resources 3. Establish Community Communication Strategy a. Community Building b. Identify Opportunities to Participate and Be Present in the Broader Community 4. Age-Appropriate Issue Sensitization & Awareness Building 5. Formative Assessment 6. Identify Student Leaders 7. Establish SMART Goals 8. Facilitated Skills Building 9. Formative Assessment 10. Monitoring, Interventions, Ongoing Supports & Skills Coaching 11. Summative Assessment 12. Summarize Findings in an Analysis

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Transformational leaders promote team building, motivation, and collaboration with employees at different levels of an organization to accomplish change for the better, while providing opportunities for personal and professional growth for each employee. The leader uses influence, social capital, and enthusiasm to motivate followers to work for the benefit of the organization. The leader further identifies the need for, and requires a change in, the existing organizational culture, cultivates a vision with subordinates, and incorporates the organizational mission. Most importantly, the transformational leader implements change with the dedication of his or her followers (Burns, 1978). In transformational leadership, the leader acts as a role model and as a motivator who offers vision, excitement, encouragement, morale, and satisfaction to the followers. The leader inspires his or her people to increase their abilities, build self-confidence, and promote innovation. Certainly, transformational leadership must be present at the district and building level to drive the adoption of Restorative Practices. Arguably, kids could not help loving school if their teachers, their primary school leaders, exhibited the type of transformational leadership just described. After our parents, our teachers are our primary role models and motivators. Effective teachers offer to us a vision of our success and inspire our excitement. They offer engaging lessons that encourage us, help keep morale up even when content is challenging, and teach us how to find satisfaction in being committed to always doing our best.

Conclusion The importance of intervention strategies and the value of having skilled restorative practitioners notwithstanding, the true value of Restorative Practices is that they establish a well-grounded community in the class to which students belong and to which they can be restored when circumstances require their exclusion. This essay has argued that (1) the introduction of Restorative Practices primarily as sensitization and awareness building; (2) a minimal Restorative Practice skills development or ongoing coaching/ skills assessment; (3) ill-defined measures of change, progress, and success; (4) the absence of reliable systems of accountability; and (5) entrenched resistance to change contributes to organizational inertia. The discussion highlighted how these organizational gaps continue to adversely affect student behavior, academic performance, and the possibility of a positive

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connection to school. Most critically, this work laid out how to unpack individual educator, leadership, and organizational capacity in regard to Restorative Practices. Emphasis was placed on deliberately growing Restorative Practices skills, and approaching Restorative Practices as a process. Implementing Restorative Practices in education requires recognizing issue sensitization and awareness building as important early steps in the professional capacity-building process. Intermediate capacity building requires the employment of appropriate adult education strategies in building new skills and providing specific guidance for application in educator practice. Advanced capacity building calls for establishing systems and processes for ongoing coaching and for assessing the degree to which Restorative Practices skills are being utilized in the classroom, in the school, and beyond. Finally, while student performance outcomes must remain a key measure of teacher effectiveness, this work argues that broad issue sensitization, skill building and coaching, accountability, and organizational cohesion must also be measured as the crucial hidden foundations of teacher effectiveness and a school experience that all kids will love.

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Caspe, M., Lopez, M. E., Chu, A., & Weiss, H. B. (2011). Teaching the teachers: Preparing educators to engage families for student achievement (Issue Brief). Cambridge, MA: Harvard Family Research Project & National PTA. Conzen, K. N., Gerber, D. A., Morawska, E., Pozzetta, G. E., & Vecoli, R. J. (1992). The invention of ethnicity: A perspective from the U.S.A. Journal of American Ethnic History, 12(1), 3–41. Cope, B., & Kalantzis, M. (2009). “Multiliteracies”: New literacies, new learning. Pedagogies: An International Journal, 4(3), 164–195. Davis-Kean, P. E. (2005). The influence of parent education and family income on child achievement: The indirect role of parental expectations and the home environment. Journal of Family Psychology, 19(2), 294–304. Eglash, A. (1977). Beyond restitution: Creative restitution. In J. Hudson & B. Galaway (Eds.), Restitution in criminal justice: A critical assessment of sanctions (pp. 91–99). Lexington, MA: Lexington Books. Gray, P. (2009, September 2). “Why Don’t Students Like School?” Well, Duhhhh… Children don’t like school because they love freedom [Weblog post]. Psychology Today. Retrieved from https://www.psychologytoday. com/blog/freedom-learn/200909/why-don-t-students-school-well-duhhhh Hirschfield, P. J. (2008). Preparing for prison? The criminalization of school discipline in the USA. Theoretical Criminology, (12)1, 79–101. Hobbes, T. (2006). Leviathan. London, UK: A&C Black. (Original work published 1651.) Kaestle, C. F. (1993). Literacy in the United States: Readers and reading since 1880. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Marrou, H. I. (1956). A history of education in antiquity. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Morris, E. W. (2005). Tuck in that shirt! Race, class, gender, and discipline in an urban school. Sociological Perspectives, (48)1, 25–48.

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Olneck, M. R. (1989). Americanization and the education of immigrants, 1900–1925: An analysis of symbolic action. American Journal of Education, 97(4), 398–423. Putnam, R. D. (1993). Making democracy work: Civic traditions in modern Italy. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press. Putnam, R. D. (1995). Bowling alone: America’s declining social capital. Journal of Democracy, 6(1), 65–78. Reardon, S. F. (2013). The widening income achievement gap. Educational Leadership, 70(8), 10–16. Skiba, R. J., Michael, R. S., Nardo, A. C., & Peterson, R. L. (2002). The color of discipline: Sources of racial and gender disproportionality in school punishment. Urban Review, 34(4), 317–342. Skiba, R. J., & Rausch, M. K. (2006). Zero tolerance, suspension, and expulsion: Questions of equity and effectiveness. In C. M. Evertson & C. S. Weinstein (Eds.), Handbook of classroom management: Research, practice, and contemporary issues (pp. 1063–1089). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Steinberg, S. (2014). The long view of the melting pot. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 37(5), 790–794. U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics. (2009). Characteristics of Public, Private, and Bureau of Indian Education Elementary and Secondary School Teachers in the United States: Results from the 2007–08 Schools and Staffing Survey. (NCES 2009-324). Digest of Education Statistics. Retrieved from https://nces.ed.gov/surveys/sass/tables/ sass1112_2013314_t1s_002.asp U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics. (2013). Estimated average annual salary of teachers in public elementary and secondary schools, by state: Selected years, 1969–70 through 2012–13. Digest of Education Statistics. Retrieved from https://nces.ed.gov/programs/ digest/d14/tables/dt14_211.60.asp

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U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics. (2016). The Condition of Education: Letter from the Commission. Retrieved from https://nces.ed.gov/programs/coe/indicator_cge.asp U.S. Department of Education, Office of Special Education and Rehabilitative Services. (2016). Racial and ethnic disparities in special education: A multiyear disproportionality analysis. Retrieved from https://www2.ed.gov/ programs/osepidea/618–data/LEA-racial-ethnic-disparities-tables/disproportionality-analysis-by-state-analysis-category.pdf Usher, A., & Kober, N. (2013). Student motivation: An overlooked piece of school reform. Education Digest, 78(5), 9–16. Vaandering, D. (2010). The significance of critical theory for restorative justice in education. Review of Education, Pedagogy, and Cultural Studies, 32(2), 145–176. Willingham, D. T. (2009). Why don’t students like school? A cognitive scientist answers questions about how the mind works and what it means for the classroom. Chicago, IL: John Wiley & Sons. Wood, J. L., Harris, F., III, & White, K. (2015). Teaching men of color in the community college: A guidebook. San Diego, CA: Montezuma Publishing. Zehr, H. (1990). Changing lenses: A new focus for crime and justice. Harrisburg, VA: Herald Press.

CONTRIBUTORS

Janine Bempechat is professor of psychology and human development at Wheelock College. She received her doctorate from the Harvard Graduate School of Education. Her research examines family, school, and cultural influences in the achievement motivation of low-income children and youth. She has studied K–12 in both public and Catholic school settings. A former National Academy of Education Spencer fellow, Dr. Bempechat’s research has been supported by the Spencer Foundation and the W. T. Grant Foundation. Robin Brandehoff is an educator, PhD student, and theatre arts practitioner driven to work alongside students and emerging teachers in communities facing conflict and marginalization using drama to educate, play, and liberate. Her research focuses on examining the oppressions and traumas of marginalized communities of color through mentorship, theatre education, and performance to support and educate gang-affiliated youth and the educational leaders who work with them. Griff Carter is a math teacher at James Denman Junior Middle School in San Francisco, California. He received his undergraduate degree in sociology from Occidental College in 2015. His senior thesis investigated patterns of college-aged male presentation and performativity on Facebook. His work provided the impetus for framing our present lines of inquiry aimed at understanding the means by which presentation and performativity are policed toward binary-based images within school settings. Griff is currently pursuing his master of arts in teaching degree at the University of San Francisco.

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Kathy Carter, PhD, is a professor in the Department of Teaching, Language, and Sociocultural Studies at the University of Arizona. Her scholarly inquiry, focused within the areas of teacher education and narrative methods, spans a 30-year period. Kathy has previously served as associate editor of teaching and teacher education and has also served on the editorial boards of the Elementary School Journal and the Journal of Teacher Education. Her present work, both in research and teaching, focuses on preparing teachers to teach towards goals of equity and social justice. Dr. Robert Chalwell Jr. serves as a resource for teachers and administrators in Restorative Practices and program development. He develops and facilitates capacity-building forums to support effective teaching and learning, culturally responsive organizational practice, school climate and culture, and student engagement and student leadership development. His background in political science, public sector administration, and youth development infuses his writing, research, and public speaking with the depth of issue sensitization necessary to guide effective organizational change. Rachelle Haroldson is a clinical assistant professor at the University of Wisconsin–River Falls. She teaches in and coordinates the STEMteach graduate teacher licensure program for career changers interested in becoming secondary science and math teachers.  Her research interests include formative assessment, culturally relevant pedagogy, and equity in STEM. Kalvin DaRonne Harvell, PhD, EdS, is a professor of sociology at Henry Ford College. In addition to his teaching duties, Dr. Harvell coordinates the Black Male and QUEENS Focus Group (an academic and social support network). Harvell currently serves as the president of the Michigan Sociological Association. Of all of his accomplishments and letters, the letters he is most proud and passionate about are D-A-D-D-Y! Lynn Hemmer is an associate professor of educational administration at Texas A&M University–Corpus Christi. Her areas of specialization are in policy implementation, educational equity for special populations, and the administration of programs for students at risk of school failure. Her professional background includes over fifteen years of experience in the K–12 public school setting as a teacher, school administrator, and district coordinator.

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Susan D. Holloway is a professor in the Graduate School of Education at the University of California, Berkeley. Her research takes a person-centered sociocultural perspective to the study of parents’ beliefs, practices, and sense of competence and well-being. Much  of her research has examined  the interactions between educators and parents from nondominant groups in the United States as well as other national contexts. Jeanne Carey Ingle is a new faculty member at Bridgewater State University after many years as an elementary teacher.  She teaches courses in elementary education, inequality in education, and educational technology. In addition, she works with Title I schools on effective technology integration. Her research includes using technology to improve student outcomes and using immersive technologies to prepare pre-service teachers. Dr. Ingle received her BA from Boston College and her PhD in education from the University of Connecticut. Margarita Jimenez-Silva is director of teacher education and an associate professor in the School of Education at the University of California Davis. She received her doctorate from the Harvard Graduate School of Education in Human Development and Psychology with an emphasis in language and culture. She is a former classroom teacher with experience working with culturally and linguistically diverse (CLD) students. Her research focuses on preparing teachers to work with CLD populations. Laura Ruth Johnson is an associate professor in the Department of Educational Technology, Research and Assessment in the College of Education at Northern Illinois University, DeKalb, Illinois. She teaches classes in qualitative research methods, including courses in ethnographic research, interview methods, and community-based and participatory action research. Her research focuses on civic/community engagement among Latinx and African American youth, with a focus on young parents and the development of advocacy efforts in the area of reproductive justice. In her research, she collaborates with various programs and initiatives serving youth in Chicago to develop mentorship programs and educational services; she also works with a young parent participatory action research team to conduct and disseminate research focusing on young parents’ experiences and perspectives. Her recently published book, Community-Based Qualitative Research: Ap-

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proaches for Education and the Social Sciences (Sage Publications), includes insights gained from a graduate-level research course she regularly teaches in the Humboldt Park community of Chicago. Steven P. Jones is a professor in the College of Education at Missouri State University and executive director of the Academy for Educational Studies. He is author of Blame Teachers: The Emotional Reasons for Educational Reform—a book that investigates how and why so many people try to justify educational change by deriding the efforts and effectiveness of our public school teachers. A former high school English teacher in Jefferson County, Colorado, Jones received his BA in English from the University of Denver, his MA in educational administration from the University of Colorado (Boulder), and his PhD in curriculum and instruction from the University of Chicago. Jin Li, EdD, is currently professor of education and human development at Brown University. Prior to joining the faculty at Brown, Li was a Fellow at the Berggruen Philosophy and Culture Center in Los Angeles, California, from 2015 to 2017 and at the Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences at Stanford University in 2015–2016. In 2016–2017, Dr. Li was at Schwarzman College, Tsinghua University, China. Parisa A. Meymand is a PhD student in urban education at UW-Milwaukee, with a concentration in curriculum and instruction and a dissertation focus on the portrayal of Iranians in U.S. textbooks. Meymand teaches AP Human Geography and also a course in Ethnic Geographies at St. Norbert College. Parisa lives with her husband in Kenosha County, Wisconsin, where she also teaches her two daughters to value diversity and cherish their Persian heritage. Jesse Moya is an assistant professor of education at Siena College. His research focuses on the factors that promote academic and civic engagement across learning spaces, from the classroom to community-based youth activism organizations. He previously taught high school in Los Angeles and directed academic and civic outreach programs in East Palo Alto, California. He has a BA from Stanford University and an MA and PhD in education from UCLA.

Contributors

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Eréndira Rueda is an associate professor of sociology at Vassar College. She is a UC ACCORD Fellow and a Spencer Foundation Fellow. Her primary areas of research and teaching are the sociology of education, immigration, and childhoods. She is also founder and director of the Transitions Research Project, a participatory action research project that trains first generation and low-income undergraduates to study the transition and adjustment experiences of first-generation and low-income students at small liberal arts colleges. Rob Schulze, EdD, is assistant professor for special education, program director for Inclusive Childhood Education, and chair of the  Education Department at Northern Vermont University  in Johnson, Vermont. Dr. Schulze has researched and presented on special education leadership, charter schools, and teacher preparation for special education. Eric C. Sheffield is professor and department chair of Educational Studies at Western Illinois University in Macomb. He is also founding editor of the Academy for Educational Studies’ peer-reviewed journal, Critical Questions in Education. A former English teacher in Putnam County, Florida, Sheffield received his BA in philosophy from Illinois College, and his MEd and PhD from the University of Florida. De’Andre L. Shepard is an assistant professor in the Education Department at the University of Michigan, Flint. Along with a PhD in educational leadership from Oakland University, Dr. Shepard holds a school leadership certificate from Harvard Graduate School of Education. His research projects include the professional development needs of practicing teachers in inclusive settings, examining the impact on bullying experiences of middle school students, and exploring teaching and leadership through the lens of athletics and sports. Kathleen Jablon Stoehr, PhD is an assistant professor in the Department of Education at Santa Clara University. Her research interests focus on preservice and early career teachers’ processes and understandings of learning to teach. She explores equity and social justice issues of language, race, culture, and gender that occur in the classroom. She has published in the Journal of Teacher Education, Journal of Mathematics Teacher Education, Journal of Urban Mathematics Education, and ZDM Mathematics Education.

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Amanda Sugimoto, PhD, is an assistant professor in the Curriculum and Instruction Department at Portland State University. Her research focuses on preparing general classroom teachers to work with English learners. In her research, she explores issues related to language, culture, and equity in the classroom. Her most recent work has been published in Teaching and Teacher Education and Mathematics Teaching in the Middle School. Michael Watson is currently the principal of Dahlstrom Middle School in Hays CISD, Texas. Prior to taking over at DMS, Watson served as the principal at Live Oak Academy, the alternative school of choice for Hays CISD. Under his direction the number of students and graduates increased significantly. Overall, Watson has 13 years of experience in alternative education with three school districts. He earned his doctorate in education leadership from Texas A&M University–Corpus Christi in 2014.