Teaching Interdependence through Love and Compassion

To illustrate the role of a bodhisattva, there is a Buddhist story that describes four weary travelers suffering from hunger and thirst in the desert.  After days of wandering, they come upon a high wall of a compound.   One of the four scales the wall, looks over, gives a cry of delight, and jumps over.  The second and third travelers subsequently climb the wall, peer over, shout with delight, and jump over.  When the fourth traveler gets to the top of the wall, he looks over and sees a lush oasis of flowering fruit trees, sparkling running water, and cool shade.  He, too, wants to jump over the wall and join the others but instead returns to the desert to escort other lost travelers to the oasis.   Likewise, Sean O’Laoire describes a track event during the Special Olympics in which a runner falls halfway through the race.  All the other runners spontaneously stop and help the fallen runner get up.  They then join arms and all cross the finish line together.  The message in both stories is the importance of everyone making it, of everyone reaching the goal.

I have always stressed the importance of interdependence within my musical ensembles. That is, I explicitly teach students that all members of the ensemble are important to the group, and that all rely on each member to do his/her job in order for the group to perform successfully.  In his understanding of community, Dewey stresses the importance of social connection and interdependence of individuals in stating that the “power to grow depends upon the need for others” (1), and that an over-emphasis on individualism and self-sufficiency results in “an illusion of being really able to stand and act alone” (2).  John-Steiner (3) also emphasizes the importance of interdependence from a cognitive standpoint, suggesting that ideas are developed not just within the individual but also through collaboration with others.  It is through this dynamic interdependence of social and individual processes that knowledge is constructed and artistic forms are shaped.

Lately, though, I have begun to view the concept of interdependence from a different perspective  – as more than an emphasis on the collective or on the dynamic interplay between social and individual processes.   On a deeper level, I think it’s related to the going back to escort others to the oasis, the finish line, or whatever the goal.  In contemplating this idea, I realize a student must first be able to temporarily suspend or push aside his/her ego (i.e., the I-me-mine, competitive what’s-in-it-for-me mentality) in order to focus on the needs of others.  That is a difficult thing to do, not only for children but also for many adults.   In order to accomplish this, one must first develop love and compassion, which, in turn, are taught both implicitly and explicitly.  This isn’t a feel-good, Pollyanna perspective – I am not suggesting that love, compassion, and shifts from ego happen automatically just because students are in a musical ensemble together.  I am suggesting that, as teachers, we can help foster these qualities and understandings as an integral part of the ensemble experience through explicit modeling and discussion.  Ensembles already lend themselves to interdependence, so why not dig a bit deeper?   In this way, musical ensembles have the potential to move students not only to understand interdependence but also to experience a more profound aspect of interdependence.

So, what is the point of this discussion of musical ensembles?  In a small yet potentially powerful way, the manner in which we teach our students about ensemble work may influence society in some way.  For instance, we are currently in the worst economic crash since the Great Depression.  Do we approach the situation led by ego, which says there are not enough resources to go around so I must only take care of myself/my family/my “kind” and the rest be damned?  Or do we take the view that we are all in this mess together and must take measures to ensure that all of us get out of it together?   Do we want a society of selfishness or selflessness?  Maybe the seed of interdependence planted through love and compassion in young students via ensemble experiences will take root and grow.  Maybe those students will be able to further nurture those lessons and create a more compassionate society for all.  Maybe the lessons we teach today will help our students have “the courage to climb back down on the wrong side of the wall and go back into the desert” or “risk not winning the race in order to come back to help someone” (4).  Maybe it is pure idealism.

What’s the harm in trying?

(1) Dewey, J. (1916/1985).  Democracy and education. Southern Illinois University Press (p. 57).

(2) Ibid. (p. 49).

(3) John-Steiner, V. (2000).  Creative collaboration. Oxford: University Press.

(4) O’Laoire, S. (2003).  Spirits in spacesuits: A manual for everyday mystics. Canada: Trafford Publishing (p. 133).

Spirituality, Mysticism, and Arts Education

Recently, a colleague and I had a discussion about the euphoria we sometimes experience when musicking (the social interaction of engaging in music).  Joyce teaches music at the secondary level and has been involved in choral ensembles for years.  In fact, she was soon to participate in an upcoming choral event in her hometown in the Midwest later in the month and was bubbling with excitement, anticipating the “high” of pure joy she would experience. 

I described that “high” as part of my Ph.D. dissertation, using other researchers’ terminology:  “interactional synchrony” and “group flow” (Sawyer); “grooving” or “playing good time with somebody” (Monson).  These are terms to describe the emotional response and state of consciousness present when a group of artists is performing at its peak; when each member can anticipate what other performers will do before they do it; when everything flows effortlessly.

In the years since my dissertation, I have gradually shifted my thinking and have reconsidered what Sawyer, Monson, and others have described.   I now see their descriptions and analyses of the phenomenon as superficial and external to the experience itself.  In the Tao Te Ching there is the saying,  “He who knows does not speak; he who speaks does not know.”  My interpretation is that an individual can intimately experience the phenomenon which is a deep knowing; however, the experience itself is so ineffable that once you try to explain or describe in words, it loses meaning and cheapens the experience.   Therefore, I think researchers (or anyone) can only point to the experience peripherally or metaphorically but cannot truly say what it is.

In my musing, I was reminded of a comment made by a member of my dissertation committee during my oral defense – a comment that now comes to bear on my thinking.  At the tome’s conclusion I wrote:

“I think this study shows that engaging in the arts is about learning to be wide-awake, to imagine possibilities, and to break through the cotton wool of daily life.  Engagement with the arts is about trying on new identities and exerting a sense of agency, and learning how to create through collaboration and negotiation with others.  It is about being human.  In effect, it is the ultimate experience”(p. 330). 

One of the committee professors pronounced that he disagreed with the last sentence.  In his estimation I’d gotten it wrong – the ultimate experience according to him was mysticism.  At the time I was baffled and speechless – it was certainly not a comment I had anticipated, which only furthered my nervousness – until the other committee members chuckled and brushed his comment aside. 

Though the comment was received as a joke by the other professors in the room, it held my curiosity and intrigue.  Mysticism is a personal experience of or union with a supreme being, i.e., a joining of individual spirit with universal spirit.  Through the evolution of my own spiritual quest since that time, I have begun to reframe my understanding of the arts experience and that phenomenon of euphoria we often encounter when musicking.  In other words, I am seriously considering the idea of mysticism that the professor threw out during my oral defense.

Csikszentmihalyi  describes his concept of “flow” as a state of heightened consciousness that occurs in individuals during peak experiences.   Sawyer’s concept of “group flow” involves the entire group as a collective unit rather than within an individual performer.  In both cases, I am beginning to think that during those moments of “flow” there is not just a heightened consciousness but also a shift in consciousness.  That is to say, I am suggesting that during those instances of musicking when we are completely in tune with the music and each other, the ego (i.e., I, me, mine) is pushed aside and spirit is allowed through.  During those moments, time seems to stand still and there is no separation, only complete union; the divine in each of us is connecting not only to Source (universal spirit, God, Creator, Great Mystery, Divine Feminine, etc.) but also to the divine in others through interconnectedness and compassion.  In those moments, we experience deep knowing which is too ineffable for words.  In this way, all the performing and studio arts have the potential of being a spiritual and even a mystical experience.  Additionally, the phenomenon is not all that elusive – my students on the elementary level have experienced it for themselves though they cannot always articulate it.  The closest they have come are the following quotes by former students written in their journals:

“It feels like I am flying when I dance with my heart and soul.”

“When I’m singing it makes me feel better in my heart.  And the same thing dancing.”

“I feel like I want to come out of my shell and shine.”

Once again, an experience of deep knowing which can only be described peripherally or metaphorically, as these young students demonstrate in their writing.

So how does this “slippery slope” of spirituality fit into arts education?  And what effect does discussing spirituality in the context of education have on my credibility as an educator or as an educational researcher?  It is a risk, but one I think important to take.  I am not referring to religion or faith, which are institutional, dogmatic, and creedal and have no business in public education.  And I am certainly not advocating the teaching of divinity in schools. We talk a lot about educating the “whole child” but in reality we focus exclusively on the development of the mind (and in the current climate of reform, I argue it is not even the whole mind).  However, the word “education” derives from the Latin educere, meaning to draw out that which is within, to bring to light what is hidden.  Conversely, the word “instruction” means to infuse, to put something in that is lacking, i.e., imparting of knowledge and information.  Therefore, educate is from within, instruct is from without.

In arts education, instruction of skill development and conceptual understanding are important and crucial (as in any discipline).  However, we must not miss the forest for the trees.  That is, we must continually ask ourselves what is the ultimate purpose of the arts in education?  Why are we teaching those skills and concepts presented in the curriculum?  Is the goal simply one of proficiency?  Or is it one of drawing out the inner spirit and wisdom?  Personally, I think the purpose of the arts in education is for enabling individuals to connect on a deeply human and spiritual level, to experience a deep knowing which words cannot describe.  And that is where I think spirituality fits in arts education – at the center.

Who knows?  Maybe the professor on my dissertation committee knew more than the rest of us imagined.

Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990).  Flow: The psychology of optimal experience.  New York: HarperCollins Publishers.

Monson, I. (1996). Saying something: Jazz improvisation and interaction.  Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Sawyer, R.K. (2003).  Group creativity: Music, theater, collaboration.  New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

Developing Figurative Thinking

During the four months since my last post, I have been thinking about the format of this blog.  A colleague commented that he didn’t have time to read the last posting when he received the e-mail notification.  He didn’t bother clicking on the link, knowing the essay would require a chunk of time he did not have available to read and ponder.  I guess blog entries should be succinct – people are generally too busy for lengthy musings.  Therefore, I shall shorten my postings.  Hopefully, individuals will have more time to read and then engage in meaningful dialogue via the comments section of each post.

A recurring theme this past school year was how to move students from literal thinking to metaphorical or figurative thinking.  This year, Tom and I collaborated on a poetry workshop project with second graders.  After three months of weekly mini-lessons and writing, the students had not made significant progress.  Initially, Tom and I attributed the problem to a lack of rich and varied vocabulary, so Tom charged us with becoming “detectives of words” as a way of building more interesting word choices.  We took them outside to develop sensory perception; we created sound pieces using musical instruments to enhance poems and develop aesthetic awareness; we had them look imaginatively at things using “a different lens.”  Still they struggled. 

In February, we gleaned a bit of insight into the children’s thinking.  On the overhead projector, Tom put the following poem by Zoe Ryder White:

Pencil Sharpener

I think there are a hundred bees

inside the pencil sharpener

and they buzz

and buzz

and buzz

until my point

is sharp!

Tom:  What did the author do to make a picture in your mind?

Jessica:  Mr. Nolan, are there real bees in that?  I don’t get it.

Tom:  Remember, we’re looking at things in different ways, with different lenses. [he took electric pencil sharpener and sharpened two pencils]

Arisa:  It sounds like the buzzing of a bee.

Tom:  Close your eyes and listen.  Can you imagine it sounds like that?

Addison:  It doesn’t make sense.

Tom:  It’s poetry.

Jessica’s and Addison’s comments are quite telling here, illustrating the key to our frustration and the students’ confusion.  Jessica and Addison are looking at things literally rather than figuratively; they seem to be having difficulty activating imagination, unable to open themselves to a more playful way of looking at things. 

Likewise, I encountered the same literal thinking with my West African drumming/dancing ensemble.  In past years at Flynn, I always gave the students poems to interpret for improvising movement and rhythms.  The students created beautiful original dances.  This first year at Veazie, the students struggled to interpret the poems figuratively.  On reflection, I believe I never encountered this problem at Flynn because I always had one or two students who "naturally" were able to create improvised movements without interpreting the text so literally (I say "naturally" because they must have had prior experiences on which they could draw, unknown to me).  Those students taught the others through demonstration – I never had to explicitly teach the skill. Therefore, the students and I struggled this year.   

Through numerous conversations, Tom and I have realized the problem is not confined to the music room or poetry workshop.  We began to see a pervasiveness of literal thinking (and lack of figurative thinking) throughout the curriculum.   Students haven’t had opportunities to think metaphorically; to look imaginatively with “a different lens”; to engage “playfully” with language; to interpret poetry.   With an emphasis on test scores, our students have only experienced teacher-directed instruction and “right answers.”   Further, I suggest our students have grown to rely on authority figures for thinking itself, preferring to be told what to think.

So the question remains: how do we move students from literal interpretation to metaphorical or figurative thinking?

Supplemental Educational Services Threaten Opera Project

Tom and I had just taken attendance during our second after-school opera rehearsal.   Unexpectedly, five students informed us that they could no longer participate in the opera project due to after-school tutoring programs for which their parents had signed up months ago.  Quickly I recapped the process leading up to that moment:  approximately eighty third-, fourth-, and fifth-grade students had applied to the opera project in November; we held auditions for all the various jobs in December; the twenty-one chosen students were informed of their acceptance prior to Christmas break; rehearsals began in January immediately following the break.  Furthermore, parents had signed consent forms at each step in the process, committing to the project.  And now this.  Tom and I looked at each other with horror – supplemental educational services (SES) were threatening nearly a quarter of our newly formed opera company.  What now?

At the time, I had only a vague notion of what SES were.  For a couple of years, I knew there was after-school tutoring going on in my previous buildings; however, I never bothered to inquire beyond that fact.  Now, after-school tutoring was seriously impinging on the after-school opera project and I needed to find out more information.  Talking to the principal and other teachers at the school, and going online to educate myself, I began to piece together what exactly the SES were and what they had to offer.  The following is background information on AYP and a brief description of what I ascertained.

Title I, Part A of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965 (ESEA), as reauthorized by the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001 (NCLB), calls for parents of eligible students attending Title I schools that have not made “adequate yearly progress” (AYP) for three years to be given opportunities and choices to help their children achieve at high levels.  In order to make AYP, a school has to achieve certain targets on standardized test scores including other factors such as attendance (graduation rates for high schools).  The more diverse the student population the more targets the school must meet.  In other words, at my current elementary school we have black, Asian, white, Latino, and Native American students; special education students and English language learners.  Each category or subgroup must meet the minimum annual target for meeting or exceeding standards for reading and mathematics and attendance.   For urban districts such as Providence, student diversity and high rates of mobility make meeting annual growth targets difficult.  Conversely, suburban districts with less diversity and student mobility have fewer targets to meet.  However, in the eyes of the State (and the news media that report the findings), all public schools are judged equally on making AYP, regardless of the number of targets.  If a school does not make AYP for two consecutive years, it is placed in “choice” school improvement status, meaning the school develops an improvement plan and provides students the option to transfer to another school with transportation to get there.  If a school does not make AYP for three consecutive years, it is moved to “supplemental services” school improvement status – in addition to “choice” requirements, the school must use Title I funds to support students by providing tutoring from a State-approved supplemental educational services (SES) provider.  The purpose of SES is to increase the academic achievement of students from low-income families attending low-performing schools.

NCLB mandates that 20% of a district’s Title I funds be allocated for SES.  For Providence in the 2011-2012 school year, that equals $4,402,401.  The principal informed me that the SES providers receive $60 per hour per child (4 hours/week) for these services.  Clearly, the federally mandated creation of supplemental educational services is a lucrative endeavor for approved providers.  By law, SES providers can be any public or private entity that meets the criteria set by the State Educational Agency (SEA).  In the case of Rhode Island, the SEA is the Rhode Island Department of Education (RIDE).   A potential provider can be an individual or group of individuals, charter and private schools, educational service agencies, institutions of higher education, faith-based organizations and other community-based organizations, and business groups.  Looking at the list of State approved SES providers in Rhode Island, I find eleven for-profit companies (one of which claims on the website to be “in the business of education” which I think is quite telling), one non-profit, one charter school, one private school, one community centre, and two public school districts.  Another company appears to be two local individuals who offer tutoring services – I could glean no further information from their website.

           

Perusing the criteria set out by the State for an entity to be an SES, it is obvious the providers are not held to the same standards as the low-performing public schools.  The SES provider must offer instruction aligned with State academic standards but not necessarily the curriculum used in the district.  In fact, the State’s wording of the provider’s instructional practices and program is vague:  “In approving an SES provider, an SEA [the State] may also want to consider the following questions…”  In effect, a provider is afforded a great deal of freedom regarding instructional program and design.  The provider is also allowed a great deal of latitude regarding assessing student academic growth.  Whereas, the public school is held accountable by the State’s standardized measure (NECAP), SES providers devise their own assessment tools, i.e., pre-test/post-test to show student gains.  By mandating this supplementary tutoring by outside sources, the government is, in effect, saying the public school is not doing a good job and therefore must look elsewhere to increase student achievement.  If that is the case, then the SES providers should be held accountable on the same measures that the schools themselves are judged.  It seems to me the State should be evaluating SES providers on how well their interventions improve student performance on the NECAP, since that is how the State measures the school’s performance in making AYP.  

Another area in which SES providers are not held to the same standards as public schools is in the staff hired to tutor the students.  The tutors themselves do not have to meet the “highly qualified” teacher requirements required of public schools (Sections 1119 and 9101(23) of the ESEA).  In fact, regulations specifically prohibit a State from requiring a provider to hire only staff that meet these requirements.  One of the SES providers that used to operate in my current school is associated with a local university.  The hired tutors are undergraduate students from the university (but not elementary education majors).  According to teachers and the principal, the tutors often showed late to the school and had no sense of order or discipline with the students.  In the opinion of one teacher, the tutors acted as though they wanted to be the students’ “friends.”  Consequently, there was much mayhem and running around during those tutoring sessions.  I looked at the completed proposal to the State requesting to offer SES and noted that the university-based provider claims to offer in-depth coordination and communication with students’ classroom teachers and parents regarding students’ progress.  When I inquired, the teachers recalled no such communication with the tutors.  The principal could only voice her complaints to the district, which presumably passed them on to the State regarding the provider.  Clearly the program offered by the provider was ineffective; however, the principal’s hands were tied due to regulations that state: “with regard to determining whether a provider has a demonstrated record of effectiveness, an LEA (local district) may not make such a determination for the purposes of contracting and working with State-approved providers.  Nor may [a district] refuse to permit a State-approved provider to serve students in the [district] because the [district] disagrees with the provider’s program design.”  In other words, the district has no authority regarding SES providers.  Fortunately, that particular SES provider no longer operates at the school (although, they continue to be on the State-approved list for Rhode Island).  Of course, not all tutors are as slipshod as those university students (in fact, the companies currently operating at the school have hired teachers and teacher assistants from the building); however, the fact remains that SES providers are not held to the same standards as the public schools.

My final criticism of SES is that, not only are for-profit companies and private schools reaping the benefits of Title I funds, but also that faith-based organizations (FBO) are eligible to be SES providers.  A colleague recently commented that she didn’t care who did the tutoring so long as “they did a good job” and “made a difference” for the students involved.  I understand her sentiment; however, I still have a problem with federal funds for public education supporting a faith-based organization.  As I found out, the SES business is quite a profitable enterprise for any State-approved provider.  Though there are no FBO’s on the current (2011-2012) Rhode Island Department of Education list of Approved Supplemental Educational Services Providers, there is the possibility that one could be approved in the future.  The current climate in which fundamentalist, conservative church groups have exerted extensive political power in recent years gives me pause when contemplating awarding Title I monies to FBO’s.  It strikes me as yet another step toward dismantling and privatizing public education in this country.  So I think we should care who is providing the tutoring. 

Meanwhile, Tom and I were able to convince most of the five students (and their parents) to compromise and attend one night of tutoring and two of opera rehearsals.  Unfortunately, we lost one student because it was more convenient for the parents to have the child involved in the tutoring – the tutoring program provided bus transportation to her house whereas our program did not.  Of course, I am biased but I truly believe what the students are learning through the opera project is much more valuable than the tutoring programs.  Additionally, Tom and I do not tap into the 20% Title I funds either – we volunteer our four hours/week working with students!

More information can be found in great detail at the Rhode Island Department of Education website: http://www.ride.ri.gov/OSCAS/Title1/Title1_SES.aspx

US Department of Education: http://www2.ed.gov/admins/comm/suppsvcs/sesprograms/index.html

The National Coalition for Parent Involvement for Education: http://www.ncpie.org/nclbaction/supp_edu_services.html

and a host of other sites on the web. 

Wide-Awakeness

On a midmorning in late September, I sit alone in the backyard, noticing what there is to be noticed:

Prickling on my cheeks and arms,

the sun warms my skin.

A lone cricket calls to another,

                 cree-cree, cree-cree, cree-cree.

In the distance a squirrel chatters angrily,

                 scra-a-a-aw, scritch scratch scritch.

A sudden whoosh of wind brings

                 rustling of leaves and a jingle-jangle chorus of chimes.

Freshly cut grass, I inhale deeply,

                 enjoying a few moments of tranquility.

We learn about the world through our senses, yet most of us ignore sensory awareness, often rushing through the present, paying little attention to what is happening in the moment.  Years ago as a classroom teacher conducting writing and poetry workshops, I noticed most students lacked the necessary sensory awareness needed for good writing – poetry or prose.  More important, they weren’t experiencing the wide-awakeness Maxine Greene talks about – they weren’t noticing what there was to be noticed, thereby perceiving little of the world around them. 

Schooling emphasizes the processes of recognition and classification; children are taught to categorize objects and experiences rather than to perceive and explore distinctive qualities.  For instance, this is a maple tree, an oak tree, an apple tree, etc.  Whilst categorizing (labeling) is crucial, it does not allow for exploration of the individuality of objects and events which, in turn, limits what can be known about them (1).  Through perception, we realize that no two maple trees (or oak trees, etc.) are the same.  As Dewey (2) explains, “ recognition is perception arrested before it has a chance to develop freely.  In recognition there is a beginning of an act of perception.  But this beginning is not allowed to serve the development of a full perception of the thing recognized.  It is arrested at the point where it will serve some other purpose, as we recognize a man on the street in order to greet or to avoid him, not so as to see him for the sake of seeing what is there.”  In short, perception ceases when recognition begins (3), thereby inhibiting further exploration of distinctive features and qualities.

Based on my observations, I concluded that my students needed guidance and explicit instruction in how to perceive, how to notice, how to become aware of the aesthetic qualities around them.  As Greene (4) urges, educators must offer “occasions for releasing as many young people as possible to see and to listen, to make and to play.  It remains important to work for wide-awakeness, to help our students focus their attention, to provoke them to greater perceptual acuity.”  As a result, sensory awareness became part of the curriculum in my classroom. 

Flynn Elementary had been built around a secluded, terraced courtyard – a wooded retreat within the inner-city.  It not only contained a variety of trees and shrubbery but also stone sculptures from a time when local artists had been artists-in-residence at the school.  Over the years, students and teachers had contributed assorted bulbs and perennials to the landscape.  I often took my class of fifth-graders to the courtyard during writing/poetry workshop time to develop sensory awareness.  Equipped with notebooks and pencils, we would wander in silence, noticing what there was to be noticed.  The activity would last approximately five to ten minutes and was always guided.  For instance, the focus might be:  Describe the snow.  Is it a crunchy, crusty snow that’s been around for a day or more?  Is it powdery, dry snow that falls apart when you try to form a snowball?  How does it feel and sound under your feet?  What does snow smell like before the first flakes fall?  Describe the scent of wet leaves on the ground in autumn, or the scent of a spring rain after a dry spell.  How does a leaf fall from a tree?  Sometimes we would spend the time quietly observing the movements of an insect, squirrel, or bird.  From an academic perspective, those experiences built background knowledge and rich vocabulary, which we then incorporated into our writing pieces.  From an artistic perspective, the experiences helped the children observe closely and discover the aesthetic qualities around them – in effect, to become wide-awake to the world.

Developing wide-awakeness takes time, quiet time to still the body and mind, and be open to phenomena without judging.  Maxine Greene “cannot stress often enough the importance of taking time and allowing for moments of stillness, of personal encounter, of coming to know” (5).  In the current educational climate, emphasis is placed on efficiency in teaching and learning, on finding “what works” and applying it to all, as though there were a single best, standardized way to educate.  This effort to standardize educational outcomes is based on the assumption that “efficient and effective systems can be designed that will take luck out of the educational process” (6).  The result, especially in urban districts, is highly prescriptive curricula that do not allow for in-depth exploration of subject matter or professional judgment in crafting lessons to fit the particular needs and interests of students.  Our students are forced to move from one activity to another rapidly, acquiring only superficial skills and a cursory understanding of concepts.  At the elementary level, the emphasis on efficiency and raising test scores has often led to the elimination of field trips, recess, and even bathroom breaks.  There is no time in the schedule to allow for “moments of stillness,” to notice what there is to be noticed, to become wide-awake to the world.

“When children are encouraged not simply to perform correctly, to demonstrate sets of skills or competencies, but to perceive and name dimensions of their lived worlds, they are far more likely to pose the questions in which authentic learning begins” (7).  In the race toward efficiency, standardization, and improvement of test scores, I believe we have lost sight of the children and of education itself.  What does that hold for the future? 

(1)  Eisner, E.W. (1998).  The kind of schools we need: Personal essays. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.

(2)  Dewey, J. (1934).  Art as experience.  NY: Perigee Books (p. 52).

(3) Eisner, E.W. (1998).  The kind of schools we need: Personal essays. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.

(4)  Greene, M. (2001).  Variations on a blue guitar:  The Lincoln Center Institute lectures on aesthetic education.  NY: Teachers College Press (p. 62).

(5)  Ibid. (p. 60).

(6)  Eisner, E.W. (1998).  The kind of schools we need: Personal essays. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann (p. 83).

(7) Greene, M. (2001).  Variations on a blue guitar:  The Lincoln Center Institute lectures on aesthetic education.  NY: Teachers College Press (p. 62).

You Never Know

Emmanuel brought urban culture into the classroom like no other student had ever done before (or since).  He was a tall, thin, handsome, black boy who entered the school late in September 2005.  The language of the street flowed effortlessly from his lips; ‘bling,’ ‘grille,’ and ‘Bentley’ were embedded in the discourse so naturally.   His glib manner belied his age of ten years.  And though he was new to the school, he fit in with the badass boys in his fifth-grade class – they idolized him, always vying for his attention.  Students at the elementary level often imitate an urban, ‘ghetto’ style of dress (e.g., loose, baggy trousers hanging past the hips, oversized tee shirts, do-rags hanging from pants pockets) and ‘gangsta’-like gestures (e.g., stylized movements of the head, arms, and hands with a distinctive swagger).  However, none has ever been able to keep up the persona continuously.   At times during the school day, the façade tends to crumble revealing a vulnerable child underneath.  Emmanuel, on the other hand, was always ‘cool.’   I never detected so much as a crack in Emmanuel’s smooth, street-wise façade – until December of that year.

In December I described the next ensembles that I would be offering during the second semester:  West African Drumming/Dancing and the Javanese Gamelan/Wayang Kulit (‘wayang kulit’ are shadow puppets), explaining that students could apply for one job in either ensemble.  Emmanuel told me that he wanted to apply for the wayang kulit because he had a puppet at home he had made in his previous school.  His classmates snickered at his remark, which did not seem to outwardly bother him.  My initial thought was that he was simply being funny, trying to get attention in class.  However, during the second week of December, he brought a well-crafted stick puppet to music class to show me.  It had the head of a beagle dog made from papier mâché, painted white with a glossy sheen.  The ears were made of black cloth, which hung evenly on either side of the head.  The eyes and nose were painted black.  A miniature blue and white football jersey partially hid the wooden dowel attached to the base of the head.  I asked him how he had made it, and he described the process in great detail.  The only part of the puppet not made by Emmanuel was the football jersey – the teacher had given him that already made.  He reasoned that he would be good in the ensemble since he knew how to make puppets, albeit a different type puppet than those used in wayang kulit.  What struck me was the pride Emmanuel seemed to show in his hand-made puppet and how carefully he handled it.  His manner was out of character from his usual street-wise, ‘cool’ demeanor.  I was intrigued by the contradiction, the juxtaposition of two drastically discordant images embodied in this one child.  I knew then I had to choose him for participation in the ensemble – I was too curious not. 

Emmanuel applied for the position of composer/musician rather than puppeteer but I never questioned his decision.  As I got to know him, I observed a twist to his attention-getting behavior:  he showed off with ‘goofy’ behavior rather than with his ability.  For instance, during a video-recorded rehearsal in March, I told the students to choose an instrument/part they would like to play.  The following is a description of a segment from that rehearsal:

Emmanuel chooses the Noah bells (various sized metal cow bells hand forged in India).  Considering the fact that he is able to closely inspect his fingernails and look around the room whilst playing the piece, I surmise that the Noah bells part is much too easy for him.  I suggest he try learning the ‘gender’ (melody) part on one of the xylophones instead.  He agrees and begins to carry a chair to an alto xylophone already placed on the rug.  I tell him to sit on the rug like everyone else – sitting higher than the level of the instrument will not allow him to play in proper form and will eventually hurt his back leaning over the instrument.

“But my knees will get ashy,” he complains, still holding the chair in the air.  I suggest he sit cross-legged on the rug.  He slowly looks at the back of his legs.

“My thighs will get ashy.”

I remind him that he had just been sitting cross-legged on the rug to play the Noah bells, an ‘ashy’-free incident.  He approaches the instrument, crosses his ankles, and half squats behind the instrument.  Fifteen seconds pass by as he remains in that crouched position.  The other students look at him and giggle.  The musicians start to play the ‘gender’ line together with Emmanuel still in his crouched position.

Again, he interrupts, “Where are the notes, yo?”

He cannot locate the correct notes on the xylophone.  Another student shows him and Emmanuel replies, shaking his head,  “This instrument is messed up.”

He then moves to another xylophone, also on the rug, and poises over the instrument in a crouched position.  The musicians begin again.  Despite the interruptions and goofiness, he catches on quickly and is even able to play the doubling of the ‘saron peking’ part which is far more difficult than the plain ‘gender’ line.

McGuffey and Rich claim that a boy’s ability to attract attention to himself enables him to maintain his status in a group:  “The recognition a boy receives from his public performance of masculinity allows him to maintain his high status and/or increase his rank in the hierarchy” (p. 613).  Emmanuel’s attention-seeking behavior was geared toward the nonsense or ‘goofiness’ (e.g., playing in a crouched position for nearly five minutes so as not to get his legs ‘ashy’ on the rug), not in drawing attention to his ability (e.g., being able to quickly learn the new and more difficult ‘saron peking’ part).  Such attention-seeking silliness would be an immediate turn-off for most teachers – we want ‘serious’ students who can focus attention and work hard.  Underneath his frivolousness, though, was an ability to catch on quickly.  Later that same day during his regularly scheduled music class, Emmanuel was chosen to play a rather difficult blues pattern on the bass xylophone.  He worked on the piece, giving it his full attention and was the only student in the class able to play the part.  Not once did he draw attention to his accomplishment.   Putting foolishness aside and buckling down, that child could play!

The lesson learnt from this episode is that one never knows the hidden potential of each child.  Emmanuel’s badass manner and attention-seeking behaviors were a turn-off for me – I didn’t take him seriously when he expressed interest in being a puppeteer.  I am sure that, had he not shown me his puppet and treated it so carefully (which potentially could have damaged his status amongst his peers), I would not have accepted him into the ensemble.  What a loss that would have been, not only for him but also for me and the other students.  His musical ability (yes, even his goofy, time-consuming antics) contributed immensely to our experience in the Javanese Gamelan/Wayang Kulit that semester.  Which leads me to wonder about all the students over the years whom I did not choose for ensembles, or who were not allowed to participate by classroom teachers for various reasons.  How many missed possibilities have there been?  And how many missed possibilities will there continue to be due to limited resources and adults who cannot see the hidden potential in each child?

(1)  McGuffey, C.S. & Rich, B.L. (1999). Playing in the gender transgression zone: Race, class, and hegemonic masculinity in middle childhood.  Gender and Society, 13 (5), 608-627.

Eek! It's a Mouse!

It is an uncomfortably warm, humid morning in June.  My students are in the middle of their performance – a medieval musical play about the Unicorn Tapestries at the Cloisters.  As I stand in the miniscule orchestra pit, I can see the actors in front of me singing and dancing on stage.  I look to my right and see the instrumentalists kneeling on the floor of the auditorium as they accompany the singers on xylophones, metallophones, hand drums, and recorders.  Sara stands behind them waiting to play her violin solo in the next piece.  I am pleased to see total concentration and focus on each young face.  Though the house lights are off, I can tell the audience is enthralled by the performance due to the complete silence behind me.  I can feel the energy and excitement in the air.  My alto recorder sits resting on the music stand in front of me – I have to play a counter melody at the end of the song.  As I reach for the instrument, my eyes fixate on a small mouse teetering on the top of the music stand.  In a matter of seconds, numerous thoughts race through my head:  I’m sharing a small, semi-enclosed space with a rodent less than a foot away.  How long has he been with me?  Did he touch my recorder in his attempt to climb onto the top of the music stand?  I don’t want to put that instrument to my mouth now.  What should I do?  If I draw attention to the creature, it will distract the musicians, actors, and audience members which would be disastrous for the students.  On the other hand, do I have nerves of steel necessary to ignore the mouse until the end of the performance?...

As I debate my options, the physical education teacher – who has been watching the performance from the back of the auditorium – suddenly runs down the centre aisle with a waste paper basket held high over his head.  In one swoop, he leans over the pit from behind me, knocks the unsuspecting animal to the floor of the pit, and covers it with the upside down container.   Of course, his actions draw the attention of the audience members, musicians, and actors who, until then, had been oblivious to the unfolding drama in the pit.  Not wanting to alarm the students, I wave them on to continue with the play, despite my shock and apprehension.  We all have a good laugh afterwards and the incident becomes part of school legend through the ensuing years.

Though humorous on the surface, the incident is emblematic of many urban schools.  Over the nineteen years I had taught at the school, the building had gradually been allowed to deteriorate and become grungy.  The grounds surrounding the school were not kept up – trash littered walkways and collected under bushes and throughout the play area in back.  At one point, we were told graffiti removal was too costly, so the markings of gangs remained for years on the brick façade where the children played.  Inside the building grime collected on every wall and floor and in every crevice, whilst mold grew behind walls and oozed through ceilings.  Candy and gum wrappers took up permanent residence in stairwells.   All the bathrooms (students’ and faculty’s) reeked of urine, contained broken toilets, and were utterly disgusting.  Toilet paper and paper towels were scarce commodities, and soap was simply nonexistent.  Mouse droppings in classrooms became a common occurrence, noticed upon first entering in the morning.  [I guess the bathrooms were even too deplorable for the mice to use.]  Rather than investing in repairs, the district continually applied “band aids” to problems.   Miss Carol had once been a secretary at the school.  She often reminisced about her first day at the school when a flood in the office greeted her.  Two repairmen removed the heating grille revealing a thick layer of accumulated filth inside.  After they hastily patched the leaking pipe, they began to return the grille.  Miss Carol told them they forgot to clean the dirt inside.  Both men laughed and informed her that they were hired to patch a leaking pipe, not clean the heating system.  She shook her head in disbelief as the two men walked away still chuckling.

Jonathan Kozol is known for documenting conditions of urban schools and children throughout the country.  He began teaching in a poor, segregated, overcrowded school in Boston in 1964, and was fired for teaching poetry by Langston Hughes (which the school board at the time regarded as “inflammatory”) before the school year was completed.  In his writings and lectures since then, he describes schools in more deplorable conditions than Flynn.  “Looking around some of these inner-city schools, where filth and disrepair were worse than anything I’d seen in 1964, I often wondered why we would agree to let our children go to school in places where no politician, school board president, or business CEO would dream of working” (1).  Why indeed?  And yet, Kozol points out that the problem transcends issues of bureaucracy and inefficient school administrations.  He notes, for example, that New York City manages and troubleshoots every conceivable problem and provides a well-oiled system in Manhattan to ensure that “Wall Street brokers get their orders placed, confirmed, and delivered at the moment they demand.  But leaking roofs cannot be fixed and books cannot be gotten into Morris High in time to meet the fall enrollment.  Efficiency in educational provision for low-income children, as in health care and most other elementals of existence, is secreted and doled out by our municipalities as if it were a scarce resource” (2).  Maybe it is idealistic and naïve thinking, but I wonder how inner-city schools would be if everyone were to treat all children the way they would want their own sons and daughters treated.  If the official mantra were “if it’s not good enough for my own children, it’s not good enough for any children,” would Jonathan Kozol still be writing and lecturing about urban schools?  Would Flynn Elementary have been allowed to deteriorate as it did?

Deplorable conditions in schools convey the message that our students are not worth the effort and cost of having a clean and safe environment.  And the children know this without ever expressing it explicitly – they notice and take it all in silently, seemingly accepting the implication of their unworthiness.  And, after being in that kind of environment for a long period of time, even the adults begin to acquiesce, to accept it as somehow normal, the way things are.  Despite numerous grievances over the years, conditions never really improved and we eventually lost ourselves in the daily struggle to raise test scores in the frantic hopes of making AYP with increasingly less resources and support. 

After being isolated at Flynn for so long, I grew accustomed to such dismal conditions.  It wasn’t until the school was closed that I realized how truly abnormal the conditions there had been; that an urban school did not have to be a place of filth and disrepair.  I was fortunate to be hired at another Providence public school (Veazie Street Elementary) which is clean, bright, and well maintained inside and outside the building.  It is an environment where the students are shown daily that they are worth the effort and cost of having a clean and safe environment.  It is a building led by a principal who acts on the premise that “if it’s not good enough for my own children, it’s not good enough for any children.” 

In the years to come, I am hopeful that I shall never have to share my music stand with another rodent – at least not at Veazie.

(1)  Kozol, J. (1991).  Savage inequalities: Children in America’s schools.  New York: HarperCollins Publishers (p. 5).

(2)  Ibid. (p. 114).

For further information on Jonathan Kozol including a bibliography:

http://www.learntoquestion.com/seevak/groups/2002/sites/kozol/Seevak02/ineedtogoHOMEPAGE/homepage.htm