Learning Together, Learning for Life

I recently worked on a project where I was asked to revamp New York State’s “Portrait of a Graduate,”a collection of characteristics that NYS wants reflected in all high school graduates by the time they finish school. I interviewed a variety of people close to the school system, one of whom was a recent high school graduate. I asked her: If you could have taken a class in high school that didn’t exist when you were a student, what would it be and why? And then I listened.

First, she talked about needing a “How to do life” class to learn more about financial literacy, health insurance, how to get a driver’s license, etc. (I silently concurred as I am still learning how to navigate my 401K and healthcare bills). I continued to listen as she grew more passionate discussing what she really needed from school in this “How to do life” class: a way to navigate and interact with people from different backgrounds, who have completely different lived experiences and different politics than what you’ve experienced, let alone been exposed to. She said: We’re so polarized. We don’t know how to speak to each other. I don’t know how you teach that, but maybe high school would be a great place to learn. As I listened to this wise twenty-something, I thought to myself: Yes. AND it can start much earlier than high school. AND it’s not too late for those of us who are done with school all together.

Maybe always, schools have been incubators for young people’s socialization. Starting in PreK, kids learn what they are supposed to say and how to react. Years go on in their school lives, and they learn what kinds of silences are rewarded and what kinds of speaking up is punished. The educators that teach them live in a space of constant negotiation between their personal belief systems, commercial curriculum, research-based practices, and school community values. Global and local realities evolve. From climate change to elections to book-banning to multiple wars, these realities have been seismic in their shifts. Families work to protect their kids and promote the ideas they think are best.

As I write this, it is the first day of school in my hometown, Brooklyn. My own children go to Public School, and while I am in community with their friends’ families, their teachers, their school leaders, as well as a few local politicians, authors of the books they read, the curriculum they learn from, and the research that drives ed policy, a variety of perspectives pop up, and we’re not always in agreement with how things should go. However, when there is genuine effort to truly open conversations, I am heartened by the teaching and learning that happens when people really listen to one another. These exchanges are typically outside of media, digital mediums, or formal meetings. Rather, they take place in coffee shops, the in-betweens of commutes, and phone calls after kids are in bed. I will also say, I still don’t know how to talk to everybody, and as challenging as dissent may feel, I am almost never silent about the harm I bear witness to. I’m not always popular.

[Note: this doesn’t mean I engage in negotiating one’s right to exist. There are times when the conversation is simply closed; where instead, action is warranted.] [I do not have all the answers.]

The duality of emotions is real. I feel wounded by the disregard for others’ humanity; I am not all the time hopeful. However, I am, at this moment (and historically), relentless in my pursuit to continue the conversation on what it means to center the humanity of children in our schools–regardless of others’ market-driven or fundamentalist ideas on what constitutes “good” schooling.

The recent high school grad I interviewed said she didn’t know how we teach people with different worldviews to engage. While I can’t say I have any fool-proof methods, I can say I have an idea where to start, beginning with a question educators and students are rarely asked: What do you believe in?  

I know! It feels big. But I’ve thought about this a lot, and have used it for myself and many school communities. The dialogue this questions fosters is immense, and I offer a protocol to contain it for school-based purposes: the Shared Vision Planning Page. Originally created by educator Elizabeth Stein for co-teachers, I revised this “Shared Vision” protocol (featured in Teaching Fiercely: Spreading Joy and Justice in Our Schools, p. 130, linked here and also shown on the left) to surface our philosophies on what it means to teach, and perhaps more importantly, what it means to learn.

Whether or not you self-initiate this reflection or you are facilitating it with others, it’s a powerful exercise that can evolve throughout the year, serving as a point of reference for who you are, what you believe in, and what you are working towards. Some schools I’ve worked with start this work at the beginning of the year, and revisit it every time they meet together, using it as a litmus test for decision-making that happens throughout the year.

I invite you to process your beliefs with the folx who work alongside you, continuing the commitment in doing our best, doing right by kids.

‍