Author Archive for Diana Senechal

Glorifying Indifference to Literature

Published by Diana Senechal on August 30, 2009 in Education News and Teaching. 23 Comments

The New York Times story on the “reading workshop” method glorifies indifference toward literature. Its hero is a teacher who saw the light: who used to love to teach To Kill a Mockingbird but by the end of the story was sending her class sets of that and other books to the storage room. No more would she tell her students what to read. Not after attending that seminar led by Nancie Atwell.

And an interesting little fact: the teacher disliked the literature she read in school as a child. No wonder she gave up the teaching of it so willingly.

This so-called movement is led by people who don’t love literature enough to defend it, and who don’t care about history enough to find out that their revolution is nothing revolutionary. It glorifies a certain indifference.

The movement writes off the literature itself. It writes off the teachers who teach it well and inspire their students to love it. It writes off the possibility that literature will affect students’ entire lives and stay in their minds, in ways that teen novels cannot do. Proponents say, “Look, the kids are reading; this is working!” They do not stop to think that reading 20 pages a day is not the same as grappling with literature. The chicken coop is not a palace. (Oops–no one teaches Dostoevsky anymore.)

I taught Sophocles’ Antigone (among many other works of literature) to my eighth grade ESL students. We had heated debates in class. Students wrote thoughtful essays. I thought, “How much more they will understand when they read it in high school!” Then I realized they probably wouldn’t read it in high school. They would probably never have it assigned to them again.

A former Core Knowledge teacher in New York City, Diana Senechal is currently writing a book in New Haven, Connecticut.

A Measure of Privacy

Published by Diana Senechal on February 11, 2009 in Essay, Teaching and accountability. 1 Comment

Shhh…. Stop thinking, spout out some keywords, earn us some points, and be done with it! What are you waiting for? You have been sitting there for like a minute saying nothing! Say something, anything, just get some words out there for the group! Hello? Hello? What are you, a mummy or something? Come on, it’s so easy, just read these words! That’s it, we’re getting a new group member. You’re bringing down our stats! Oh, look, Miss Cameron’s coming our way! She’s onto you!

Recently Robert Pondiscio sent me a link to an article about new software enabling teachers to monitor small-group online discussion in the classroom. Developed by European and Israeli researchers involved in the “Argunaut project,” this software offers real-time statistics on students’ patterns of conversation during class. Teachers can view instantaneous data on groupwork and receive automated alerts. The new software can:

… alert the teacher when one student is not contributing, or is being ignored, or is dominating the conversation. It also renders exchanges in a graphic manner, readily describing the ongoing discussion at a glance. And teachers can program the software to signal when certain keywords occur, such as when Napoleon appears in a conversation about the French revolution.

I will leave aside the implications for the future. The present is grim enough. The software casts light on conditions in our classrooms today, for instance: (a) the emphasis on process over content; (b) the changes to the teachers’ role; and (c) the influence of technology on curriculum. All of these merit analysis, but I will focus on a problem rarely discussed: (d) the erosion of privacy in the classroom. It is not that the teachers can read students’ thoughts, but rather that students are prevented from thinking privately in the first place.

The problem of lost privacy is elusive and rampant. We have become more isolated and less private at once. On the train we are treated to rude and raging cell phone conversations. On internet networks like Facebook, users keep their “friends” informed of their latest actions: taking a sip of coffee, confronting an employee, patching a leak in the ceiling, or calling an ex-spouse. We must step back from this revelatory muddle in order to keep something to ourselves. We must teach children to do the same.

Can schools teach privacy or even honor it? For the most part, a school is not a private place, nor can it be. Students regularly submit their work to their teachers. Administrators visit classrooms and observe lessons in progress. Visitors come to evaluate schools. Schools send reports to their districts. Adults must look out for the welfare of the children; nothing should escape their eye. Yet much learning takes place in the seclusion of the mind. To think independently and well, we must think alone, removing ourselves from distractions and passing influences. We do this when solving a math problem, pondering a historical question, or memorizing a poem. Schools may have forgotten the importance of this. In their mania for “student engagement,” they blithely discard private thought with no regard for consequences.

Classrooms around the country, from kindergarten into college, have replaced teacher-led instruction with the “workshop model,” typically a short lesson followed by small-group activity in which each group member has a specific task. One member may be the note-taker, another the timer, another the spokesperson, and another the moderator. As the group busies itself, the teacher actively monitors the groups and records their behavior on forms and checklists. Is everyone engaged? Are they practicing Accountable Talk®? Does everyone have a specific role? Are they producing evidence of their work?

Teachers must submit to the same model in their professional development sessions. In a typical PD, teachers are placed in small groups with chart paper and a task to complete. The facilitator moves from group to group, looking over teachers’ shoulders and making sure they are working. The session is supposed to serve as a model for the teachers’ own classroom processes. Everyone is supposed to be active all the time; everyone is accountable to the task.

When I was growing up, teachers did not peer over our shoulders or take notes on our behaviors. We were expected to participate, but we had the option of retreating into our minds. The subject was the main focus. Class time was not task-heavy; it was mainly devoted to the learning of new concepts and information. If, on a given day, we chose to stay silent, we could. Even if the teacher called on us, that would only last a few minutes, and then we could return to our thoughts. Certain classes (such as language classes) demanded more active participation, but others let us stay quiet for stretches of time.

Of course this had its own drawbacks: some students would participate much more than others. Some might make the most of their mental autonomy; others might doodle, pass notes, or hold back from asking questions. In a large class it is hard for the teacher to call on everyone or keep track of everyone’s understanding. Some students slip behind and then have difficulty catching up. Others pull through but with little interest.

For these reasons, some believe that the “workshop model” offers something that the “traditional” classroom cannot. It promises to involve all children in the lesson and to bring out those who rarely speak. Proponents of the workshop model sincerely believe that children will come to a better understanding of the subject through small-group discussion and activity. Not only that, but they see the model improving with technology. Soon teachers will be able to keep track of everyone at all times!

This is already happening. M.I.T. has abandoned introductory physics lectures in favor of Technology Enhanced Active Learning (TEAL), a variant of the workshop model combined with technology. According to a New York Times article, TEAL relies heavily on handheld gadgets:

One of the newer professors, Gabriella Sciolla, who arrived in 2003, was teaching a TEAL class on circuits recently. She gauged the level of understanding in the room by throwing out a series of multiple-choice questions. The students “voted” with their wireless “personal response clickers” – the clickers are essential to TEAL – which transmitted the answers to a computer monitored by the professor and her assistants.

If any students value the life of the mind, M.I.T. students likely do. Do M.I.T. students regard these clickers lovingly? The article sings only praises of the program, but some comments clang dissent. One student scoffs: “‘Personal response clickers’? Ask any student how they feel about them and discover that they’d much rather hurl them into the Charles than actually use them, if not for the fact that participation points are oftentimes given out as inducements for clicking.” Another student observes: “The clickers, which have receivers positioned around the room on the ceiling, distract students from the physics concepts themselves.”

Ah, the concepts themselves! Students of all ages need privacy of mind. It may vary by grade, subject, or student, but it should not go away. Workshops and gadgets must not take over education, even if they have a modest role in it. If privacy of mind brings some risk of failure, we need that risk. Otherwise we give up the sanctuary of thought: the slow struggle with a problem, the frustrations and breakthroughs, the questions and insights, the romance with the subject. This is too great a loss. In the classroom we need just a measure of privacy, but that measure we must defend.

Diana Senechal teaches theatre and ESL at P.S. 108, an official Core Knowledge school in New York City.  She has a Ph.D. in Slavic Languages and Literatures from Yale. Her translations of the Lithuanian poetry of Tomas Venclova appeared last fall in a new volume, The Junction.

Class Discussion For Sale

Published by Diana Senechal on January 4, 2009 in Literacy and Opinion. 19 Comments

I teach in New York City, ostensibly one of the most successful districts in the nation. Our reforms are second to none. Test scores soar year after year. We buy the best new products and quickly toss out the old. When I began teaching in Brooklyn, I thought I would teach literature and writing. I quickly learned that literature was outmoded and “accountable talk” all the rage. It was once a phrase in lowercase. How it has grown!

You attended school in the bad old traditional days. Don’t deny it. Back then, the teacher lectured while you took notes, read dead authors, and regurgitated dry facts. There was no class discussion. You were never encouraged to think for yourself. It’s a miracle that you read the paper now-or read at all, for that matter.

Today, you would not have to suffer. Schools across the country have purchased and mandated an exciting new type of classroom conversation called Accountable Talk®.

“Purchased classroom conversation?” you might gasp. Hold it! Your question doesn’t conform to Accountable Talk® format. You must phrase your question thus: “It seems to me that you said that schools have purchased their own classroom conversation. Is that what you meant?” Yes, that was my drift.

Coined in the 1990s by the Institute for Learning at the University of Pittsburgh, the phrase “accountable talk” refers to a mode of classroom conversation that emphasizes (you guessed it) accountability: justifying one’s statements, responding to others, and staying within the boundaries of the topic. Beyond that, it is now a brand name and a product. In 2007, the Institute for Learning began displaying a service mark (SM) next to the phrase. In 2008, Accountable Talk® became a registered trademark. In other words, we must now purchase our own classroom conversation-or rather, our district purchases it for us and requires that we place it on our tongues.

What kind of talk have we purchased? Accountable Talk® embraces conventions of so-called academic conversation: starter phrases, social cues, and habits of referring to the text. The basic principle–that we must substantiate what we say-has generally been part of any good class discussion, but Accountable Talk® makes the conventions explicit and requires total compliance with its rules. It is intended especially for children who lack exposure to such conventions of speech. In moderation, it makes sense. But does it really reproduce academic conversation? Or does it require us to give up an element of intellectual freedom: our choice of wording and phrasing, within reason?

Suppose I decided to hold a class discussion without Accountable Talk®. If I admitted openly that it was not Accountable Talk®, I would be flouting district mandates. If I called it Accountable Talk® but didn’t conform to its protocol, I would break trademark law. In other words, teachers are now bound by both district regulations and trademark law to acknowledge and adhere to a particular kind of classroom talk. This should raise some concern and questions if not outright alarm. Our speech, of all things, should be protected from branding and marketing. The Founding Fathers did not foresee that someone might appropriate, sell, and mandate a style of speech.

Trademark concerns aside, I object to a mere three aspects of Accountable Talk®: the accountability, the talk, and the poor prose resulting from the two.

In education, “accountability” suggests a wrongdoing: we are made “accountable” so that we can no longer slip by with poor practice. Why, then, must a good class discussion be called “accountable”? Shouldn’t it be driven by something deeper, like desire for truth, curiosity about the subject, and respect for others? Accountability should not be our highest ideal; it has value and meaning only when higher principles are in place. Those principles present, a class discussion needs no special name. Accountable talk could help us out of a bog; but once we can breathe and walk, we should make full use of our faculties, using the words and phrases that seem best. One does not have to be “accountable” at every moment; there is room, in a good class discussion, for exclamations, tangents, and incomplete ideas.

As for talk, there is too much of it in our classrooms already. Students must constantly “turn and talk”; “peer-edit,” “engage in group work,” and “share out.” They sit facing each other, so that teachers won’t distract them. Students rarely learn how to listen, take in ideas and language, and think independently. Consider, for instance, the “turn and talk” technique. Instead of taking in a story that the teacher is reading aloud, students are instructed periodically to turn and talk about it with a partner. This breaks up their private thoughts and requires them to consult with someone else. One recalls David Riesman’s observation in The Lonely Crowd regarding “that rapid circulation of tastes which is a prelude to other-directed socialization.” Contemplation cedes to buzz. The buzz, in turn, creates a market for talk products, which require services, consultants, and a brand.   

Of course there should be some discussion in the classroom, but now it has risen to the status of a petty god. Teachers and students alike must be trained in this sort of talk so that they will practice it correctly. As a consequence, the emphasis is often on the talk itself. Administrators conducting spot-checks want to see evidence of it; they are pleased when they see students turning and talking to their partners. It matters little whether they can recite and interpret Yeats’ “Sailing to Byzantium” or give a thoughtful definition of democracy. What matters is that they are talking. This makes careful, sustained thought difficult if not impossible.

Let’s be reasonable, though. If we disregard the accountability, talk, and trademark, Accountable Talk® is a fine idea-except that it isn’t. Its emphasis on process results in bad prose. In a typical Accountable Talk® discussion, students put great effort into their beginning and ending phrases. A student might comment: “I would like to add on to what Jeremy said by saying that the picture shows a covered wagon. Does anyone care to concur, challenge, or add on?” The student thus conveys: “the picture shows a covered wagon” but adds twenty-two extraneous words for the sake of compliance. No one notices; it all sounds good. Checklist conditions have been met. The sentences, replete with verbiage, sound “academic.” We can all go to sleep. But some of us stay up late remembering the fiery, pithy, lovely language we love. Such memory offers hope: it has no trademark yet.

Diana Senechal teaches theatre and ESL at P.S. 108, an official Core Knowledge school in New York City.  She has a Ph.D. in Slavic Languages and Literatures from Yale. Her translations of the Lithuanian poetry of Tomas Venclova appeared this fall in a new volume, The Junction.

The Spillage of Muddy Language

Published by Diana Senechal on December 14, 2008 in Opinion. 5 Comments

“Twelve voices were shouting in anger, and they were all alike. No question, now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.”

–George Orwell, Animal Farm

I think of Animal Farm when I hear the terms “conservative,” “progressive,” “reformer,” and “establishment” tossed back and forth between one group and another. Lo and behold, they mean everything and nothing. Between David Brooks’ recent column in the New York Times and Alfie Kohn’s commentary in The Nation, we’ve got quite a bit of muck to filter.  Brooks crudely contrasts “reformers” with “establishment”; Kohn, supposedly questioning such categories, uses false categories of his own.  He argues that the “reformers” are allied with “conservatives,” then, instead of defining either term, proceeds to defend his argument in language that is equally imprecise.

Each of Kohn’s statements is internally confused and based on muddy language and reasoning.  I’ll take his statements one by one.

1. There is no evidence that alternative forms of assessment are more “authentic.” To the contrary, they can be every bit as contrived as standardized tests, if not more so. While I recognize the need for a combination of assessments, I dispute the assertion that one is more “authentic” than another.

2. “Top-down” mandates are not inherently bad. It all depends on what is being mandated. A mandated curriculum such as Core Knowledge, which specifies what should be taught but not how, can help ensure a solid education for students without limiting the teachers’ craft or the students’ creativity. By contrast, a mandated pedagogical model like Balanced Literacy can cramp both the process and the content. Yet any policy needs to be implemented thoughtfully in order to work. It should allow for the intelligence of teachers and students.

3. What is “rote” learning? I learn a poem’s meaning as I memorize it; I start to understand its structure, meaning, rhythm, and tones. My mind plays with it. It comes to me in different parts, from different angles. Memorization (of poems, language, and math facts) allows for deep learning. Yet I rarely see schools requiring students to memorize anything (except perhaps their “learning goals”). This is a shame.

4. About the “behaviorist” model: much of education is based on behaviorist assumptions. Kohn needs to distinguish between behaviorism (which has some degree of truth) and a “model” that places it at the center. Also, the use of cash rewards has problems beyond “behaviorism” itself; it sends children the message that they need not do anything for which they are not paid.

5. “a corporate sensibility and an economic rationale for schooling”–too vague and lumpy. I recommend that he separate “corporate sensibility” from “economic rationale.” They are not one and the same. And there is a world of difference between employing some degree of “economic rationale” and adopting a “business model.”

6. Charter schools–again, there’s a world of difference between having a few charter schools (or alternative public schools) and moving toward a charter school “model.” He should acknowledge the difference. Also, he needs to explain the difference between nonprofit and for-profit charters. The question of profit in education is troubling and complex and goes far beyond charters themselves (to test-making, textbooks, pedagogical programs, etc.).

With muddy language in each of his points, it’s no wonder that he makes the equally muddy association between these principles and conservatism. But what is conservatism? There are different strands. As Diane Ravitch points out on Politico,

“There is an enduring message of conservatism that makes sense for our times: fiscal conservatism, respect for the Constitution, preservation of our values and our culture, protection of individual rights and freedoms, concern for national security. This version of conservatism has enduring appeal for a large swath of the population It is not the same as the cramped, narrow, biased expression of contempt for people who are different (e.g., homosexuals); it is not the same as me-first economic policies; nor is it the same as being hard-hearted towards those with less.”

Such conservatism has much in common with certain kinds of progressivism. Instead of using jargon and false logic to pit “conservatives” against “progressives” (or “reformers” against “establishment”), we could use careful language and logic to find common ground and draw up a good policy or two.

Diana Senechal teaches theatre and ESL at P.S. 108, an official Core Knowledge school in New York City.  She has a Ph.D. in Slavic Languages and Literatures from Yale. Her translations of the Lithuanian poetry of Tomas Venclova appeared this fall in a new volume, The Junction.

On Teaching: Where Jigsaw Misses the Picture

Published by Diana Senechal on June 27, 2008 in Education Practice and Teaching. 2 Comments

“The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”
–Aristotle, Metaphysics, severely misquoted

Imagine yourself at a PD for ESL and ELA teachers. The desks have been arranged in groups of four. You may sit in any group you like, at the outset; but be aware that your grouping will change over the course of the morning.

The workshop leader informs the teachers that they will be participating in a “jigsaw” activity. In this activity, they will be reading abridged versions of four stories by Nikolai Gogol: “The Nose,” “The Overcoat,” “Nevsky Prospect,” and “The Tale of How Ivan Ivanovich Quarreled with Ivan Nikiforovich.” In just a few minutes, they will move to their new groups: A, B, C, or D. Each group will read a specific story and discuss questions of plot, character, central conflict, and comic device. Having arrived at complete consensus, each group member will enter the answers (using identical wording) on his or her copy of a graphic organizer (chart). Having completed the chart and become “experts” on the story, the teachers will return to their original groups and report their “findings.” Supposedly, everyone will benefit by learning about four Gogol stories over the course of 1-2 hours. They will then feel inspired to use this strategy with their own students, so that everyone may learn the art of rapid misreading.

Why would I bother to complain about the jigsaw method, of all things? Don’t we have greater problems at hand: school violence, neglect of gifted children, teacher attrition, poorly written standardized tests, high dropout rates? I agree: jigsaw in itself is no cause for alarm and may have good uses. I object not to the jigsaw itself, but to its misapplication, characterized by (a) superficial consensus, (b) false expertise, (c) disregard for the whole of a given work or topic, and (d) use of groupwork for groupwork’s sake, as an alternative to so-called “passive learning.” These conditions suggest a deep distrust of subject matter and an apotheosis of social activity in the classroom.

Continue reading ‘On Teaching: Where Jigsaw Misses the Picture’

Correcting the Student: A Quiet Argument

Published by Diana Senechal on May 4, 2008 in Education Practice, Essay and Teaching. 4 Comments

When I was in kindergarten, my teachers were worried about me because I never brought my paintings home. When my parents asked me why I didn’t, I told them that the paintings weren’t good. This horrified the teachers, who had marked “Great!” on every single one of them (I can still see the handwriting). I knew the paintings weren’t great, and didn’t know how to make them better. No one at school was willing to teach me.

Fast-forward thirty-eight years to a professional development session on the arts in education. We are provided with long sheets of chart paper and instructed to trace and then portray each other, in groups of two or three. We have about thirty minutes to complete this slipshod activity. When this is done, we hang the portraits around the room and circulate for a “gallery walk.” We are given Post-its for making observations, not criticisms. Observation is greater than judgment, we are told. I feel ill. My horrible drawing must now endure cheery “observations.” I want to go home.

Extremist doctrines tumble upon teachers continually, in education programs, training sessions, and so-called literature. Today I will examine a recurring shibboleth: “Teachers should not correct student errors explicitly.” Trainers and administrators discourage correction for at least three reasons: (1) they are concerned for the students’ self-esteem and self-celebration; (2) they believe that correction could exacerbate existing inequities in the classroom; and (3) they are anxious about the difficulties and uncertainties inherent in correction.

I have dealt with anti-correction dogma on numerous occasions. I have been told not to mark up a student’s sacrosanct compositions, but to write comments on post-its (which, of course a student is entitled to throw away). On one occasion, the facilitator of a PD session said, “As a constructivist I don’t believe in telling a student, ‘that’s right,’ because that would invalidate another student’s answer.” I have visited classes with “Socratic Seminars” or “cooperative learning” in which the student discussions got muddled and the teacher refused to intervene.

Continue reading ‘Correcting the Student: A Quiet Argument’

Child-Centered Learning: Are We Going Too Far?

Published by Diana Senechal on April 1, 2008 in Education Practice and Education Theory. 6 Comments

In  The Fundamental Importance of the Brain and Learning for Education, Kurt W. Fischer and Mary Helen Immordino-Yang warn, “Expectations for educational neuroscience are extremely high, but at this point it could turn out to be just another fad, a popular enthusiasm that fades with time as the unreality of exaggerated expectations becomes clear.” Given Fischer’s role as advisor and former president of the International Mind, Brain and Education Society, one cannot easily dismiss such a statement. It is peculiar, in this light, that the NYC Department of Education would award a multi-million-dollar no-bid contract to a “brain-based” program like Schools Attuned®, which specifically trains teachers to diagnose students’ learning breakdowns in terms of brain function and apply relevant strategies. “Brain-based” and “child-centered” approaches both view the child (and brain) as the starting point—a laudable premise on the surface, but treacherous beneath.

My purpose here is not to criticize Schools Attuned® (whose workshops I have attended), nor to comment on the scientific aspects of brain-based programs in general. Rather, as a teacher of middle-school students, I ask whether our schools might not be taking child-centered and brain-based ideas too far, glorifying the strategy at the expense of knowledge, and accommodating the individual student beyond reason. As nice as it is to reach out to the kids, perhaps we ignore some of the dangers of over-accommodation: dilution of curriculum, isolation of the student, confusion of roles, and invasion of students’ privacy.

In Education and the General Welfare (1920), Frank K. Sechrist writes, “Any activity that is made an end in itself, when it is properly only a means to a higher end, is an educational fad.” Perhaps “success” is one such fad today. We are supposed to help every child succeed, but what does that mean? Success is only as meaningful as the thing it serves. One cannot “succeed” in general; one succeeds at a particular activity, for a particular purpose. In order to help students learn, we must establish a curriculum. Conversely, if we ignore curriculum, then we will chase our own tails in pursuit of success.

Some might argue that we are not ignoring curriculum, but rather tuning it to the individual. Why demand that an entire class read Antigone, when the individuals have different interests, levels, and needs? To these child-tuners I reply: How can we ignore two of the deepest human needs of all: to understand the world around us and to communicate with others? When I teach literature, music, or theatre to my students, I am often struck by the meanings they find and the bonds they form. Without common knowledge and common vocabulary, we are stranded and can only send out help signals.

The teacher, then, becomes the rescuer. Instead of conveying subject matter, she circulates from student to student, providing “strategies” for vague purposes. The “strategy” may be a tape recorder, checklist, behavior chart, mnemonic device, highlighting technique, stuffed animal, or soothing music. The teacher is now psychologist, maid, surrogate parent, and “guide on the side.” Students quickly figure out that teachers are supposed to serve them, and treat them accordingly. A teacher who actually teaches a specific book may be taken to task for not “differentiating” the instruction enough, or for making students read something they might not want to read. The teacher is supposed to turn her eyes away from the book and toward the child. Yet such a gaze has its dangers.

Perhaps the most insidious effect of this ultra-sensitive pedagogy is the invasiveness. We are supposed to scrutinize, diagnose, and remedy every possible learning obstacle in every child. Are they not entitled to some dignity and privacy? If the child’s mind wanders in class, must we find a “strategy” to rein the child back in? What about the child who loves daydreaming and is not harmed by it? Is it our duty or even our business to make every student perform in the way we expect? I always appreciated the teachers who let me be and who gave me help only when I asked for it. Students differ in this regard; but no child should be subjected to diagnoses that have not been substantiated by research, nor should teachers be required to diagnose brains.  Teachers should remain teachers.

This is not to say that teachers should ignore students’ individual obstacles and challenges. By all means, teachers should do their best to help their students learn the subject at hand, striking the appropriate balance of class instruction and individual assistance. Teachers must know and love their subject. Within the context of excellent lessons, we can offer appropriate help to our students, who must respond with their own efforts and choices. If we do not give them this opportunity to learn and choose, then we will turn schools into social service centers– and futile ones at that, as we will have forgotten what they are for.

Diana Senechal teaches ESL and drama at a Brooklyn middle school and holds a Ph.D. in Slavic Languages and Literatures from Yale.