The Business of Schooling
Before I begin, I should acknowledge that the photographs on the header and on my profile (link on the bottom right) were taken by my wife Valerie. I just want to give credit where credit is due…
And on that note, you may be aware that Joel Klein has resigned from his job as New York City schools chancellor. He held the post for eight years and is leaving to take a job with…the News Corporation. His replacement? Cathleen Black, the chairwoman of…Hearst Magazines. If public education is supposed to be democracy’s best defense against ignorance, I sincerely question the wisdom of hiring individuals from mass media companies to run school systems. One only need examine the stunningly poor job that media in general (and News Corporation in particular) do in providing the public with valuable, accurate information.
As troubling as this is, it raises another more visceral question: should people with no experience in education be running school systems–especially the biggest one in the country? New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg has done a very good job as mayor, but I don’t accept his argument that the schools should be run by people with experience in business. I do think that people without experience in education can be very helpful in the decision-making process–and I have a great deal of suspicion regarding educational “experts” from academia (anyone who has ever been to teacher’s college knows whereof I speak). However, attempting to impose a business model upon a school does not work. They are two vastly different endeavors.
For example, let’s imagine I have a furniture making business. I buy wood from suppliers, and my squad of craftsman work hard at transforming the wood into bookcases, beds, dressers, etc. If we are successful, the results are immediately apparent, and customers pay to have our product. If we cease to do a good job–our work becomes sloppy, or we are rude to our potential customers, we are held accountable. As it should be.
Let’s suppose one day I receive a shipment of wood that is damaged. After close examination, I come to the conclusion that the wood cannot be fashioned into quality furniture. I call my supplier, and tell him the wood he sent me isn’t good enough, and that if he wants me to pay him, he needs to replace the wood. If he wants to stay in business, he will do as I ask. If he doesn’t, I take my business elsewhere–I hold him accountable.
Now, imagine if the state legislature passes a law that says I have to take the damaged wood. Moreover, I am expected to make furniture out of it that is of the same quality as the undamaged wood. If I fail to produce a result of the same quality with both types of wood, the state has every right to shut down my business. Could you imagine the outcry over such a law?
This is the difference. In my furniture shop, I can send back the damaged material. At a public school, if a child shows up damaged, or becomes damaged at any point during his/her education, I am expected to teach this student and they are expected to produce the same result as an undamaged (or less damaged) child. Even if that damage is the result of poverty, malnutrition, or something as simple as not being read to at home. I don’t get to send the child back and ask for a “more teachable” one. If I run a private or charter school, I do. But not in a public school.
I am not saying that I should be able to “send the child back.” I’m simply making the point that I cannot. No business model or corporate approach to public schooling is going to change that. Nor am I saying that a student should be in any way compared to raw materials. The idea is absurd on its face–all the more reason why the business model isn’t applicable.
Consequently, it is much less clear how to measure “results” in a public school setting. We could use standardized tests, which is the current political fad. Assuming the test is valid–a question we should always ask, but rarely do–what will it tell us? Journalist Allan Nairn has demonstrated that the SAT is not a valid predictor of college success. High school grades–the reason the SAT was created because grades were supposedly inflated and unreliable–are a far more accurate predictor. This is not to say the SAT is without value–it is excellent at predicting whether students will be white and middle to upper middle class, as that is the group that consistently scores the highest.
A few years, ago, Connecticut Attorney General (and current Senator-elect) Richard Blumenthal sued the federal government over the No Child Left Behind Act, claiming it was an unfunded mandate. If the state was expected to test more frequently, it should be reimbursed by the federal government for the cost of the additional tests. The former Secretary of Education, the appropriately named Margaret Spellings, informed Blumenthal that the problem could be solved if the state made their tests easier–part of the high cost was due to the “excessive rigor” of the test.
The message was clear: the quality of the test is not important, just the results. The skills being tested are not what matter–only the numbers we can publish. How is this in any way educationally valid?
It turns out that new Rupert Murdoch BFF Mr. Klein also caught a little heat for dumbing down his tests to show that “progress” was being made. This is the sort of “business minded” thinking that also brought us derivatives and credit-deferred swaps. The type of thinking that caused the huge financial meltdown which, as it turns out, contributed significantly to the poverty and unemployment that tends to plague our lowest performing school districts.
Oh, well. I’m sure that’s just a coincidence. By the way–who was held accountable for those actions?
How Do You Start This Thing?
It’s a fair question.
Let me begin my explaining the title. I have no pretense that the writing life is truly dangerous–although many authors have spent thousands of words trying to persuade their readers of that very thing. Sure, there is danger in becoming so focused on your writing that you a) ignore your family to the extent that your wife leaves you and it took several years for you to notice or b) your family believes you have developed schizophrenia because you walk around speaking dialogue in vastly different emotional states and, occasionally, bizarre accents. So, yes there is some danger there, I suppose, but I still wouldn’t call writing a dangerous profession. Not in the United States. So the title is partly ironic.
Nor am I attempting to perpetuate the media stereotype that schools are fundamentally dangerous places. Yes, we do hear about events like Columbine from time to time, but statistically, schools are some of the safest places to be in any community. You are far more likely to be assaulted by a family member in your own home than be harmed by someone in a school (think about that at Thanksgiving). The real danger in education is not the occasional incident of violence perpetuated by students. It is the direction that the institution is currently being steered by anxious communities, foolhardy politicians, and ineffectual leaders. Imagine running to the bridge of a ship during a hurricane only to discover a large committee of people not forming a plan to cope with the storm, but are instead angrily shouting over each other about the nature of weather. This is what it feels like to be a public school teacher in this day and age. So in this sense, the title is accurate.
The title is also a private joke, part of the Brodie family lore, which I will now share with you. When I was about four years old, I used to visit two of my adult neighbors: Mr. Underwood, a kind carpenter whom I’d hang out with and who encouraged me to pursue carpentry as a vocation (given this is a blog about teaching and writing, I need not explain how that turned out) and Mrs. Hunter, a close family friend who always had fresh-baked goods to sample. After my tour, I’d head back to my house down the block, but this day I was heading somewhere that involved me crossing the street. As I was leaving Mrs. Hunter’s ginger-scented kitchen, she kindly reminded me to “Be careful crossing the street–it’s dangerous!”
And to this I replied: “Danger is my business!”
A uncharacteristic show of bravado, given at the time I was a nervous, hydrophobic kid terrified of his own shadow. It was for this reason that this phrase has become something of a quiet mantra that will play in my head whenever I try to muster the courage needed to face any new challenge. It hasn’t always worked, but I have never forgotten it. It’s always been a part of me.
Thus, my blog will contain observations about the writing life, along with sharing some triumphs, and lamenting any failures. It will also be a discussion on the teacher’s life, what I love about it, what infuriates me about it, and the occasional rant about what’s being done to it. In between, I’ll have anecdotes and stories that are serious, thoughtful, and funny– because this is still about life.
So thank you for coming along with me. I will do my best to make it worth your while.
Danger Is My Business 