Two events which are instructive for great education policy hit the media in a big way
in the last week. The first was the
debut of the infamous
talking pineapple; the second was when New Jersey single dad Stu
Chaifetz planted a recording device on his ten year old autistic son and
captured a day’s worth of abusive and inappropriate behavior on the part of
several of the adults in his son’s self contained autism classroom.
What did both of these events have in common? They were the product of things that go on
behind closed doors. They are worst case
scenarios, examples of what can happen when transparency is abandoned for long
periods of time, and people run amok.
The irony
of the talking pineapple is that these were the sort of divergent questions
we want to have in our classroom bag of tricks.
Many questions in real life have no correct answer, and there is a useful
place in education for introducing that incontrovertible fact to students. That place, however, is most certainly not a
bubble test, which measures convergent thinking.
No, encouraging divergent thinking requires discussion,
something that New York State teachers are forbidden with respect to this
test. Had there been some transparency
around this test, had it been vetted by real teachers, if test items did not
have to hide behind a veil of secrecy, somebody might have flagged this
idiocy. The silver lining here is that
maybe the talking pineapple will increase public skepticism about high stakes testing.
Testing companies like secrecy because it allows them to
recycle items, keeping costs down and profits up. We are, however, in an era where tests can
destroy people’s careers and hurt children. Therefore good
and fair public policy demands transparency.
We cannot use discredited instruments to hire and fire, to award “merit”
pay, or close neighborhood schools. The
public interest here is at odds with the interests of for-profit testing industry, and the quasi-public education policy apparatus which feeds off it.
The
case of little Akian Chaifetz calls for a different type of
transparency. As I listened in horror to
the aggrieved Dad, and to the excerpts of child abuse one thing became
abundantly clear to me. Nobody was
supervising these people. The door of
that classroom was never being opened.
They were in private practice and they had absolutely no idea what they
were doing. The evidence points to this
going on for years, so long that abusive, inappropriate adult behavior had become
the cultural norm in that classroom.
In the 21st century, teaching is a team sport. Had that classroom door been open, had some
knowledgeable supervisor or colleague learned early on that these people were
clueless, maybe they could have gotten some training, or maybe they could have
been encouraged to find a different line of work. This is not to excuse bad behavior; it is to
point out the tragedy that a dad had to wire his kid to achieve the sort of
transparency which millions of parents assume when they send their children to
school in the morning. This is why we
have administrators and instructional coaches.
Ultimately this was an institutional failure.
Let these be cautionary tales for the education policy
world.
On the one hand, the closed door meeting is a lubricant for
decision making. It allows you to get
things done. The messiness involved in
transparency can be inefficient. That
conference room meeting can also leverage expertise, allowing policy experts to
deploy their knowledge without having to bring novices up to speed. People can say things in these meetings and
make decisions in the relative safety of privacy which can be genuinely useful.
On the other hand, closed doors are inherently undemocratic
and elitist. They carry the assumption
that the public is too stupid to participate in public policy. They create echo chambers and encourage group
think, which makes smart people stupid.
Faulty assumptions go unchallenged, and elaborate policy structures are
built on sand. Key stakeholders can be
left out, leading to needless conflict when policy is rammed down the throats
of those not invited to the table.
The world of education policy is a murky revolving-door world
of government agencies, private contractors, foundations, academia and unions,
among others. Sometimes it rides off the
rails, like Akian’s teachers, in Jonah Edelman meltdown
moments and Wisconsin-style bolt-out-of-the-blue attacks.
The question of the balance of transparency and closed doors
is a divergent question, very much like those about our talking pineapple. There is no absolute answer. There is always a trade-off between the benefits
of efficiency, and the capacity of transparency to preserve and promote the
public good. Given the choice, I would
tend to err on the side of transparency.
You can always fall back on the truth.