Uncommon Core

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One of the biggest ongoing stories in education today is the debate over the Common Core, a set of K-12 standards dictating what students should learn and which has been adopted by 45 states.  Objections to the rollout of the Common Core have been numerous and vocal, but one in particular was highlighted for me at our Gift Sale on Saturday: having a “common” curriculum built around intensive testing is an attack on creativity.  That is, by working to ensure that students’ minds are not on “the wrong path“, the Common Core actively seeks to thwart their creative potential.  It does seem inevitable that we would end up with a Common Core, given the history of our education system, which was powerfully influenced by the Prussian military machine that was so good at efficiently turning out effective and cooperative soldiers.   Many people have anecdotal evidence, and now there have been recent studies that show that teachers already overwhelmingly discriminate against creative students.  This is not a knock on teachers, either – the system compels them to act this way, and many of them find brilliant ways of subverting it.  Not surprising, then, that the system seeks to further standardize itself.  It is an irony, though (maybe someone can explain it to me?), because business leaders today increasingly claim they want to hire creative people with fresh ideas and problem-solving skills.  The anti-creativity effects go beyond making a living, though, because creativity is also essential to making a life – it’s skill that goes far beyond the arts, which it’s relegated to in common discourse.  Perhaps fear of uncertainty is what’s driving a lot of decisions about our education system.  We want to ensure “success,” and so new and creative ideas, which are inherently uncertain, and difficult to measure, are banished.  At HVSS, we offer a kind of Uncommon Core: an opportunity for creativity to flourish.  It’s going on all the time at school, but Saturday offered a clear look at it because the full trajectory of some projects became visible.

The seventh annual HVSS Gift Sale was a success in many ways.  The school was filled with beautiful hand-made crafts, there was a good turnout, scores of gifts were bought for People’s Place of Kingston, and the Sale was anchored by six student vendors, the youngest of whom is five years old.  All the student vendors went through a multi-step process to develop their products, design logos, price items, and display them in a professional manner.  They made hundreds of dollars and donated 10% to the school.  All of their own accord, of course.  Their products were unique, too – duct tape bow ties, heart-shaped rainbow crayons, “Brutal Bookmarks,” etc. I got a tiny stuffed ghost and a brochure describing how to properly feed, love, and put it to sleep.  I couldn’t decide which Brutal Bookmark to get, so I got two.  I want to be totally clear about this: I didn’t buy these things out of sentimentality or affection.  I wanted them, because they were high quality, charming, and creative.  Many shoppers at the Sale remarked on the student vendors’ confidence, poise, and professionalism.  One of the student vendors said, “just wait until next year when we’re more experienced!”

It’s probably fair to say that we all want certainty to one degree or another, in one arena of our lives or another (or in all of them).  When I describe Sudbury to people, they always want to know if it really works, do the kids go to college, where do they end up.  They want some degree of certainty.  Look, I get it, and those are certainly important questions.  But I also think that an offer of certainty can never be made, and that the quest for certainty – as embodied by our national education crisis, inhibits the lifeblood of our children.  I have no idea what our students will become, or how they will develop.  But I know that here they have the time and the freedom to create themselves, and I believe in them.  If you do want some proof, though, come to next year’s gift sale – our students will be even more experienced by then.

Chase and Pursuit

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How and Why Laws are Created – or Not – at HVSS

Recently, a staff member made a motion to put a defunct law called “Chase and Pursuit,” which forbids indoors chase games, back onto the books.  It passed to Second Reading, which means that it can be made into official school law at the following meeting.  But this law proved to be controversial, and the debate that followed revealed how in a democratic community even a seemingly simple proposition involves a complex web of implications.  In a small direct democracy, different perspectives inform and balance each other; it’s harder to get things done than in autocratic systems, but what’s done generally has more consideration behind it.

The Chase and Pursuit law was rescinded last year because there are other indoor laws which cover the parts of chase games that are disruptive: there is a noise ordinance, a law against moving fast, and another against being rowdy. The staff member who sponsored the motion to reinstate the law argued that there are activities happening on a regular basis which do not violate any of those laws but which should not be allowed.  I thought of times I’ve been working in the office and students sneak in and try to hide underneath my desk, or giant games of hide-and-seek spanning the building, and although they aren’t necessarily loud, fast, or rowdy, they are disruptive to people trying to focus on their own activities.  

Two older students attended the meeting to debate the law.  They argued that this law would complicate an already crowded law book; if there was a game of tag in the building, for example, would the players be charged with rowdy play, moving fast, being disruptively noisy, and chase and pursuit, making four charges for one event?  Wouldn’t that be a messy overcharge?  They asked where the line would be drawn between a chase game and simply “looking for someone,” or following someone who is leading you to a destination.  They suggested that the law would allow for people to be charged for harmless activities.  The rule’s sponsor responded that nobody would bother to write up harmless activities, but the students weren’t satisfied by that, arguing that such activity should not be technically illegal, even if it would be allowed.  

A second staff member spoke on behalf of reinstating the law, saying that it can be difficult to have a quiet focused group activity when chase games – even quiet ones – are going on.  Sometimes people playing hide-and-seek want to look in a room where a group is working, for example.

Another Staff Member chimed in, saying that she likes “a little chaos” in the building – it’s fun.  She argued that groups who are engaged in quiet focused activities are disturbed more often by random people barging into the room and for no other reason than to see what’s happening, and suggested that we turn our attention to addressing that issue.

When it came time to vote I abstained.  I wasn’t sure what my opinion was, and I left it to the people who were feeling passionate.  I was more interested by how any discussion of laws and procedures at Sudbury connects to the wider culture of the school and brings up essential questions: what kind of culture do we want to create at the school?  How much regulation is too much or too little? How can we prevent one individual’s freedom from disturbing another’s?  The motion to reinstate the Chase and Pursuit Law failed; the School Meeting decided to err on the side of legal simplicity, individual freedom, and fun.  The bill’s sponsor smiled concession, and we proceeded to the next order of business.

Open Letter (rant) to Those Who Advocate the Tough Love of Traditional Schools

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One criticism of the Sudbury model that comes up again and again is that it fails to “prepare kids for the ‘Real World’” because Sudbury provides too ideal an environment. Sudbury spoils them by daring to respect children and teenagers as full-blooded human beings. In contrast, the Real World is anti-human and is going to disrespect, subjugate, and crush them as soon as it gets its hooks into them. This means that schools should crush children a bit now to get them ready; the traditional system, with its plainly authoritarian structure, outdated and strange curriculum, and narrow agenda is actually a good thing! Not because it is actually good, but because it will thicken our kids’ skin, get them used to the way things really are out there, and teach ‘em some tough lessons about life! Here’s an example I saw recently, from a comment made on The Sudbury Valley School’s November 4 blog post:

“I think that when people reference the “real world” they may be talking about HOW it is, rather than WHAT it is. You can teach children all kinds of things, but if they go out into the world expecting fairness, or that people will respect them, they will have a rude wake up call. Bullies, unfair teachers, and having to do things I didn’t want to do taught me that in the real world you don’t always get to do what you want, life isn’t always fair, and people can (and WILL) be jerks. How are you preparing them for the parts of life that are NOT fun and creative?”

In this post, I’d like to discus this criticism. If you believe that kids need to learn “tough lessons” from the strictures of traditional school, please respond in the comments sections below; I’d like to hear a little more about what you’re thinking.

I’ll begin working under the assumption that the criticism – essentially that the Real World is crappy and an important function of traditional schools is to get kids get accustomed to how crappy it is because the sooner is gets crappy the better prepared they’ll be – is, indeed, true. But is that really what we want for our children? I would rather my daughter grow up at Sudbury and then be battered around and bewildered a bit more than average (again, assuming your argument is true) as she emerges into the Real World, because she might have a sense that things could – and should – be better, and that’s important, that vision of a better world, that striving to grow and change; I think we need to have that. I do not wish for my child that she merely be comfortable – a good Egyptian clinging to her place in the pyramid; I wish for her to be bold enough to be fully herself, even if that’s hard, and even if it hurts sometimes. So, even granting the premises of the argument, I dismiss the conclusion.

But I dismiss the premises, too. There’s lots of evidence to suggest that the preparation for the parts of life that are NOT fun and creative can actually be fun and creative (think tiger cubs learning to hunt). Not only that, but in my experience onerous tasks themselves can become fun and creative through focus, discipline, and imagination.

This is not the industrial age (it has been noted that our traditional schools are modeled on factories); this is the twenty first century, which has been widely hailed as the century of creativity, innovation, and originality. Are there people to tell us what to be and what to do with our lives in the real Real World, particularly in the emerging, uncertain, and new Real World? Or do we have to decide ourself? In traditional schools, adults tell kids what to do, and if kids do it they get stamps of approval. Succeeding in school is as simple as following directions. That’s like the real world? As far as I can tell, we have to figure out how to make a living, how to build a life that is authentic and meaningful.

So which is more Real – having authorities telling us what to do, and what success is, and how to achieve it for the first 18 years of our life, or being responsible from the beginning (because everyone is responsible at the end)?

The Individual in Community at Sudbury

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Last week we had a trial that raised some interesting questions about the age-old problem of individual rights vs. community – an intense philosophical, political, and metaphysical problem that still vexes human society and makes the news every day.

In a certain respect, Sudbury is an experiment in finding the balance between individual and community; individuals have freedom, but that freedom is limited by the freedom of others.  Sudbury thus hangs – like the rest of nature – in a delicate balance, and that balance is protected by our justice system.

Here’s what happened: the Judicial Committee needed a replacement member, and the next student on the list was asked to serve.  He was in the middle of something and initially refused.  This is a clear violation of the JC policies; service is not optional.  After a minute or so of haggling, though, he consented, and reported to the JC room in an angry huff.  He stormed in, did not answer a friendly greeting, plopped into a seat, and glared.  He did not vote on the first item that came up, and when he was asked if “this is the way it’s going to be,” he responded, “yeah, I’m pissed off.” JC then decided to replace him.  Later, he was charged with violating JC rules and procedures, essentially because he disrupted their process and ultimately refused to participate.  He plead Not Guilty.

At trial, I was the prosecutor.  The case looked simple: there were clear violations of JC policies, and I laid these out for the jury, adding that the defendant was not charged for his feelings, but for allowing his anger to disrupt the processes of JC.  But the defendant insisted that he was being persecuted for merely being angry, that he didn’t waste significant time, and that he would have cooled off if given the chance.  He rhetorically asked if a School Meeting Member would be charged if they were overcome with sadness – or another emotion – and thus unable to serve.  My response was that the defendant was angry about having to perform his community duty, which led him to shirk it, and that the disruption was significant enough for JC to write him up for it.  If, at the time he was asked to serve, he was very angry about something else, perhaps things would have been handled differently (although legally they shouldn’t be).  I wish I had added that we need to be able to regulate our emotions at least to the degree that we may avoid trampling on other individuals or the community.

The jury returned the surprising verdict of Not Guilty, swayed by the idea that the defendant should not be convicted because he was temporarily compelled by emotion and should have been allowed a chance to self-regulate.  I think they got this one wrong.  The defendant’s anger at having to perform a community duty caused him to neglect that duty; if the community tolerates that, then it is elevating the individual above the community in a potentially dangerous way, supporting an ideology in which community duties are onerous and/or unimportant.  In reality the needs of individuals and the needs of the community are not so distinct, and personal freedom is supported by the structures of the community.  Without JC, we would not have Sudbury.

I somewhat sympathize with the jury though, because we had indeed stumbled into the complex territory of determining under what circumstances we may legitimately excuse a SM Member from performing community duties.  I appreciate that in their hesitancy – in their doubt, which they considered reasonable – they chose Not Guilty, and I also appreciate that they were able to do that despite being told by an adult prosecutor that the opposite was correct.  After the verdict, I talked to a couple jurors, and they had interesting questions on their minds about the limits and exceptions to mandatory JC duty: what if I am having a profoundly miserable day, week, month – may I be excused?  What if I have a cognitive difference significant enough to make my participation a burden to the process of the JC – may I be excused? What if the Red Sox have just won the World Series and I have been thrust me into ecstatic rapture – may I be excused?  What if I have just reached a critical step in a chemistry experiment that cannot wait or my data will be spoiled – may I be excused? The policies state that JC is a mandatory community duty, but it’s not clear to me that all these cases would be handled the same way.  Perhaps the answer to all the above questions should be “No.”  What do you think?

It seems that the staff who know about the trial are in unanimous disagreement with the jury.  But I wouldn’t have it any other way; our students learn by making real decisions that actually affect people, not by responding to theoretical prompts that we cook up for them (and have nothing real at stake).  I wouldn’t want to attempt to assert some kind of adult authority and overrule the decision.  Doing so would not only subjugate our students, it would relieve them of responsibility – they would no longer have to think and act on difficult matters together, and they could passively rely on adults to make decisions for them (and then blame those same adults for making the decisions without full understanding of the situation!)

Closing thought: It seemed to me that – despite winning – the defendant himself changed his mind somewhat over the course of the trial, and I doubt very much that he will ever behave that way again.

Chemistry at Sudbury

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Every day, somewhere on the Sudbury campus, students are engaging in scientific pursuits. In the last couple of days this has included cooking in the kitchen, making homes for wooly bear caterpillars, tending the garden, pulling out a magnifying glass to get a closer look at “diamonds” discovered in an old broken brick (“No, that’s QUARTZ!”…“No, it’s a diamond!”), finding a baby turtle in the field, pouring over books about sharks and dinosaurs in the library, mining for metals and forging tools on the video game Minecraft, and a multitude of other activities.  In an open school with 57 students, 6 staff, over a dozen rooms and 67 acres of land, we can’t help but bump into science at every turn.

Yesterday, several of our 11-year-old boys came up to me and asked for some help using an old chemistry lab set they brought from home.  The set had sat dusty in a corner of their house for years and they’d never opened it.  I’m not sure what inspired them to pull it out, but their excitement was palpable.  It was a beautiful sunny, warm fall day and we found a quiet space outside to set up.  We cleaned the dust and debris off of the lab equipment and started flipping through the instructional booklet.

Our various containers of chemicals sat before us.  We pawed through them, and the boys read the foreign-sounding names out loud.  “Phenolphthalein Solution”, “Ferric Ammonium Sulfate”, “Sodium Carbonate.”  Their curiosity was contagious. 

To investigate, one student opened one of the small containers and took a whiff.  “Huggakpluhh!” he spluttered.  We discussed “wafting” to safely smell something in a Chemistry Lab, and together we poured over the precautions for the various chemicals.  Of course, the most exciting chemicals were those with the most precautions.  “May cause skin irritation.  If contacting skin, rinse with large amounts of water.”  “Whoah!” the boys said, and we pulled on our plastic gloves.  The rules and dangers of the lab added to the intrigue and excitement of our play, and the boys handled the chemicals with a deep concentration and serious caution appropriate for a lab setting.

Our first experiment: to create a polymer from two solutions.  We carefully prepared our space, mixed the solutions, and made a gelatinous, yellowish-gray solid they affectionately named “booger”.

I’ve never had the chance to just play in a chemistry lab the way these boys were.  Unfortunately, before I could discover chemistry for myself, chemistry was thrust upon me in a compulsory science class in my public middle school.  Later on in college I chose to take several years of chemistry as a part of my pre-med requirements.  Finally, I gained some satisfaction from these classes because I was choosing to take these courses to reach an end goal I had freely set for myself. Still, the lab time was intensely structured and high pressure, with no time to sit back and wonder after a stunning chemical transformation or to form independent questions during the course of an experiment.  Instead I was working hard to reach the “correct,” predetermined answers to someone else’s questions.

As the boys and I sat huddled around the lab equipment on the Sudbury grounds, I relished the opportunity to rediscover chemistry through their eyes, and chemistry that morning was more fascinating than ever before.  Questions flooded in: “What’s Sodium Carbonate?” was followed by a description of molecular structure, which spurred the question, “Well how do they get the oxygen in there?” leading to several interesting guesses and a brief description of bonding.  But the real focus was on the action—“How did those two clear liquids just make a purple precipitate?!”

Other students were quickly gathering around, fascinated.  People were asking questions and excitedly pointing to the different parts of the lab kit.  The boys began to exercise some crowd control.  They were willing to have bystanders but they required silence.  This chemistry play was a serious, concentrated pursuit.  After a few minutes many of the spectators moved on, but one girl stayed, watching intently as the boys pipetted solution into the cells in the reaction plate.

Taking in the scene, I noticed how the creativity, enthusiasm, focus, and determination I see these boys practice daily in role-playing games transferred seamlessly to the chemistry lab, and how beautifully the often rigid lines of “work” and “play” are erased by a day at Sudbury.

My Depression

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Seventh grade was when my depression began.

Now before anyone asks, nothing triggered this. I just started feeling like crap in seventh grade, despite my loving family, amazing friends, stable household, good grades, and basically perfect life. There was the exhaustion, and then the sadness. The sadness had no source. There was no reason for it, but it was there. It was like incredibly distracting background music, turned up a little too loud. At first I tried to get rid of it, but when I realized I couldn’t do that, I turned the volume up, grabbed a blanket, and just let it surround me. I could still have happy moments, at times. I still laughed at jokes. I still smiled at things. But the sadness was still there, waiting, and it absolutely hated being ignored. I went through life with lead weights on my ankles, my head, and the corners of my mouth. 
 
Weekends with friends were life-saving. Because I couldn’t tell my blood family what I was going through, my other family, my friends, saved me. I would show them my broken heart, and they would kiss it and put band-aids on it and keep it beating until I could see them again. I would spend hours collapsed on them, and they would rub my cut-up arms and kiss my forehead and charge my failing batteries enough to keep going for another week or so. 
 
I held onto moments with the people I cared about and little things I would find when with them–a rock in the shape of a heart, an old rusty nail on the side of a path, little objects that I wouldn’t let anyone touch and would cling to when I felt lost.
 
I needed help, but was too scared to ask for it. This went on for a few years. But then my parents found out. I forget how. It may have been my sister, or it may have been that I forgot to cover up my arms with bracelets one day, but either way they sent me to group therapy. It was good to talk to the other girls, and it was good to let it out, vent a little, relax for an hour and a half every Tuesday night. 
 
But my brain was still messed up. They put me on Zoloft, after some persuading from my concerned sister, and I think it helped for a few months before my body got used to it. Then it stopped working, so one day, I took myself off of it. If you’ve ever read about or gone through Zoloft withdrawal, you know that it’s hell.
 
By eleventh grade, my grades dropped into the 40s and my parents grounded me. I wasn’t allowed to phone anyone, see anyone, or go online until my grades improved and my room got cleaned. 
 
Neither one happened. 
 
After a few months, my parents realized that grounding me was making it worse. I got new medication. They sat me down and asked me if I would like to try out a private school. A Sudbury school. A non-stressful, no curriculum, democratic school that lets its students choose how they spend their days, learning through everyday experiences and play. 
 
They told me I could visit the school and check it out, and I started sobbing. I didn’t see any way out before that. I had been planning to be dead before senior year, and this school was my miracle.
 
I’ve been going to Sudbury for around three months now, and it has changed my life. The doubts I had about the philosophy of the school dissolve with each 9-year old poet, each 6-year old who answers the phone, “Hello, Hudson Valley Sudbury School, how may I help you?”, with each child who knows more about friendship and morals and honesty and communication than half of the adults I know. This school, this crazy, radical, insane school, has saved my life. It has taught me to hold on to inspiration, to find new reasons to live every second, to be different and odd and inspirational and ferociously passionate. 
 
Every once in a while, for a few days, I get bogged down again. I sit down and feel like living is impossible, like I can’t possible keep going, like the world is fading to grey again. Depression will come back, smiling and spreading itself through my bloodstream, turning my bones to lead and asking, “Did you forget about me?”
 
But it knows better than to stay, and I know better than to let it. Because no, I didn’t forget. And I’m not cured. But I hold the chains now, the whip, whatever metaphorical leash I need to keep it down. I’m in control now.
 
What I’ve realized is that I was never weak. Throughout those five years of not being able to do anything and wanting to give up entirely, I was not weak. I was beaten, bruised, bloody, but I was alive. I am alive.
 
I am alive.
This article first appeared in the Good Life Youth Journal.  A free journal written by young people for young-minded people.

Images of Sudbury

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Periodically, our blog entry will be a photo journal. This photo journal is presented by Vanessa.

This year – my tenth as a staff member at the Hudson Valley Sudbury School – I have been given a gift; I get to follow my ever curious toddler as he explores campus and interacts with the big kids. Because my son is often on the move I often only glimpse the joy, focus, fun, and talent that weave this community together. Experiencing the school like this has reminded me to stop and look closely, to revel in the fleeting moments, and to be thankful to be part of a school in which education is built on moments like these.

The Qualities of a Sudbury Education

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Last year I spent my afternoons tutoring students who came to me mostly from high-powered traditional private schools. I didn’t do much during sessions; I spoke casually with the students, commiserated, encouraged, laughed, asked occasional questions, and tried to stay out of their way as they navigated the difficulties of compulsory performance. But the students, their parents, and the owner of the company all thought I was doing a lot, and they happily bestowed upon me the credit for improvements in the students’ work and were delighted that the students actually enjoyed coming to tutoring after a full day of slogging through school. I admired and liked the owner of the company – my boss – and over the course of the year I described to him in detail the Sudbury philosophy and what I had been seeing at HVSS during my internship. He was interested, and understood and approved to an extent, but he did have a concern: “Matthew,” he told me, “you are an excellent teacher. You need to be working with kids and teaching them; I don’t want you to throw that away.” I was taken aback; alas, had I failed in my explanations of Sudbury?

There is a lot of play at Sudbury, and it could be said that play has a sacred place in the Sudbury philosophy because it is so often what kids want to do and what kids learn the most from doing. But it seems that in the process of learning the philosophy people often lose sight of the essential qualities of Sudbury education – freedom, trust, and responsibility, and come to believe that Sudbury only values play, or eschews other pursuits. But in the first instance – and in the last – Sudbury by definition does not approve of play or anything else over and above traditional academic pursuits, which have enormous value for me, personally. But any pursuit has little value outside the context of freedom, trust, and responsibility, and that’s the point.

One day at school a couple weeks ago I spent the morning quietly reading books about sticks, streams, and bunnies with a five year old girl. We paused to examine the illustrations, to read the expressions on the faces of the characters, and to guess at what else they might do in their imaginary lives. We talked about how lovely it might feel to just be a stick floating down a stream. Then, she was done, ready to move on. We walked down to the art room where an older girl taught us both how to make a potholder using a simple loom, which appealed to me because I’ve had it in the back of my head for years that I’d like to weave (now I have an extra potholder, too). Later in the afternoon I sat down with a teenager who was here on his visiting week. He had asked me to help him design a course of study focusing on human suffering and its causes, how chronically ill people are viewed in a society which privileges health, man’s pursuit of meaning despite suffering, and the roots of philosophy. We were beginning with Plato’s classic Meno. We each took roles in the dialogue and read aloud, pausing frequently to dissect Plato’s meaning and appreciate Socrates’ wit. At one point a group of younger kids came in to try to get the visiting student to come outside and play. “I need a little more of this, first,” he told them.

In the Meno, Socrates hypothesizes that knowledge lies latent within the hearts and minds of human beings, and we have only to “recollect” it. For Socrates, knowledge is found only by those who seek it honestly and diligently. When education is compulsory, so much of the work of the educator is figuring out how to get her students motivated. Games, rewards, punishments, and the passion of the teacher for the subject are all considered tools to achieve this. But these things very often fail, and in the process they debase students, telling them there is something essentially wrong with them (since they need to be compelled). For me, my own private play and imaginings have been the lodestar which has guided my investigation of life. Imagination has given me access to a wider scope of human activity than my tiny life could ever allow. When I am in a sword fight at Sudbury, I imagine that the swords are real. It takes concentration, but when it is done well – when the imagination is employed vigorously to polish the scene until it becomes real – the thoughts, emotions, and sensations of it spring to life – and later, questions, and the drive to investigate, and grow.

The next time I talk to my former boss at the tutoring company, I’ll tell him that I do get to “work with and teach students. I’d like to explain that freedom for students does not mean that formal learning does not happen at Sudbury; it means that when it does, there is a better chance for it to be authentic, because the student has chosen to engage in it – and meaningful, because it arises directly out of the student’s life – and fruitful, too, because students here come so often from the fecund fields of imaginative play.

Plato is rich and difficult; we moved slowly. We read a little more, spoke softly, laughed, concluded. Outside our window the group of kids ran by shrieking, pursued by goblins. The student got up and went out into the air and the sun, to play.

Right to Remain Silent Law?

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I am a new staff member here at Hudson Valley Sudbury School.  I moved from Massachusetts with my wife Ana and our baby Susannah to be a part of this place, and this post is meant to offer some insight into why we would do that.  

Last Friday evening my friend Douglas called me up to ask how it was going.  We’ve both taught in public schools, and one way we liked to describe the atmosphere in those schools was “tense boredom.”  In was tense because we were charged with ensuring that at all times our students were behaving according to enthusiastically precise guidelines; it was our job to contain and restrain the tremendous youthful energy before us, to make sure that it was pipelined into “productive work,” and that there were no leaks in the piping.  It was boring because a room full of otherwise creative and fun kids stripped of their rights to move, interact, create, and do much of anything is…boring, and sad too.  I took a minute to think before declaring to Douglas that at HVSS the atmosphere is the opposite: it is “relaxed engagement.”  I am relaxed, I explained, because at HVSS I am permitted to respect children and teenagers; I don’t have to exercise arbitrary authoritative power over them, and no one is exercising it over me, either.  I am engaged because when people are not under the yoke of arbitrary authoritative power they do a lot interesting things.  I am engaged because I am eager to learn – I have a new job, and I want to do it well.  I am engaged because in a small democratic community each person has the responsibility of making sure the school is operating in a just, respectful way.  The system here is alive and dynamic – all policies and laws can be changed by School Meeting, and that’s engaging.

Last week a student made a motion to put a new law into the books which stated that a School Meeting Member shall not be compelled to testify in the Judicial Council, a committee of students and staff who investigate complaints about law violations.  He was upset that he had been “forced to tattletale” on a friend because, at JC, as in our country’s Judicial System, a witness must testify; if you have evidence, you have to provide it (with some exceptions, of course).  He submitted his motion to be put on the School Meeting Agenda and started whipping up support.  He debated in the hallways.  He convinced and cajoled and wrangled: “so, have you heard about the “Right to Remain Silent Law?”  Then, at School Meeting he stood and spoke ardently and articulately, urging us to support his motion.  His case, essentially, was that witnesses should be allowed to decide for themselves the right course of action to take in testifying or not, that allowing them the choice was a manifestation of respect, that if this school is truly based on responsibility and trust then individual liberties – even liberties which may extend beyond what our wider society allows – should be steadfastly defended.  The counter-argument was made by students and staff, my self among the detractors: being forced to decide whether or not to testify puts witnesses in the difficult position of weighing the pros and cons of saying what they know vs. remaining silent to protect friends, which is unfair both to them and to any victims of rule violations.  There was a crowd on hand to witness and participate in the debate, and when it came to a vote it failed by a wide margin.  The student who sponsored the motion called the decision a “travesty” and a “violation of human rights” and left the meeting.  

I thought School Meeting made the right decision, but I’m not as sure now as I was when I voted.  Later that evening, washing dishes, I wondered if he was right after all – if, in a community built on trust and respect and which is bold enough to actually explore and live the implications of those values, it is indeed wrong to compel witnesses to testify.  For now, I still think we got it right, but I also think there’s more thinking to do.

In the traditional schools that my friend Douglas and I taught in, “respect” meant being obsequious and “responsibility” meant doing what you’re told.  At HVSS, “respect” and “responsibility” are living, dynamic aspects of human relationships, and our work at school is an ongoing investigation into them.  There are no authorities on the subject, just an open community of learners refining their thinking day by day.  We have the luxury of having sloughed off the burden of high-stakes testing and a model based on authority and instruction, and goodness let me tell you that’s relaxing.  We are free to work on more important things, to explore together what it means to respect and trust each other, and that kind of human-based work is – by definition – engaging.  It’s good to be here.

Connor’s List

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Why do you want to go to The Circle School, anyway, Connor? Connor attended the summer session and liked what he saw. He dictated this list of his own personal reasons, as part of his family’s discussions prior to his enrollment this fall.

  1. I’ll learn Japanese at TCS.
  2. I can do math at my own level and at my own speed.
  3. I can go outside and eat whenever I want.
  4. I can do origami. Some of my friends and I have started a store [at TCS] and we have made 60 cents. I also have plans to make people want to come and buy stuff.
  5. I can be with friends a lot at TCS. At public school I could only play with them 40 minutes a day.
  6. At public school I couldn’t share my ideas, except during a special class with Mrs. XXXXX. At TCS I can share ideas with everyone all the time.
  7. I can be upstairs whenever I want.
  8. I can use whatever computer programs I want, whenever I want. At public school I had to play the games the teachers told me and only in certain classes. In computer class I would always be finished before everybody else and so I would have to do the same things tons and tons of times and also in other classes.
  9. I like being on the JC [Judicial Committee at TCS] so when kids break rules, instead of standing at the wall for 20 minutes [as in public school] we think of other ways to help them understand the rules – like if they broke them for the first time they just get a warning, and if they have already done it before, a harder consequence [TCS jargon for “sentence”]. Like if someone hits someone then they can’t be around that person for an hour or something like that.
  10. At TCS you can go on field trips if you plan it. Michel was only five years old when he arranged a trip to the aquarium in Baltimore. I would like to plan trips to the new TCS building.
  11. I like it when Mommy dissects frogs with us.
  12. I like to play with Technics.
  13. I want to go to TCS. I don’t really want to go to public school and I get throw-up in the back of my mouth. I get up at 6:30am to get dressed and tell Mom it’s time to go to TCS.
  14. The public school says they are going to do things and they never do it. They said my friend was going to get to go to Special Interest, but he didn’t almost until the end of first grade.
  15. At public school I do the papers in about 20 seconds and then I have to wait a long time. I especially hate it when we do problems one at a time and have to wait up for everybody to finish. While I’m waiting I do algebra in my head. I know negative numbers and algebra like x + x = 12, then x = 6. I have to wait till eighth grade for that.
  16. I like The Circle School because I don’t have to be there for like seven hours. I can be there as long as I want, like maybe ten hours.
  17. At public school I was so bored once I fell asleep. And sometimes when I’m not paying attention and the teacher asks me a question, I know the answer anyway – whew!
  18. I like the way at TCS you get warnings. At public school you never get warnings, you always get five minutes on the wall, even if it’s your first time.
  19. [At public school] you couldn’t really talk at lunch and sometimes if you did you’d get five minutes on the wall. At TCS you can take a bite and then go play and come back.
  20. The rules at TCS are good because we get to make them. At public school they have all these rules and you can’t make any others because they are already made. At public school the teacher that teaches the class makes the rules before you even get there. At TCS the rules can change all through the year by teachers or kids. At public school the teachers make you follow the rules and punish you. At TCS everyone can write up someone else for breaking rules, and the JC [Judicial Committee] thinks of the consequence for the kid or whoever it is.
  21. At public school the only time you get to use your imagination is when you are not paying attention, and you are supposed to pay attention. At TCS you can imagine whenever you want, and I like that. I like to imagine.
  22. In public school I didn’t feel good about everyone else getting in trouble; I never got in trouble. The reason I said that I was no good was because that was the way I felt. I don’t know why I felt that way. I don’t like it when kids get consequences at TCS either. It sometimes makes me feel bad, sort of, but most of the time I think consequences are good.
  23. At TCS when I come up with an idea I can do something about it. The origami store was my idea and quite a few people decided to do it together. In public school I can’t really do that kind of thing- only the teachers can.
  24. I would like to practice typing more. I would like to learn more about Sweden and Japan. I’m already taking Japanese. I would like to study music, especially on the baritone ukulele, and art, by visiting art museums and getting some classes.