It Will Never Happen in the Classroom

“It [public education] is the only system that turns no child away, regardless of race, status, language, or need. For this reason, public schools are perhaps the only institution that is positioned to play a role in addressing the effects of poverty and social marginalization and furthering the goal of equity.”
-Pedro Noguera

Teachers, here is a key insight into finding great success in the classroom: get out of the classroom. The relationships we must foster as the foundation for transformative and powerful learning, especially for those youth most marginalized from the institutionalized learning of school, are rarely nurtured within the four walls of our rooms. Fortunately, the solution is simple: get out. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do – a tour of the US/Mexico border, backpacking at Point Reyes, attending a play at your local theater, or just taking a group of students to lunch a few blocks from your school – the key is for students to see their teachers in contexts outside of the school building and for us to see them beyond their roles as students in school. Stepping outside of the box can change everything.
As Herb Kohl aptly analyzes in his essay “I Won’t Learn from You,” the reason that many students don’t learn what their teachers intend to teach them hour after hour, class after class, year after year is not because they are incapable of learning the material, nor because they don’t care about education. Rather, many young people simply choose not to learn WHAT is being taught from WHO is teaching it to them.
By the time young people reach 9th grade, most have endured an estimated 11,000 hours of schooling. If they have made it that far, one thing is true: they have learned to adapt to a system that asks them to learn in a very specific way, on a very rigid schedule, and through very limited methods. For many students this system works. They are able to maneuver through the labyrinth of expectations and, ultimately, feel supported and successful at school. However, for those who don’t fit easily into our public education system or who choose to actively fight against it, school treats them, at best, as statistics (50% dropout rate in Oakland, 10% college going for Latin@ students, 1 in 3 African American boys suspended, etc) and, in the worst cases, with impatient disdain. Only when these young people know and believe that the stranger in the front of the room truly cares about them (as a student and an individual) will they open their minds and hearts to learning in the classroom. As teachers we are the ones, within the institution of schooling, in the most influential position to interrupt the process and disenfranchisement and reconnect students with a sense of educational possibility.
But we have to be willing to step outside of that very institution in order to connect with our students. This is one of the most important lessons I have learned in my 11 years as a high school teacher in San Francisco and Oakland and, fortunately, I learned it early. In my second year of teaching at a large comprehensive high school in the Bayview/Hunter’s Point neighborhood of San Francisco’s southeast side, I had the opportunity to take a group of 25 students backpacking for four days in Point Reyes National Seashore. It was our mid-semester “week without walls” and, along with two other intrepid (perhaps better described as naïve) young teachers, I decided it would be a good idea to embark on a journey into the mountains with a group of students who had never even slept in tents before the trip. Going into the camping excursion, I already had five months of in-the-classroom relationship built with my 10th grade students and, for the most part, a mutual respect had been established. However, there was one student going on the trip who I had struggled with all year in my World History class (I’ll call him Derian for the sake of this essay). From day one of our class, it was clear that Derian was extremely intelligent – and equally clear that he intended to find any way possible to derail my planned lessons. Every day. It seemed that his goal was to distract the maximum number of students for the maximum amount of time in each class – and the 11,000+ hours he had logged in school certainly served him well towards this end. Rarely did a class period go by that Derian I did not engage in a power struggle.
However, as soon as we set foot on the Sky trail leading us to our first camp in Point Reyes, that inimical dynamic change completely. Perhaps it was my allowing him to be DJ in the car on the way to our destination, or the witnessing of me nearly singeing my eyebrows off as I lit the stove, or, more likely, my helping he and his two patnas to set up their tent as the sun descended on us. Regardless of the reason, the shift in our relationship, though completely without effort or intention on my part, was palpable. That night, Derian taught me about the constellations he had learned about and I shared stories of my many travels that had allowed me to sleep under the same stars.
Feeling inspired by the backpacking trip, which had allowed me to simply be myself and have fun with my students, I returned to the classroom the following Monday with a renewed vigor towards my teaching that was sobered only by my apprehension about whether or not I would encounter the routine struggles with Derian and others who I had connected with on the trip. I was delighted when, before the bell even rang to begin first period, Derian popped his head in my room with a smile and shot me a warm “good morning, Gardner.” From that day on, Derian became one of the most engaged students in my World History class, often putting other students in check when they would attempt to distract the class. Derian was still the same intelligent, critical, social young man that he had always been. He continued to struggle with the challenges of family life and violence in his neighborhood. And he continued to be a roadblock to learning in his math, science, and English classes (as his teachers reminded me every week once they found out that Derian and I had a positive relationship in the classroom). However, something had shifted for Derian, at least when he walked into room 321. Derian had decided that this twenty-something white guy who showed up in his community every morning at 7:30am was worthy of his attention and his engagement. By showing him care and attention outside the walls of the classroom, I had earned Derian’s trust and respect, which translated to his behavior and learning inside the classroom.
Now, I absolutely do not claim that one simple field trip can and will change every student’s attitude towards school and teachers. Derian was actually an easy success story compared to most students who have entered my classroom with that level of righteous indignation towards school. It has taken significantly more investment to earn the trust and respect of others. Still, this experience illustrates the urgency of the need for teachers to transcend the classroom space in order to PROVE to students that we care. Only then, will they reach out their hands and open their hearts and minds to what we have to offer as educators.