Equity, Listening (the joke's at the end)

Listening, Equity (the Joke’s at the End)
“Listen or your tongue will make you deaf”
Cherokee saying

Co-facilitating a 2-day Summer Seminar focused on equity, with a team of 4 representing diverse socio-cultural, racial and professional backgrounds. For once, we had attracted a participant group that was not primarily white with a couple teachers of color but instead 2/3 of our group were from minority backgrounds. One of my teammates greeted me with a smile, “You seem really stressed and nervous,” she said. I wanted to say, “Why aren’t you? We are putting our beliefs on the line with a promise to provide a transformational experience in two short days.” But instead, I just said, “Yeah, feels like a big responsibility.”

We started the first morning with a chance to hear every voice in the room. We asked people to respond to the question: Why were you were drawn to this work?

Many people told stories that were sharp and brutal about kids lost in the system, watching their own kids get passed by, their own personal experiences as children or teachers of color in a white mainstream world. Individual expressions of frustration hung over our facilitation team as we took on pressure that we not join the ranks of people who have let them down and didn’t deliver on a promise that they would leave with something they had not had when they arrived; even more that they would not spend their time on something that wouldn’t make any difference for their work, for the kids and their families. Some people wanted specific strategies to take and use. I felt their urgency. We couldn’t solve any of the dilemmas. We couldn’t remove the racism from our systems…yet. What could we do in two days that would leave people with increased capacity to make more of a difference when they left?

We worked with a tension between content of the field of multicultural education, equity, diversity and our work in developing collaborative cultures, structures, relationships as process to work together on the content. We rubbed against each other, our agenda, our time frames.

By the last hour of the two days my heart was still pounding with worry that we had not done enough. Papers were strewn around the room. The circle of chairs was scattered, some of the seats were unoccupied. One young teacher who had wanted methods to take back to her classroom had left at lunch without saying anything. Another colleague who I had known for years left before the very end after getting upset over the content of another’s dilemma. Those remaining in the final circle leaned forward and moved in close. They shared what they were taking away from the experience and then there was nothing left to do but for me to wrap up the intensity satisfactorily for everyone.

As I brought my words to a close, a participant spoke up. “Can I say one thing?” “Yes, of course.” “We need each other,” he said, “to be allies, to back each other up as we continue to try and put ourselves out there. I hope we’ll continue to meet.”

I took my first free breath and realized what had happened. The two days were not about our content and processes but about their experiences listening to each other, even for the two who had left possibly disturbed.

What they had said at the end was they had learned to listen…and listen…and listen. Even when you think you’ve heard that story before, listen. Even when you are uncomfortable and defensive, listen. Put your own need to talk, comfort or be understood aside and listen. Listen as if you were saying, “I see you are carrying a heavy load. Shift a little of that weight into my arms. I’ll carry it with you for a while.”

When we put ourselves on the line, we need allies we can go to who will believe us about our experiences, who will stand with us, fearless, stoic and genuine in a willingness to persevere, who will not be deterred by hurt feelings, a bruised ego or fear of rejection. I realized that maybe, then, that was enough. And in the end, the joke was on me.

Here’s a real joke………

A journalist assigned to the Jerusalem bureau has an apartment
Overlooking the Western Wall. Every day when she looks out,
she sees an old bearded Jewish man praying vigorously. Certain
he would be a good interview subject, the journalist goes down
to the Wall, and introduces herself to the old man.

She asks, "You come every day to the Wall. Sir, how long have you
done that and what are you praying for?"

The old man replies, "I have come here to pray every day for 25
years. In the morning I pray for world peace and for the brotherhood
of man. I go home have a cup of tea, and I come back and pray for
the eradication of illness and disease from the earth. And very, very important, I pray for peace and understanding between the Israelis
and Palestinians."

The journalist is impressed. "How does it make you feel to come
here every day for 25 years and pray for these wonderful things?"
she asks.

The old man replies, calmly, "Like I'm talking to a wall."

National Standards and A Joke

It was the final examination for an introductory Biology course at the local university. Like many such freshman courses, it was designed to weed out new students, having over 500 students in the class!

The examination was two hours long, and exam booklets were provided. The professor was very strict and told the class that any exam that was not on his desk in exactly two hours would not be accepted and the student would fail. Half of an hour into the exam, a student came rushing in and asked the professor for an exam booklet.
"You're not going to have time to finish this," the professor stated as he handed the student a booklet.

"Yes I will," replied the student. He then took a seat and began writing. After two hours, the professor called for the exams, and the students filed up and handed them in. All except the late student, who continued writing. An hour later, the last student came up to the professor who was sitting at his desk preparing for his next class. He attempted to put his exam on the stack of exam booklets already there.
"No you don't, I'm not going to accept that. It's late."
The student looked incredulous and angry.
"Do you know who I am?"
"No, as a matter of fact I don't," replied the professor with an air of sarcasm in his voice.
"Do you know who I am?" the student asked again in a louder voice.
"No, and I don't care." replied the professor with an air of superiority.
"Good," replied the student, who quickly lifted the stack of completed exams, stuffed his in the middle, and walked out of the room.

The increasing acceptance of national standards for students as inevitable is worrying me. Does it make sense for people to set standards for effective education without knowing the actual children with all their individual gifts, challenges, desires, and dispositions? If we do not see the human beings in front of us, who are we to determine the goals and pathways that will work for them to be contributing members of our communities? The further away the standards are set from the community in which the children live, the more broad, numerous and most likely unconnected to children’s realities, they turn out to be.

I would suggest it is past time to let go of the factory model of education and move back to recognition that we are raising human beings and that human beings are too complex to be reduced exclusively to what can be measured by one standard for all.

In small schools we say that we will ensure that each child is known and seen by at least one adult. That has always struck me as sad that it is such a hard thing to accomplish in the buildings where our children are spending so much of their lives. What kind of lessons about the world and life does this provide for our young people?

There has been a question floating around about renaming No Child Left Behind. I’d like to suggest No Child Left Unseen.