In my last post, “Good Teaching with Bad Curriculum?,” I promised to share “a powerful example of a teacher who used a combination of grade-resistance, project-based learning, and digital communication to give his students an experience they wouldn’t forget.” Short and sweet, it’s this:
An AP Literature teacher in Pomona, California, was teaching The Great Gatsby to his seniors. Many of you might be familiar with the result of that unit from the widespread media coverage it got, but just in case: The teacher found a “relevance hook” for this classic meditation on economic class in America by having his students first write personal reflections about how the current economic meltdown is affecting their families and their futures. When he read those reflections, he invited his students to make a short film on the same subject. He got it into the hands of the Obama administration, and it led to Obama directly addressing the students in a speech, and later visiting the school during his trip to L.A. last week.
For me, the teaching behind the film is as interesting as the film. But here’s the film, first:
The benefits of anonymity in classroom writing
What intrigued me about this is something not mentioned in the film – I had to learn this part by watching the two video downloads from media coverage on Crooks and Liars – and it’s this: the initial student writings that made the teacher find his teachable moment, and decide there was a film project in their stories, were anonymous.
So what? So this: That anonymity is one “unschooly” element, I suspect, that worked the magic allowing these students to really write. Why “unschooly”? (Click “Read more” below for the rest…)
Because, unless I’m missing something, that writing assignment was not for a grade. (How can you enter grades in a gradebook on anonymous papers?) How does writing change for a student when it’s not for a grade? For one thing, it removes the pressures to take the safe path of writing what you think teacher wants to read, and instead opens the door to honesty. It also might shut the door to the soul-numbingly mechanical “five-paragraph essay,” and invite the organic approach to writing followed by most of us in the real world. Above all, “no grade” distances the assignment from school itself, and instead signals, “We’re being real here.”
If you buy this, then you buy into the paradox that schools, by tying writing to grades, encourage bad writing. That’s a timely idea for this age of measuring everything by grades. (And the reality of grading does not preclude the occasional anonymous, or ungraded, piece.)
The real world as audience, YouTube as medium
I shared in my bullying memoir something I have in common with these students: The collapse of the real estate market during the Carter administration took its toll on my family – my father sold real estate – and that took its toll on my studies. What the Pomona teacher had that was unavailable to my high school teachers in the ’70s was, obviously, the ability to create films easily, and publish them to a real-world audience on YouTube (the edtech world calls it “digital storytelling,” and Wes Fryer and David Jakes are good edubloggers to look into if you want to learn more).
This is old news to the 21st century education/”learning 2.0″ crowd, but bears pointing out here: the web revolutionizes the concepts of “language arts” and “audience” for schoolwork. Before Web 2.0, the communicative medium for student work was primarily the printed word, and the audience was primarily one person: the teacher. (Okay, there was the literary journal or the hallway bulletin board display for the radicals on the cutting edge.) In less than five short years, Web 2.0 has exploded that reality – even in mainstream journalism, as is obvious with a quick glance at all the multimedia on the online versions of the NYTimes or Washington Post. Suddenly film, photography, spoken word podcast interviews, and slideshows are viable alternatives to text, and arguably more compelling to audiences than text-only modes. Ask yourself if a transcript of the film above would have received as much attention, or had a similar impact. Next, ask yourself if the students would have been as engaged in their work if they thought the film was, old-school-wise, for the audience of one – the teacher – instead of the presidential candidates.
Next, consider the implications of the new modes on student achievement – as measured by grades. I presume the film was used for a grade, and if that’s the case, then it gave students in this “language arts” class who may have been middling-to-bad writers, but capable speakers, the opportunity to excel.
Rescuing curriculum from irrelevance
Finally, there’s the question of curriculum. One of my best years teaching history was one of the worst years for the world: the school year 2004-2005. Why? Because the American occupation of Iraq was starting to unravel, and civil war was looming on the horizon. Like the AP teacher seeing a “relevance hook” between the “American Dream” in Gatsby and that of his students today, and seizing on it, I seized on the situation in Iraq by re-working my syllabus for Asian history, which ended with the Middle East eight months later, by inserting a two-week study of the Iraq situation at the beginning of the year. The concepts wrapped into that situation – imperialism, resistance and guerilla warfare, sectarianism and civil war, power vacuums, puppet governments, geo-politics and diplomacy, on and on – were ones that would crop up repeatedly in every country study we did throughout the year. We were able to use Iraq as our touchstone for those concepts practically every week for nine months. And as an added bonus, the students would learn about that rarely-studied thing called “current events” and graduate into the world knowing something about their own age, and not just those in the distant past (another travesty of schooliness).
The AP teacher was apparently able to do the same thing for Gatsby. One take-away from this, to me, is that it’s essential that teachers be able to change the curriculum based on current events. If Gatsby was not on the syllabus for that year, did the teacher have the freedom to see the teachable moment, make the change, and put it there? If not, why not?
And what about math and science?
We’ve looked at relevance hooks for history and English, but what about math and science? How can they be taught in a way that’s relevant to students? When I interviewed the two Intel Science Talent Search student finalists a few weeks ago, they made abundantly clear that independent applied research projects, mentored by real-world scientists in their communities, did the trick for them. As for math, I just read about a class combining geometry and construction projects in Kentucky that sounds like an excellent way to make geometry a relevant subject. (And math teachers out there should check out math teacher Dan Meyer’s blog, by the way.)
I’d love to hear stories along these lines from any of you out there, in any discipline.