Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Sunday, March 6, 2011
More Press for Tangible Things!
More press for Tangible Things (the exhibit half of the course I helped develop and am teaching for this semester): Boston Globe.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Tennessee Tea Party Demands the Teaching of Children's History
No, not really. But they have released a statement regarding their priorities for history education:
According to the Memphis Commercial Appeal, the TN Tea Party believes that
I'll leave the rest to others, but I was most struck by "the majority of citizens." We could quibble about who is and is not a "citizen," but I would say that this standard does not mean what they think it does.
No portrayal of minority experience in the history which actually occurred shall obscure the experience or contributions of the Founding Fathers, or the majority of citizens, including those who reached positions of leadership.
Neglect and outright ill will have distorted the teaching of the history and character of the United States. We seek to compel the teaching of students in Tennessee the truth regarding the history of our nation and the nature of its government.So much to parse.
I'll leave the rest to others, but I was most struck by "the majority of citizens." We could quibble about who is and is not a "citizen," but I would say that this standard does not mean what they think it does.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Tangible Things
This semester, I will be the head Teaching Fellow for a new GenEd course at Harvard called Tangible Things: Harvard Collections and World History (co-taught by Professors Laurel Ulrich and Ivan Gaskell).
The purpose of the course is to get students into the archives/museums and get them thinking about how the disciplinary categories arose (and how valid they are).
Along with regular lectures and sections, we have a fabulous exhibit that is open to the public. The core of the exhibit includes objects from many different collections and is on view at the Historical Scientific Instruments gallery in the Science Center through the end of May. We have also placed guest objects in museums and libraries all around campus.
See our write-up in Curated Magazine.
The purpose of the course is to get students into the archives/museums and get them thinking about how the disciplinary categories arose (and how valid they are).
Along with regular lectures and sections, we have a fabulous exhibit that is open to the public. The core of the exhibit includes objects from many different collections and is on view at the Historical Scientific Instruments gallery in the Science Center through the end of May. We have also placed guest objects in museums and libraries all around campus.
See our write-up in Curated Magazine.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Responsible Quotation
This past semester, I was a tutor for the required methodology course in the history department. My students were all sophomores and juniors hoping to concentrate in history (pending their ability to pass this course, which, happily, they all did).
Over the course of the semester, one of the main topics of discussion in section was the responsible use of sources. They all wrote papers based on a common collection of primary sources, then read and reviewed each others' work, so we had ample opportunity to see how different people used the same sources to support completely different (and often contradictory) arguments. For the most part, these arguments were reasonable and faithful to the sources.
Several students had some difficulty accepting the idea that the same sources could be interpreted in such diverse ways. They wanted to know what happened, not what some historian decided had happened, and it was my job to break the bad news to them that histories are the stories we tell ourselves about the past, not revelations. Two students found this particularly hard to take and found themselves standing on the brink of a sort of nihilistic postmodernism — you can make up anything and call it history!
Of course, I did my best to talk them back from the edge of despair, pointing out that this was the whole point of basing arguments on primary evidence. It's true that you can make sources say pretty much anything, but it is the historian's responsibility to interpret the sources in a way that represents them faithfully and makes a brave attempt to arrive at some sort of good-faith understanding about the past.
One of the tools I used during discussion was this spoof trailer for Shining, a feel-good family movie about "a writer looking for inspiration" and "a kid looking for a dad." I think it helped clarify what I was trying to say about the malleability of sources and the importance of responsible quotation:
Over the course of the semester, one of the main topics of discussion in section was the responsible use of sources. They all wrote papers based on a common collection of primary sources, then read and reviewed each others' work, so we had ample opportunity to see how different people used the same sources to support completely different (and often contradictory) arguments. For the most part, these arguments were reasonable and faithful to the sources.
Several students had some difficulty accepting the idea that the same sources could be interpreted in such diverse ways. They wanted to know what happened, not what some historian decided had happened, and it was my job to break the bad news to them that histories are the stories we tell ourselves about the past, not revelations. Two students found this particularly hard to take and found themselves standing on the brink of a sort of nihilistic postmodernism — you can make up anything and call it history!
Of course, I did my best to talk them back from the edge of despair, pointing out that this was the whole point of basing arguments on primary evidence. It's true that you can make sources say pretty much anything, but it is the historian's responsibility to interpret the sources in a way that represents them faithfully and makes a brave attempt to arrive at some sort of good-faith understanding about the past.
One of the tools I used during discussion was this spoof trailer for Shining, a feel-good family movie about "a writer looking for inspiration" and "a kid looking for a dad." I think it helped clarify what I was trying to say about the malleability of sources and the importance of responsible quotation:
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Grading Done!
At 8:51 p.m. on May 11, 2010, I assigned the final grade on my final student paper for this school year. I have a few meetings and conferences to attend in the next three days, but the hard work is done for now. It will be nearly nine months before I see another student paper/exam/section and I am so happy!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Deep Thoughts from Student Papers
"Sometimes there is a deeper meaning to everything, and in this case, there was."
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Grading
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Good For Them
I applaud these teachers who have found a way to make a little extra money by selling their lesson plans online. To administrators who think that school districts should get a cut of the profits from the sale of teachers' original work, I say go jump in a lake.* If it's their original work, they own it and have every right to sell it. I especially applaud teachers for developing and selling lesson plans intended to modify scripted curricula like Open Court and Saxon Math.
The article contains no mention of the rise of scripted curricula, but I can imagine that it is a significant factor in driving online lesson plan sales. When I was a teacher, I would gladly have paid $50 for a unit plan called "Squeeze Some Meaningful Learning Out of This Crappy Open Court Unit Without Losing Your Mind." Or better yet, "A Beginner's Guide to Unspiraling Saxon Math."
I laughed when I read the quotation from Joseph McDonald, a professor of education at NYU: "“Teachers swapping ideas with one another, that’s a great thing,” he said. “But somebody asking 75 cents for a word puzzle reduces the power of the learning community and is ultimately destructive to the profession.”
Yep, nothing undermines the profession of teaching like regular teachers acting as if their own intellectual work is a valuable resource. They should all give it away for free because teaching is an altruistic calling, not a profession. That way, we can keep treating teachers like volunteers who do what they do purely out of the goodness of their hearts, rather than treating them like professionals who create original work and deserve to be rewarded for it.
* I should make it clear that I am assuming that most of the work in creating these lesson plans goes on outside of classroom time. When I was an elementary school teacher in California, I was compensated for one hour of prep time per week. I spent many, many more hours than that writing lesson plans. Other teachers refused to do unpaid prep because it undermined their bargaining position with the district, and I respect their decision to work only during those hours for which they were paid. The district treated us like contractors — we were given a budget of $125 per semester, which barely covered copy paper and whiteboard markers. My first year, I spent about $2,000 of my own money outfitting an undersupplied classroom with what I considered to be the bare essentials (pencils, a pencil sharpener, crayons, writing paper, construction paper, chart paper, used books, rulers, scissors, glue sticks, folders) and reasonable extras (paint, paintbrushes, magnifying glasses, supplies for science experiments, new books, a decent dictionary, pillows for the reading area, magnets for the whiteboard, jump ropes, playground balls, etc.). Family members kicked in for special extras — my students particularly loved the finger puppets purchased for them by my mother-in-law. I claimed the federal maximum ($250) on my taxes.
The article contains no mention of the rise of scripted curricula, but I can imagine that it is a significant factor in driving online lesson plan sales. When I was a teacher, I would gladly have paid $50 for a unit plan called "Squeeze Some Meaningful Learning Out of This Crappy Open Court Unit Without Losing Your Mind." Or better yet, "A Beginner's Guide to Unspiraling Saxon Math."
I laughed when I read the quotation from Joseph McDonald, a professor of education at NYU: "“Teachers swapping ideas with one another, that’s a great thing,” he said. “But somebody asking 75 cents for a word puzzle reduces the power of the learning community and is ultimately destructive to the profession.”
Yep, nothing undermines the profession of teaching like regular teachers acting as if their own intellectual work is a valuable resource. They should all give it away for free because teaching is an altruistic calling, not a profession. That way, we can keep treating teachers like volunteers who do what they do purely out of the goodness of their hearts, rather than treating them like professionals who create original work and deserve to be rewarded for it.
* I should make it clear that I am assuming that most of the work in creating these lesson plans goes on outside of classroom time. When I was an elementary school teacher in California, I was compensated for one hour of prep time per week. I spent many, many more hours than that writing lesson plans. Other teachers refused to do unpaid prep because it undermined their bargaining position with the district, and I respect their decision to work only during those hours for which they were paid. The district treated us like contractors — we were given a budget of $125 per semester, which barely covered copy paper and whiteboard markers. My first year, I spent about $2,000 of my own money outfitting an undersupplied classroom with what I considered to be the bare essentials (pencils, a pencil sharpener, crayons, writing paper, construction paper, chart paper, used books, rulers, scissors, glue sticks, folders) and reasonable extras (paint, paintbrushes, magnifying glasses, supplies for science experiments, new books, a decent dictionary, pillows for the reading area, magnets for the whiteboard, jump ropes, playground balls, etc.). Family members kicked in for special extras — my students particularly loved the finger puppets purchased for them by my mother-in-law. I claimed the federal maximum ($250) on my taxes.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Field Trip!
We started the morning on the Common, talking about the occupation and Bostonians' reactions to the presence of the soldiers. Then, it was on to the Granary Burying Ground and Kings Chapel, where Prof. Lepore generously allowed me to say a few words about gravestones and memorialization. In King's Chapel, I had a chance to sit in Ame and Elizabeth Cuming's pew (#36), which was a real treat. They had a window seat just a few boxes back from Governor Hutchinson.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Observations
Tutor Hopkins: Today, we will practice using material objects as historical sources. When you are approaching an object, the first thing you should do is take some time to look at it carefully. Try to rid your mind of preconceptions and just make concrete observations about the object. Anything goes — just tell everyone what you see.
Undergrad #1: It's made of stone.
Tutor Hopkins: Ok, good. Does anyone know what kind of stone?
Undergrad #2: Slate?
Tutor Hopkins: You're right — it's a nice, fine-grained slate. What else?
Undergrad #3: There's a skull with wings.
Undergrad #4: And some Latin on the top.
Tutor Hopkins: Great. We're looking at the material, the iconography, and the language. Who here speaks Latin and can translate for us?
Undergrad #5: Remember Death? Time is fleeting?
Tutor Hopkins: Yep. Time flies. What else do you see?
Undergrad #6: There's an ornate floral design on the bottom.
Undergrad #7: And the top is bumpy.
Tutor Hopkins: Is this the same design aesthetic as the Georgian buildings Prof. X showed you?
Undergrad #8: No — it's sort of symmetrical, but not really geometric like the buildings.
Tutor Hopkins: Keep looking. Anything else jumping out at you?
— silence —
Tutor Hopkins: Anything surprising or unexpected?
— silence —
Tutor Hopkins: Anybody?
Undergrad #1: It's kind of . . . small.
Tutor Hopkins: I suppose. I'm a little surprised that no one has noticed the GIANT BREASTS on the borders. There are eight of them.
Undergrads #2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8: Oh! I saw those, but I didn't think they could really be . . . you know.
Tutor Hopkins: Were you expecting to see GIANT BREASTS on a gravestone from 1710?
Undergrads: No. (nervous giggling)
Tutor Hopkins: The first lesson of using objects as sources: make concrete observations without hampering yourself with expectations. You may find some strange and unexpected things.
(Very attentive undergrads go on to spend a lovely hour noticing things in the graveyard.)
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
An Immature Post About How Immature I Am
I didn't blog when I was working as an elementary school teacher. Now, I sort of wish that I had — I'm sure I've forgotten 1,000 wonderful stories. I try not to blame myself, though — I know that I was working 18-hour days between teaching, prepping, and taking night classes, and that if I had tried to write about teaching during my precious sleeping time, I would never have made it through.
Today, a post on Failblog made me realize that I should write down some of my teaching stories before I forget them all. What follows is an account of my immaturity as a 21-year-old in that unexpected minefield of double-entendres: a 2nd grade classroom. Possibly NSFW.
The picture on Failblog could have been taken at L********* Elementary. In fact, I did a double-take and took a good, long look at that potted plant, trying to determine whether it was L*********. But no — I remember now — our "Cum" files were in the kind of cabinet with the very wide drawers and the files hanging sideways. For those of you not in the know, "Cum" is short for "Cumulative File" (aka "your permanent record") and is pronounced "kyoom." This file holds all of a student's most important school-related paperwork: end-of-year report cards, major disciplinary reports, promotion/retention paperwork, initial registration card, etc. As the end of the schoolyear approaches, teachers will be bombarded with increasingly shrill memos imploring them, "PLEASE update your Cums!" "All Cums must be filed by June 11th at 4:00!!!"
By the time I had to file my Cums, I was a pro at sucking in my cheeks to avoid wildly inappropriate laughter during school hours. I was 21, just a few months out of college, and had been instructed by my TFA supervisors that I must remain strictly professional in appearance and behavior at all times, lest I bring shame on myself, may family, my alma mater, the United States in general, and TFA in particular. I wore skirts and addressed other teachers as "Mrs. So-and-so" and was generally very businesslike, but I had one weakness: unintentional sexual slang used by straight-faced teachers/administrators. You'd be surprised by how often this is a problem at an elementary school.
My first major test was in October at my very first IEP meeting. An IEP is an Individualized Education Plan, a legally binding document detailing the interventions a school will provide for a student with special needs. It's a Very Official document requiring a Very Official meeting. (Side note: no matter how Official a meeting is, its seriousness is invariably undermined when the adult participants are forced to sit in tiny chairs.)
I arrived at the meeting early* and arranged all my Official-looking folders containing the Official diagnostic tests and observation notes I had collected to assess Tasha's** progress. I was soon joined by the district psychologist, the principal, the reading specialist, Tasha's 1st-grade teacher, and Tasha's grandmother. Pleasant hellos all around. First item: let's look at some diagnostic results to see how much progress Tasha has made since the last IEP meeting. First diagnostic test: the Woodcock-Johnson.
I might have snorted. No, I definitely snorted. I reached for a tissue to cover my face and managed not to go into full-on cackle, but let me tell you, it was a struggle. To this day, I have no idea how Tasha performed on her Woodcock-Johnson — all I could hear was a little voice screaming in my ear, "Don't laugh! Don't laugh!"
I'm not proud of myself, I'm just telling you what happened.
At least there were no students in the room. When I told one of my TFA buddies this story, she countered with one of her own:
Our district used a scripted reading curriculum called Open Court — all the 2nd grade classes across the whole 20-school district read the same story during the same week and are supposed to do the exact same activities, etc. If you have a hardass principal, it can be awful, but parts of it aren't that bad. The 2nd grade curriculum has some really great units (Fossils, Camouflage) and some terrible units (Kindness).
The people who developed Open Court were never children. They have no children of their own and have never met any children. Proof of this: the very first lesson in the 4th grade Open Court curriculum, week 1, day 1, is a vocabulary lesson including the words "cockpit" and "abreast." All fourth graders think this is amazingly hilarious. First year teachers who've spent all summer working on ulcers and reading about "classroom management" do not.
I had my own run-ins with Open Court vocab lessons. Fortunately, 2nd graders are a teeny bit too young to think twice about "cockpit," but that doesn't mean that Open Court didn't throw me a few curveballs over the course of the year.
Seriously, Open Court, what is it with you and woodcocks? Yes, I know, they are adorable little birds. But must they appear in every story? I never knew so many children's stories had woodcocks in them — did you seek these stories out? Did you commission special books just so you could shoehorn another woodcock reference into the 2nd grade reader? It was excessive.
I could have gotten through the woodcocks ok if it were not for that typo. The end-of-week quiz for Unit 3, Week 3 asks a question about the "woodchuck" in that week's story. There is no woodchuck in the story, just another woodcock (of course). I (first-year teacher!) did not notice this error until after I spent an hour coaxing the student copies out of our tempermental photocopier. It's not like the kids won't notice.
I have a plan: at the beginning of the quiz, I will calmly direct everyone's attention to the bottom of page one. Then I will direct them to cross out "woodchuck" and write "woodcock" in its place. I will demonstrate this on the board. It's foolproof. Just, please, nobody laugh.
I'm at the board, calmly crossing out "woodchuck" and calmly writing in "woodcock." From the back of the room, know-it-all Nasreen** pipes up, "Well, we should really just write 'cock'" instead of crossing out the whole thing." Ok, Nasreen, you do that. Lizbet**: "Yeah, me too, I'm just writing 'cock.'"
Keep it together, nobody's laughing, they're just being logical. Just focus on writing "woodcock" so the others have a model to follow.
A moment of silence, and then I hear it, "huh, huh, huh" — a low, staccato, grunting laugh. Oh no, it's Ramon,** one of the most mature kids, one of the ones I feared might make something of this. "Huh, huh, huh." I suck in my cheeks — if this snowballs out of control, it will not be because I started it. "Huh, huh, huh." I sneak a glance over at Ramon — he's got a big grin on his face:
"Huh, huh, huh. Woodchuck is a funny word."
Laughter bubbles up from every corner of the classroom. "Ha. Woodchuck. Good one, Ramon." "Tee hee, woodchuck." "Huh, huh, huh."
Immense relief. They're just little kids. So am I, apparently.
*TFA motto: "Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable!"
**All names have been changed.
Today, a post on Failblog made me realize that I should write down some of my teaching stories before I forget them all. What follows is an account of my immaturity as a 21-year-old in that unexpected minefield of double-entendres: a 2nd grade classroom. Possibly NSFW.
The picture on Failblog could have been taken at L********* Elementary. In fact, I did a double-take and took a good, long look at that potted plant, trying to determine whether it was L*********. But no — I remember now — our "Cum" files were in the kind of cabinet with the very wide drawers and the files hanging sideways. For those of you not in the know, "Cum" is short for "Cumulative File" (aka "your permanent record") and is pronounced "kyoom." This file holds all of a student's most important school-related paperwork: end-of-year report cards, major disciplinary reports, promotion/retention paperwork, initial registration card, etc. As the end of the schoolyear approaches, teachers will be bombarded with increasingly shrill memos imploring them, "PLEASE update your Cums!" "All Cums must be filed by June 11th at 4:00!!!"
By the time I had to file my Cums, I was a pro at sucking in my cheeks to avoid wildly inappropriate laughter during school hours. I was 21, just a few months out of college, and had been instructed by my TFA supervisors that I must remain strictly professional in appearance and behavior at all times, lest I bring shame on myself, may family, my alma mater, the United States in general, and TFA in particular. I wore skirts and addressed other teachers as "Mrs. So-and-so" and was generally very businesslike, but I had one weakness: unintentional sexual slang used by straight-faced teachers/administrators. You'd be surprised by how often this is a problem at an elementary school.
My first major test was in October at my very first IEP meeting. An IEP is an Individualized Education Plan, a legally binding document detailing the interventions a school will provide for a student with special needs. It's a Very Official document requiring a Very Official meeting. (Side note: no matter how Official a meeting is, its seriousness is invariably undermined when the adult participants are forced to sit in tiny chairs.)
I arrived at the meeting early* and arranged all my Official-looking folders containing the Official diagnostic tests and observation notes I had collected to assess Tasha's** progress. I was soon joined by the district psychologist, the principal, the reading specialist, Tasha's 1st-grade teacher, and Tasha's grandmother. Pleasant hellos all around. First item: let's look at some diagnostic results to see how much progress Tasha has made since the last IEP meeting. First diagnostic test: the Woodcock-Johnson.
I might have snorted. No, I definitely snorted. I reached for a tissue to cover my face and managed not to go into full-on cackle, but let me tell you, it was a struggle. To this day, I have no idea how Tasha performed on her Woodcock-Johnson — all I could hear was a little voice screaming in my ear, "Don't laugh! Don't laugh!"
I'm not proud of myself, I'm just telling you what happened.
At least there were no students in the room. When I told one of my TFA buddies this story, she countered with one of her own:
Our district used a scripted reading curriculum called Open Court — all the 2nd grade classes across the whole 20-school district read the same story during the same week and are supposed to do the exact same activities, etc. If you have a hardass principal, it can be awful, but parts of it aren't that bad. The 2nd grade curriculum has some really great units (Fossils, Camouflage) and some terrible units (Kindness).
The people who developed Open Court were never children. They have no children of their own and have never met any children. Proof of this: the very first lesson in the 4th grade Open Court curriculum, week 1, day 1, is a vocabulary lesson including the words "cockpit" and "abreast." All fourth graders think this is amazingly hilarious. First year teachers who've spent all summer working on ulcers and reading about "classroom management" do not.
I had my own run-ins with Open Court vocab lessons. Fortunately, 2nd graders are a teeny bit too young to think twice about "cockpit," but that doesn't mean that Open Court didn't throw me a few curveballs over the course of the year.
Seriously, Open Court, what is it with you and woodcocks? Yes, I know, they are adorable little birds. But must they appear in every story? I never knew so many children's stories had woodcocks in them — did you seek these stories out? Did you commission special books just so you could shoehorn another woodcock reference into the 2nd grade reader? It was excessive.
I could have gotten through the woodcocks ok if it were not for that typo. The end-of-week quiz for Unit 3, Week 3 asks a question about the "woodchuck" in that week's story. There is no woodchuck in the story, just another woodcock (of course). I (first-year teacher!) did not notice this error until after I spent an hour coaxing the student copies out of our tempermental photocopier. It's not like the kids won't notice.
I have a plan: at the beginning of the quiz, I will calmly direct everyone's attention to the bottom of page one. Then I will direct them to cross out "woodchuck" and write "woodcock" in its place. I will demonstrate this on the board. It's foolproof. Just, please, nobody laugh.
I'm at the board, calmly crossing out "woodchuck" and calmly writing in "woodcock." From the back of the room, know-it-all Nasreen** pipes up, "Well, we should really just write 'cock'" instead of crossing out the whole thing." Ok, Nasreen, you do that. Lizbet**: "Yeah, me too, I'm just writing 'cock.'"
Keep it together, nobody's laughing, they're just being logical. Just focus on writing "woodcock" so the others have a model to follow.
A moment of silence, and then I hear it, "huh, huh, huh" — a low, staccato, grunting laugh. Oh no, it's Ramon,** one of the most mature kids, one of the ones I feared might make something of this. "Huh, huh, huh." I suck in my cheeks — if this snowballs out of control, it will not be because I started it. "Huh, huh, huh." I sneak a glance over at Ramon — he's got a big grin on his face:
"Huh, huh, huh. Woodchuck is a funny word."
Laughter bubbles up from every corner of the classroom. "Ha. Woodchuck. Good one, Ramon." "Tee hee, woodchuck." "Huh, huh, huh."
Immense relief. They're just little kids. So am I, apparently.
*TFA motto: "Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable!"
**All names have been changed.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Chang's Paper Pony
I have found that many children's books on the subject of immigration (and slavery, Civil Rights, etc.) are what I always called "Kids' Books for Mom and Dad." You know the type — they're touching, lushly-illustrated books that look great but are never really a hit with the kids they're supposedly intended for. Mom and Dad love these books because they're works of art and have a Very Important Message, but kids rarely seek them out on their own.
I'll admit — I love KBMD and will probably buy dozens for my own children someday. I love some (When Marian Sang, Pink and Say, Nettie's Trip South) and some are pretty good (Baseball Saved Us, Teammates), but they were always the last ones on the shelves in my classroom during free reading.
Part of the problem is in the illustrations. Adults like black and white illustrations, but 95% of second graders find them boring. Kids LOVE photographs and colorful, dramatic illustrations. Charcoal sketches may be delicate and subtle, but the average elementary schooler will pass over that muted cover every time.
Another problem is the story. Kids' Books for Mom and Dad are usually about Something Very Important and, when history is involved, tend toward the epic. They're usually decent for reading one-on-one with a child because in that situation the parent can answer every question and elaborate on every vague statement, but KBMD are generally not good for independent reading. There is too much new information, typically handled in the least specific way possible.
Chang's Paper Pony is not a KBMD. It is a simple, accessible story that children can enjoy on a number of levels. On one hand, it's a story of a little boy who wants a pony. On the other, it's a jumping-off point for teachers and parents to introduce discussions about immigration, discrimination, and 19th-century America. The story is cute, but it's not the boring crap that they usually push on beginning readers, so it's great for late-blooming readers who are (understandably) bored by hundreds of books about anthropomorphic bunnies and Jimmy's new puppy. The pictures are engaging, the reading level is reasonable, and it's a serious story without getting too wrapped up in having a Very Important Message.
A must-have, especially for California teachers (great for low readers in grade 4 for CA history).
Friday, June 20, 2008
California Teacher Fired for "Afro-centric" Lessons
This is disgusting. Karen Salazar, an English teacher at Jordan High School in Watts, was fired after administrators determined that her lessons were "Afro-centric" and inappropriate. Salazar used excerpts from The Autobiography of Malcolm X and rap lyrics in her class and encouraged students to become politically active. The administration isn't talking, so there aren't a lot of specifics on what they found objectionable, and I'm sure they're scrambling to cover their asses with something halfway plausible. Ms. Salazar was well liked by her students, she has a Master's degree, and her mentor teacher gave her positive evaluations. What more could a school ask of its teachers?
Other bloggers have covered the details of the case and commented, so I won't rehash the basics, other than to add my voice to the outrage.
I spent a very brief time in Watts during my training for Teach for America. While the school building was terrible and the instructional materials ancient, the master teachers and administrators who oversaw our training there were passionately committed to their students and saw education as political activism. Obviously, I didn't meet the administrators at Jordan, who seem to have their heads up their asses.
It should go without saying that teachers should teach students how to apply critical thinking skills to everything, even the curriculum in front of them. Isn't that what college-level work is all about?
The most odious thing about this case is that it lays bare the destructive assumption that "standard" histories of the United States or canons of literature are not themselves political constructions. It reminds me of that fight in Philadelphia a few years ago when white residents got angry about the new African-American history requirements for high school students. The assumption is that the "basic" history is a military-political history of the nation state and anything else is pandering to an interest group. "Literature" means English novels and romantic poetry, and anything else is godless commie propaganda. I know I shouldn't be surprised by this ubiquitous type of dumbassery, but it still gets under my skin.
Other bloggers have covered the details of the case and commented, so I won't rehash the basics, other than to add my voice to the outrage.
I spent a very brief time in Watts during my training for Teach for America. While the school building was terrible and the instructional materials ancient, the master teachers and administrators who oversaw our training there were passionately committed to their students and saw education as political activism. Obviously, I didn't meet the administrators at Jordan, who seem to have their heads up their asses.
It should go without saying that teachers should teach students how to apply critical thinking skills to everything, even the curriculum in front of them. Isn't that what college-level work is all about?
The most odious thing about this case is that it lays bare the destructive assumption that "standard" histories of the United States or canons of literature are not themselves political constructions. It reminds me of that fight in Philadelphia a few years ago when white residents got angry about the new African-American history requirements for high school students. The assumption is that the "basic" history is a military-political history of the nation state and anything else is pandering to an interest group. "Literature" means English novels and romantic poetry, and anything else is godless commie propaganda. I know I shouldn't be surprised by this ubiquitous type of dumbassery, but it still gets under my skin.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
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