THE STATE OF AMERICAN PUBLIC EDUCATION: DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAIN
How the current apostates of education reform distort the meaning of “public” in public education is breathtaking. More astonishing is the perversion of time-tested and proven elements of good public education with its concomitant, predictable and disturbing consequences: institutional segregation of students, under-resourced schools, overcrowded classrooms, no access to the arts, music or physical education, lack of diversity in the teaching corps, mediocre school leadership, bland and non-stimulating curricula emphasizing test-taking instead of critical thinking and analysis.
This is the legacy that education “reform” in New York City and other urban centers of America are leaving in their wake. Institutions of higher learning want a well-rounded and diverse student body. Much of what currently passes for “reform” in New York City is depriving students of experiences highly valued by college recruiters. The students that stand to lose the most are poor, of color, and immigrants.
Above: Protest held by College Bound students and fellow Franklin students demanding the same small classes and programs for all students. Below: Students from NYCLetEmPlay at the International Community High School protesting against racial inequities in sports funding.
The maxim “there is always room for improvement” encapsulates the essence of “continuous quality improvement”, a management philosophy applicable to virtually all human endeavors, including education. Who would question the wisdom of that philosophy? Many “reformers” self-identify as polemicists only interested in improving public education. But some of the loudest and well-connected reformers around now would be better described as propagandists with hidden agendas. One must wonder what exactly these “reformers” are peddling. The polemics about what constitutes an effective and productive system of public education were settled decades ago. The accomplishments of the high school I attended in East Harlem, El Barrio, in the late 1960’s exemplify that.
Benjamin Franklin High School in East Harlem (years ago renamed the Manhattan Center for Science and Mathematics) was never on my radar. I didn’t choose to attend the school. I was focused on Bronx Science, Brooklyn Technical or Stuyvesant high schools. But I was never alerted to the entrance examination dates for these specialized schools. Forced to choose between Morris High School in the Bronx and Benjamin Franklin High School in Manhattan, schools with less than stellar reputations at the time, I chose Franklin. It was not apparent to me and many of my classmates that an extraordinary set of circumstances would have life-changing implications for all of us.
My introduction to freshman year of high school was more about rude awakening than high expectations. The most vivid recollection I have of its start is an overcrowded English classroom so lacking in resources that each available copy of George Eliot’s novel, Silas Marner: The Weaver of Raveloe, had to be shared by two students! It was a dispiriting revelation. I had always been an enthusiastic student earning high marks for class participation. Despite the teacher’s best efforts to jump-start my enthusiasm and pique my interest, I quickly became withdrawn and uncharacteristically passive. Funding for books mattered then, it matters now.
Predictably, the first parent-teacher conference that my mother attended did not go well. The teacher explained that my classroom participation was poor: I didn’t raise my hand enough, didn’t want to read out loud and didn’t participate in class discussions. After a few minutes hearing the teacher’s litany of concerns and seeing my mother’s worried face, I lost my composure and blurted, “How can I participate in the classroom with so many students raising their hands competing for attention while my hand is rarely, if at all, noticed?” It was my way of saying that I had become a face in the crowd and had simply given up. Class size mattered then. It matters now.
Somehow I survived freshman year. The summer went fast and I expected to start my “sophomore slump” in September. It didn’t take long. Again I encountered crowded classrooms, a dearth of resources and the customary bland and sparse course offerings for a purportedly “academic” Badass Teachers Association:
