I would like to share with you an experience that I have found to be deeply rewarding. For the last two years I have participated in the GLSEN’s Day of Silence. I started participating last minute and on a whim two years ago when I was offered a “Day of Silence Participant” button by a member of our school’s Gay-Straight Alliance.

The stated purpose of the day is to call attention to hate speech and its silencing effects on GLBT students. In this sense, the day is an activist event. For me, this is a noble cause taking the admirable form of self-sacrifice. Even if this was the only reason to participate, I would gladly do so.

The Day of Silence is founded on the premise that the ability for GLBT students to express themselves is restricted by hate speech. And so, we voluntarily restrict our own ability to express ourselves to symbolize this silencing. However, the Day of Silence isn’t just an opportunity for activism, it is an exercise in understanding for the participants.

There are some experiences that are simply eye-opening and I count participating in the Day of Silence among one of those experiences. Before participating, I had no idea how incredibly frustrating it is to not be able to express oneself. I had taken my ability to interject through speech for granted and giving up that ability made me see the value that it holds. We, quite simply, do not fully appreciate the value of verbal expression.

While I can’t vouch for the accuracy of the reproduction of hateful oppression found in participating in the day of silence, I can say that it is simply an indescribably educational experience. I learned something that cannot be expressed in words and cannot be taught, I learned something intimate about my relationship with the world around me.

A Day of Silence is something I wish everyone would experience, regardless of the cause. It is an opportunity for learning experientially that I feel no one can afford to miss.

We should always be on the lookout for opportunities where students can learn by experiencing: not only by doing, but by feeling.

1. Gay-Straight Alliance logo
2. Photo by Sifter on Flickr

Sparked by an inspirational post from Clay Burell, an incredibly thought-provoking comment thread ensued which challenged many of us to think about the importance of communication. In all its varied forms, communication is the most important skill in a new century where it is, generally, instant. The new tools and ideas challenge us to think and reevaluate how students are assessed and writing’s importance in this “brave new world.” The seed which grew this wide, 75-comment tall plant was, of itself, an interesting and engaging post about Muhammad Ali. In school, Ali got his share of D’s for his poor written skills. Yet, as the following quote from him shows, he had an intrinsic grasp of the English language, which he readily expressed through oral communication.

I went into a restaurant downtown - you couldn’t do that back then, because things weren’t integrated yet - and I sat down with my [Olympic] gold medal around my neck, and the waitress came up, and I said, ‘Yes, I’d like, uh, a cup of coffee, and a hot dog.’ And she said, ‘I’m sorry, we don’t serve negroes here.’ And I got so angry, I said, ‘And I don’t eat them, either. Now bring me a hot dog!’

Is this the kind of word play, humor, and fundamental grasp of language which you expect from a D- student?

Being only 15, I really did not know much about Muhammad Ali. I researched to discover the man behind these words that could “float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.” As I read (and watch) more of his oratorical genius, the breadth and depth of his ability to manipulate the English language for success has not ceased to amaze me. (How many D- students end up being honored by giving the graduation speech at Harvard?)

I think we can all agree that Ali understood how to use English, but his grade report would beg to differ: Cassius Clay does not have passable English. This discrepancy can be attributed to the overwhelming emphasis upon writing throughout school curriculum. Honestly, as I look at the string of recent exams and assignments I fail to see how I would be able to pass or show any true talent without strong writing skills:

• English: journalistic essay analysis of Romeo and Juliet
• Science exam: write a paragraph upon various science concepts
• Math exam: (along with other problems) explain a problem in paragraph format
• Health: essay upon the elements of health
• History: 1,000 word paper upon the background of Iranian nuclear weaponry

As you can see, in almost any subject, particularly English, strong writing is integral to achieving success. Is this really fair to those who, like Ali, do not have excellent command of the written language but can speak words with wings?

With so much fodder for discussion, a fertile comment thread developed, centrally around the question of should all communication mediums be weighted equally, or should writing be given greater weight?

To even begin to delve into that question, the arena for debate must be built around English and Language Arts, including the difference between the two:

...the difference between “language arts” and “English” is paramount in my opinion: English deals with the language of English. Language arts deal with the art of language. Language Arts can deal with multiple languages. Graphics are a language. Symbols are a language. There’s no reason they shouldn’t be stressed just as much written English.

If (practically) anything is a language, what separates Language Arts from other courses? I think the answer to that question lies in that LA should focus around how language can be written and spoken to craft meaning, while other courses focus upon the specific applications of the theory of language. Though Benjamin held a divergent opinion, the continual weighting of writing is shown in what courses are required:

Okay, let’s give graphic communication its own course. (Some might call it art) I’m 99% positive it won’t be a required course. In most schools, “art” isn’t.

Yet, English is. Taking my own school, for example, graduation requires 4 years of English (more than any other subject) and only ½ year of “fine art” (which includes both oral communication and visual artistry). Anyone see the discrepancy?

Ignoring the tangents into computers‘ place in the writing process, the continual emphasis upon writing is attempted to be justified by the good ol’ workplace argument that “it’s what employers want.” Looking at the changing landscape of the workplace, that argument continually holds less and less ground. In many of this century’s jobs, reporting is just as likely to be done through quick Skype calls, IM chats, and emails than through TPS reports. So long as applicants have the ability to communicate (whether through writing, speech, or graphics), employers can utilize their talents in diverse fields.

Of course, most of the world’s information is still stored in the written word. Walking into a library, it would be hard to imagine communicating any other way. Even the digital revolution has failed to change this substantially. For the most part, this lengthy debate was battled by masters of the
written typed word. Still, digital tools give us the ability to communicate easily and efficiently using other mediums, such as speech:

In fact, I would even go so far as to say that being able to communicate using other mediums makes you stand out from the crowd. As I attempted to communicate, those rare gems shine out in a sea of stones.

Of course, the looming stresses of writing-based SATs and important exams continues to put pressure upon teachers to focus on writing. Though you may not have much room to maneuver, I challenge you: think about how you, as a teacher of any subject, can help to recognize the other mediums of communication and those who have mastered them.

Even after 75 comments, the debate is not yet resolved. For this, I turn to your additional voices and ideas. In a world filled with words, how can equal weight be given to all the forms those words may take?

1. Photo on Wikipedia, from the Library of Congress
2. Photo by Sifter on Flickr
3. Image by author, using icons from the silk set

I recently gave a talk to my high school titled “Three Lessons from High School”. As a senior who will be graduating, I took the opportunity to share with my school the things I learned during my journey from a freshmen struggling to stay in school to the reasonably successful senior I am today. I hope that you might enjoy my video of the presentation (9 minutes) below.

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As a student at an international school, I’m used to seeing technology proliferate everywhere it can within the classroom. Every day I use computer labs, SmartBoards, online classrooms, and a plethora of other high-tech applications. It’s hard not to take the miracle of technology for granted; after all, we are in the Information Age, aren’t we?

True. But who exactly are “we”? As it turns out, not everyone is as lucky.

This past Thursday, I brought a few other members of my school’s tech club to a local school on the outskirts of Shanghai. Our school had assigned us the task of buying, building, and setting up a network of basic desktop computers for the local school. However, when we walked into their computer lab, we decided that this wasn’t going to be easy. The school already had several decade-old computers, but only five still worked. A couple of them had been opened for the students to take a look at its innards; one computer lay, smashed, in the corner of the room. Even a few of the power outlets were clogged with dirt. On the walls, above the blackboards, were written two sentences in Chinese: “Computers help us learn” and “The Internet makes the world a smaller place.”

I was told by the parents who organized the project that the students here learned about computers from mere drawings on the chalkboard, and the occasional use of one of the functional desktops. The local teachers we talked with refused to accept laptops, which was what we planned to buy. They said that laptops would very likely be stolen by students—they couldn’t blame them, they said; these children are in a desperate situation, and the money they could make from selling a stolen laptop would be like a fortune.

The visit to the local school was a shocking removal from our wireless networks and Facebook conversations and live streams of soccer matches. The stark contrast between a school filled with technology in every corner and a classroom with 2-dimensional chalk computers made me wonder: Why do we use so much technology in our classrooms? Where did it all come from?

Though we’re high school students now, we’ve probably been in contact with all sorts of digital technology since we were toddlers. I remember the first time I used a computer. I was only 4 years old, and a couple days later I double clicked the “Internet Explorer” sign and discovered the astonishing (but also, undoubtedly, dangerous) Internet. True, it may have simply been Pokemon websites and Magic School Bus games at first, but there are cases even where children learn MS-DOS at the age of 5. There is no denying it—we have been in touch with computers for our whole lives, and the only idea we have of life before the PC is from our parents’ dated anecdotes.

But stop and think for a moment: Why? Why does technology progress and proliferate so quickly? Why are we so dependent on it? What is the reason behind its profound ubiquity? The answer is short, but sweet. You could find it in a dictionary.

[Technology is] the specific methods, materials, and devices used to solve practical problems.

There it is. We use technology because we need it. We need Facebook and MSN Messenger because they help us communicate; we need SmartBoards because whiteboards can’t display information at the speed we demand; we need online classrooms because one hour lessons just don’t cut it anymore.

A million years ago, cavemen would probably have been pondering the same question (although “technology” would have been replaced with “the wheel”), and come to the same conclusion on their cave-blogs. Two hundred years ago, the same question would have been asked of the Industrial Revolution.

No matter from what angle you look at technology, whether it comes in the form of the Internet or the steam engine, the old adage comes to mind: “Necessity is the mother of invention.” And in the case of the local school, their necessity is about to “give birth,” courtesy of our school’s tech club.

1. Photo by mac steve on Flickr
2. Photo by tehtopo on Flickr

A couple months ago, this exchange occurred between me and one of my parents’ co-workers, whom I shall call “J”.

“So, what do you want to do in college?” J asked me, right after we were introduced.

“Well,” I hedged, “I plan to sleep in, hang out with friends, and watch shadows elongate.” Pause. There was no flicker of recognition in J’s eyes; my sarcasm went over his head. “Um, basically—not much.”

J looked at me in askance. “I mean, what do you want to do?”

And this was when the College/What Are You Going To Do With the Rest Of Your Life? Interrogation started. Believe me, after going through this numerous times—it deserves its All Caps status. (My most sincere apologies to Strunk Jr and White, may you guys R.I.P. and not, you know, haunt me from the grave or anything.)

There’s something about one’s last two years of high school that dictates that any conversation you have with an adult, may it be your relatives or a near-perfect stranger in the supermarket, has to revolve around college. Once they know that you’re a senior or a junior in high school, the interrogation begins.

It’s a rite of passage.

It’s also a nuisance.

By November, I’ve mastered the art of listing all my ten colleges in one breath in order of preference. From Bryn Mawr and NYU to the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor.*

Which is not to say that I haven’t been guilty of using college as a convenient conversation starter because “So, how about ‘em Yankees?” is too overdone and cliché. Even so, this doesn’t make it any less annoying to 16-18 year olds everywhere.

“I’ll probably major in Anthropology and maybe minor in East Asian Studies–Japanese or Chinese.”

“Ah, Anthropology, huh? Like Indiana Jones!”

“… Uh, no.”

For most, this also involves a lot of nodding and glazed expressions when I try to explain the difference between Anthropology and Archeology. Occasionally, someone will ask what I will do career-wise, and I’ve learned by now that there’s really no good way to say “not a clue” without sounding like an idiot.

Because I honestly don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life after college and grad school.

I envy my friends who know exactly what they want to do, because I still haven’t got the slightest idea. My plan is to take a lot of different classes in college and pretty much wing it, for lack of a better word. I’ll figure out where I want to go from there. Currently, I plan to major in Anthropology and minor in East Asian Languages (Mandarin Chinese). What I end up doing after college? No idea—even if I stick with Anthropology and Chinese for the next four years. I’m a fickle person and I’m interested in many things—creative writing, political science, international relations, history, languages, etc. The sky’s the limit.

It still amazes me though, how as students we’re expected to know what we want to do with the rest of our lives. Every time someone asks, I always have to smother a mad giggle—I’m so indecisive that it takes me fifteen minutes to decide what flavor of ice cream I want from Ben & Jerry’s—and they want me to tell them what I’ve decided to do for the rest of my life? It’s laughable. I can’t pretend I know what I want to do when most of my college friends have changed majors at least once during their time in Academia Land and knowing that there is a reason behind why many adults go back to school so they can change careers.

Maybe it’s a generational thing: in the past, there weren’t as many options for high school graduates but with more and more students going to college, there’s more of a disconnection. Yet there’s still the expectation from adults for us to know what we’re going to do with our lives by th time we’re 16-18.

For students who know exactly what their future profession is and are dead-set on pursuing their dreams, I want to say that envy them more than words can say.

However, for students like me who are still trying to figure things out, I wonder if this expectation will ever become less of an issue and burden as more students choose to pursue education beyond high school.

*I didn’t end up applying to all those colleges. After a certain point, all the paperwork just made me want to hide under my desk for all of eternity. As of March 21st 2007, however, I’m now a Bryn Mawryter so all’s well that ends well (theoretically-speaking).

1. Photo by Franco Folini on Flickr

The students of Students 2.0 would like to extend a warm welcome to Kaelie Giffel, our newest author. Please enjoy her debut post below.

Inspiration is a fickle thing. Sometimes it hits you like a truck, and other times it swerves off the road to avoid you. I know an art teacher who has a quote about inspiration on his wall as a rule: “Inspiration is lazy. Don’t wait for it.” That has been my inspiration, my drive to continue writing even through the stress of high school.

Writing in high school is like walking through a mine field without getting hurt—it’s difficult, but possible. I find myself making difficult decisions regarding how to spend my time. I have a constant homework load, because of my AP social studies class, and it isn’t something I can put off for a night. It always comes back to haunt me in a failing quiz grade. So, I use class time to write. It took me a few weeks to figure out that English class is the dead zone for writing (much like the dead zone for electronics in Siberia). American literature is bad enough for my brain cells, let alone my creativity.

Everyone in high school has some sort of creative outlet: music, books, writing, athletics, science. (The last two may not seem creative, but I’ve utilized both; they take a different kind of creativity.) Writing and music are the most common. In the middle of writing Tarot Cards and Black Roses, my first novel, someone said something to me that put a halt to the book’s production. She said, “You’re a writer? I am, too! We should share our work!” In that second, the cold truth hit me: I’m not the only teenage writer in the world.

It was an odd thought, because it sounded so general, but it in my mind it was specific. I didn’t mean bloggers, poets, or young journalists; I meant the supernatural writers who delved into the darker part of the world. The thought hurt. It really did. How was I so stupid? Why did I believe that I was unique? My beloved story became just a really big file on my computer that I refused to tend to.

I sulked for two months, trying to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t as unique as I thought I was. At the end of the two months, I got my butt into gear. I wasn’t the only student writer trying to get published, but that was a horrible excuse to use for not writing. I needed to get over myself because the sweet seductress inspiration was calling to me. I was unique because I was fulfilling my dream. I could write a novel and finish it. I had the drive and the endless encouragement of my support network.

Never in my life has someone straight up told me I couldn’t do something. All my friends and relatives want me to be a writer. They think it’s a very good possibility for my career. My dad’s favorite question is, “How’s that novel coming?” Even my teachers have encouraged me. Except once. Early in the year, I told my teacher (in response to a question she asked) that I wanted a career in creative writing. The look she gave me said everything I knew she wouldn’t say aloud. It was a look that whispered, Abandon your dream. That’s not going to happen. That broke my heart. After that day, I picked up my writing with a vengeance.

The best way to motivate a stubborn person is to tell them they can’t. Because they will do exactly what you told them they couldn’t and they will exceed previous expectations. I continued my novel for one reason: to prove I could. That mindset is what propels me through the novel, even when my well of inspiration has dried.

A few weeks ago, my school embarked on a grand experiment entitled mini-term. Rather than have 6 classes per day, rather than divide learning into 45 minute blocks, we opened the schedule and challenged teachers to engage students in their passion. The experiment was, for most, a success and provided students wonderful opportunities to learn about and explore topics off the path of the normal curriculum as well as complete projects that could not be handled in a traditional classroom setting.

The Hard Details

Mini-terms were taught by teams of two or three teachers. These teachers were encouraged to teach their passion and were free to design their courses around topics of their choosing, with an emphasis on cross-departmental work. The only guidelines for teachers were broad such as a required reading and writing component. The classes ranged from 18 to 25 students each from all four grade levels and met all day, every day for a four-day week. Students selected their top 6 choices, and were sorted into classes accordingly. Teachers were encouraged to take field trips, and engage in hands on projects.

My Experience

The class I participated in was called “Zen and the Art of Furniture Design”, it was taught my a science teacher (Mr. Skinner) with an independent passion for carpentry and an art teacher (Mr. Huber) with years of experience in scenic design and construction. Our class was one big project: design, build, and paint an Adirondack chair, bench and table. Our class was split into two groups of nine to each build one set of furniture.

The first day was spent on the design phase: modifying the stock chair design and planning paint schemes. For the design of the chair, the two groups took different approaches. The other group drew their modifications on the teacher provided plans and then built a scale model of their design. My group took advantage of my CAD skills to modify the original design and produce new drawings and renderings. For paint, each group was required to choose an artist and paint the furniture to resemble that artist. Part of my group spent the day researching and picking an artist, finding work by that artist, and finally tracing that work onto a scale plan.

As we were working through the process, we found many opportunities for incidental learning. One student taught another student drafting skills that were learned in our architecture course so that the original plans could be annotated. Another student experimented on the Wacom tablets in the art computer lab, learning how to control pen size in Photoshop using pressure, then tracing printed artwork into the computer. This learning was spontaneous, not assessed and in some cases not even visible in the final project, but it was learning through doing and the students left with a new skill.

The next day we moved into the shop and began the actual construction. This included ripping lumber, cutting boards to the correct length (and determining those lengths from the plans our group produced), sanding the boards, and assembling them into actual furniture. Due to my technical theatre background, I was right at home in the shop, but still I saw something that surprised me: 18 students all working — no breaks, no “we don’t have anything to do”, no “watch and criticize”, but 18 students all working towards common goals, and enjoying themselves at the same time. It was a truly breathtaking sight, students who had never touched a power tool in their lives were ripping lumber on a table saw and screwing boards together.

Finally, we were able to get dirty and begin painting. The artists in the group went to work tracing the outlines onto the furniture so that we could paint them in. With three students to a piece, we were all busy turning bare wood into a tribute to our artists, and learning about those artists at the same time by both reproducing their work and studying it to produce our color pallet.

We finished with about an hour left in the day. Just enough time to admire our work. After three days of hard work in the shop, we were all tired. But, I have never seen a prouder group of students. We moved the product of our hard work into the chosen spots on campus, and patted ourselves on the back for a job well done.

Why Mini-Term Was Powerful

I can honestly say that I have never had a more immersive learning experience in school. By allowing students to only focus on this one project they weren’t distracted and were well rested. The students were able to enjoy the Zen of the project - the beautiful, in the moment, experience of hard, dedicated work.

By giving students one overarching project, learning was able to happen through experience. Some of us learned about different artists while researching our paint scheme. Some of us learned about paint mixing and color pallets. We all learned how to solve the problems the project presented and the skills to face those problems in the future.

There was no grade, there was no homework, there was no test — the assessments were thrown out of the window. But, it was a stronger experience because of that. Students didn’t fear failure, they weren’t scared to learn something for the experience of learning. There was however a final product, and one that the students could be proud of. Every day, I experience the immense pleasure of seeing students sitting on the chair and bench that I helped build. And, that is something that I can be proud of. How often do our students get to be proud of their school work?

What I Would Change

I was fortunate to be in of the most successful mini-terms. The less successful classes seemed to be those that didn’t embrace the new format and attempted to fill the time with traditional classroom instruction. Students simply can’t sit at a desk for 6 hours a day learning about the same subject matter. Those mini-terms that realized this and used project-based learning to keep students involved provided the best learning experiences. I would work to ensure that this was the case across the board.

I would also include students in the planning and teaching of the mini-terms. One of the best things about my mini-term was that once the initial instructions were given, a large portion of the learning was student-to-student. Each student was able to bring their own skill set to the table — whether it be in design, drawing, CAD, painting, or construction — and students taught these skills to each other. I would work to encourage student involvement in instruction earlier in the process. Students with an interest in teaching and passion for a topic could be provided the opportunity to work with their teachers on the design and execution of a mini-term.

Finally, and this is the smallest issue by far, I would work with teachers to eliminate the pre-break crunch that occurred before mini-term. With students over-burdened the week prior, they entered mini-term tired and resentful. While no other homework was assigned that week, fear over losing their students for a week caused many teachers to assign stealth homework in the form of overdue assignments created by the crunch.

Mini-term was a powerful experience for students and while many of them may not realize it yet, they will be able to build off of their experiences for the rest of their lives. The project truly embraced the kind of experiential and project-based learning we need to produce 21^st century students who can think creatively.

Last week sometime (I don’t keep track of days), I video-Skyped with the Korean Project Global Cooling club. PGC is the brain child of Clay Burell, with the aid of Bill Farren (who made the Did You Ever Wonder video). Their goal, in the words of Christopher Watson (the teacher helping coordinate PGC Hawaii), is to mobilize a global network of students to report on the efforts for sustainability in their communities, and also to connect them for further work together. The idea for the concert is to bring attention to the website and all the work and resources that will be posted there. We’ll be having a Hawaii-based concert for the cause in April. I was amazed at how easy it was to connect with people half-way around the world. True, their time zone maybe be a day and a half ahead of me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t come to their Project Global Cooling meetings.

What I really hope this connection between people all over the world evolves into is a place where teachers won’t have to do the connecting for the students. When we talk about a sustainable future, we don’t just mean environmentally. Places like Nervousness.org (an art project forum) are self-sustaining home bases where projects are formed between like-minded artists. There is no third party that sets them up, nor are there painfully difficult organizational problems to deal with. The artists do the art, exchange addresses, send the art, and then one person puts it all together. I see no reason why there can’t be somewhere for students to gather, talk, and create with their contemporaries (sans teacher).

We’ve all talked about how it’s time to stop underestimating kids, how it’s time to give us a voice. Out on the blogosphere front, things are definitely improving. But I look at things like Twitter (where the student population would be considered “endangered” at best), and, like Sean, I wonder why students haven’t all taken to the web. The answer is simple: where would they go? There is no single place for global student collaboration.

That’s why I created two places that I think will help students to self-connect.

The first place is a Twitter account called YouthNet. This Twitter account is a tool for students to find other students on Twitter. They can also use it to introduce themselves to the student network. For example, this would be my tweet: “@YouthNet I’m Lindsea, 16 years old, Hawaii. Interested in art, writing, photography, music, sustainability, film. skype=sonicyouthgurl”. In these 140 characters or less, I’m able to introduce myself, say where I’m from, and mention the areas in which I’m interested in starting projects. YouthNet would follow only students, so actually finding other students on Twitter wouldn’t be difficult. Student Twitterers are then able to advertise their projects (school-related or not) to other students.

The second place is a Wikispace wiki. The wiki is similar to the Twitter account in that it is a tool for starting projects and forming connections with similarly passioned people. There’s a page called World Connection where people list their name, blog address, Skype screen name, Twitter account, e-mail address, and interests. This is the starting point for networking. Then there is the “Talk” page, which basically serves as a place for discussion (obviously), and a very chillaxed forum for either casual or serious conversation. If the students choose, they can use Talk as the starting place for their projects. For brainstorming, collaborating, and swapping ideas, this is the place.

In the video chat I had with PGC in Korea, one of Clay’s students, Soojin, gives the example of a World Geography project. Let’s see how this project would work using YouthNet tools: So person X is assigned a World Geography project of her choosing. She decides to do it on exploring the anthropology of young people in different countries. Using YouthNet, she would first post the thesis of her project on the Talk page. Interested parties would then reply with their own input. She could also look through the World Connection page and contact the students interested in writing. She’d send out a mass email to all students interested, telling them in more detail what the parameters of the project are and the deadline. The students would write about their lives in the various countries all over the world, send her a couple pictures, and then person X would write a summary, and then self-publish the original stories and pictures on lulu.com.

This place that I’m creating is for students, first and foremost. It is platform for self-directed collaboration with fellow students all over the world, and it is the epitome of unschooliness and passion-based learning. The best part about this is that once it’s created and all the details are worked out, the project will be sustainable. That is, once it’s up and running, there will be no central leader. The students would have complete control. My youthful idealism has complete faith in my fellow students’ ability to lead themselves with world consciousness and integrity. I know that we’re capable of utilizing something like this to take the technological emphasis out of Internet collaboration, and use these tools only as a medium to crystallize all of our amazing potential.

Public School, Rural America; 12:30 pm

One by one, we file past the teacher-turned-prison-guard. As each of us passed, she engages us in a confirmation ritual. “Work?” “Check.” “Book?” “Check.” That is the last word uttered for one and a half hours. For this period, we must sit silently with heads in books and work, where our mouths are conveniently positioned to be incapable of questioning. We cannot leave—even to seek the help of a teacher. In the only time during the day when most students actually work, we are treated like convicts. We must work (not learn) in the most efficient way possible. We are widgets in the machine of school. We are unwillingly being conscripted into a hostile intervention.

Interventions also happen behind other closed doors—in the justice system:

Intervention: Programs or services that are intended to disrupt the delinquency process and prevent a youth from penetrating further into the juvenile justice system. ~Kentucky Juvenile Justice Advisory Board

For me, this represents the epitome of what it is wrong in public school education—learning is seen as a laborious activity which students must literally be locked into doing. When one intervenes in something, one alters the direction it is heading in. Therefore, the assumption when students are put into intervention is that their learning direction must be altered. This would be fine (many of my peers do need to have intervention in their life/learning direction), except the course is required. No matter the direction of your learning or how well you are doing, you are forced into a silent study period. See where I am going with this? Before I even start school, I am scheduled for an intervention in my learning. The equivalent would be signing up your baby girl for drug rehab 16 years in advance.

Step back and consider the way education is approached in the majority of classrooms: as a dreaded task. Complicated assessment patterns are devised to be carrots for students to do their work. Meanwhile, sticks of punishment are given to those who do not do their job. Forced study halls are created in order to ensure we all keep our noses in books, where our voices are conveniently stifled. Of course, this is all done under the principal that students need to be forced to learn.

Wait. There is something wrong with the picture here. Frankly, I think schools are becoming far too business-like. Many of my peers often think of school as unpaid work. Of course, professionalism is continually emphasized as the highest principle for which students must strive. Schools even use the same reward/punishment system as the workplace: good grades = good job = $$$ and failing school = unemployment ≠ $$$. I think this is the core of what is wrong with schools: all students are expected to be professional students. That is, it is expected that we will only learn if we are forced to do so either because we desire the reward (grades) or fear the punishment (failing). In fact, this is setting up students to hate learning.

That might be a dangerous accusation, but I think it is an ultimately true one. After all, students are treated as if they already do hate learning. Grades, forced study times, detentions, and graduation requirements are all safeguards built to force students into learning. My philosophy is that if you treat a problem, there will soon be a problem; this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. By treating students as if we hate and will avoid learning at all costs, we will hate and avoid learning at all costs.

Naturally, the alternative is to encourage amateur learning: learning which is done for the love of it rather than for some distant paycheck. The argument against this is that students will not learn the skills they need to be successful citizens. I vastly disagree for the simple reason that every young child wants to grow up to be a successful citizen. Nobody is born hating learning—they grow to hate it through successively being treated as if they should hate it. No child is born thinking I am bad at math—they think that after being told it many times (in different words). Think of it like this: there is only so much education which can be packed into 12 years of school. What if instead of trying to build students the perfect toolbox, schools taught students to make their own tools? If students are never taught to hate/fear learning, they will not shy away from learning opportunities. The teachers and resources are available for life-long, anytime learning; students must simply have their original love of learning preserved.

Imagine: Peter is a student in a self-directed learning environment. In the primary grades, he takes a wide mix of classes, primarily due to peer pressure and recommendations from friends/family. In these classes, he learns the basics: reading, mathematics fundamentals, grammar, and how to research. As he moves up in the grades, he narrows his focus upon writing, eventually phasing out mathematics classes. Throughout the process, no class or work is forced upon him: he is given the options and selects the choices for himself. Consequently, since learning is never treated as a hated activity, he never learns to hate learning but instead preserves the innate love of it. Down the line, Peter has written a best-selling novel and is trying to invest the money he earned. As any intelligent person would, he is trying to figure out the best option from the choices banks have presented him with. To be clear, Peter never learned about exponential equations or compound interest in school. However, because he still loves to learn he simply taps into Google and finds the resources necessary for him to evaluate the choices. Due to Peter being an amateur learner, he actively seeks out opportunities to learn, even though nobody is forcing him to.

The rational for not encouraging self directed learning is that simply packing students with as much knowledge possible (no matter the cost) is most efficient. However, the problem arises with the information that students do not get into their memory: since most of them will end up fearing/despising learning they will not add anything to it after school. Meanwhile, students who pursue learning on their own terms may well know less information on their exit from formal schooling. However, that information is not static: they are readily adding to it through additional learning. The traditional model has been to treat students like hard drives: packing them with 12 TB of knowledge before all cables are cut. I’d rather get out of school with only 1 GB of knowledge and a connection to the internet—at least then I can continually add to that store. Schools must make a choice: do they want to try to stuff as much learning as possible down students’ throats or do they want to give students a hunger for learning?

I don’t want to be a professional student; I want to be an amateur learner.

1. Photo by Still Burning on Flickr
2. Photo by smallestbones on Flickr
3. Photo by Marcus Vegas on Flickr

I’ve just come out of a fairly quick skype call with Jen/Injenuity… I seem to have been in contact with her quite a bit recently. In the chat she put forward a few interesting questions, one stood out to me in particular. It brought up something I surprisingly hadn’t thought about before: “Does it seem strange to you to associate with a bunch of adults?” Strangely, the answer is no. When I think about it and put it in context, I realize that yes, it is a bit weird, but it still doesn’t bother me, and I don’t see why it should. Just because there is an age gap doesn’t mean that there should be a conversation barrier there too (of course there can be if you want there to be).

One of the other questions she asked which stuck a chord was, now that I think about it not really a question, more of an observation - “and I noticed on your blog that you mentioned you’re the only one of your friends that is interested in this stuff… you really haven’t connected with anyone in your area”. This is sadly very true. Student ed tech types are lone wolfs, we just generally don’t come in packs; I suppose what she was asking here ties in with the previous question. Online I need to be in contact with adults in order to be a part of the networks that I am so fond of because I can’t connect with a lot of other students. This is mainly due to the fact that it is outside of what the average student normally does online. The “you really haven’t connected with anyone in your area” part sort of answers the question that she asked right at the start of the chat “why are you up so late” (it was almost midnight at the time… it’s now almost 1:30am). I’m up so late because I really can’t seem to find many people in Scotland who are interested in this, especially people my age. So, if I want to actively converse, I have to be around when all the Americans are out to play. I guess I’m a wannabe American from the hours of 11 pm till whatever am. Actually, that’s a lie, I’m happy being 100% Scottish no matter what the time zone I end up living in.

The main thought that is running through my head when I look back over all these questions is, where do we draw the line? Or even, do we draw a line? What I mean in this respect is if we were to achieve our goal, if we were to have technology (in particular web 2.0 tools) widely used within education then would teachers actually welcome their students to contact them? And converse in the way I do with the adults and teachers I am connected with over my twitter network and similar things online. The reason I find this a difficult question to answer is that although in a traditional school environment this type of communication (especially that outside of the school walls) is discouraged (at least on a relatively large scale) we are proposing change to this system, and a big change at that. Does this mean that the principles associated with the current system should be changed? Or I should probably say, adapted? Should the door be left closed to student - teacher communication both in and out of school? Should it be left open? Or should there be some sort of compromise?

Personally I really can’t answer this. It may be because I’m not a teacher, and I don’t really know how I’d feel about the students in my class contacting me, and hanging around in the places on the web I have found so sacred at times. And let’s face it, there’s always going to be at least that 1 student sitting in that class that gets on your nerves that bit more than the rest of them… does this mean they would do the same within your own personal networks? And should all this mean that a line needs to be drawn somewhere with the use of these tools (at least in the classroom)?

So, back to Jen’s original question - no I really don’t mind networking and communicating with adults and teachers. It can spark up a good conversation from time to time (one which can be difficult to have with many teenagers my age), besides, it also proves that teachers actually don’t live in school. The question I’m now left wondering about though is this: would you be comfortable sharing your networks if there were more of us around? Because if/when classes of students become connected with you it may not necessarily be for the same reasons I connect with you. It would be a part of their classroom learning, and students don’t always participate in the way they should. In saying that though, I’m assuming you were comfortable with it in the first place...

Here’s the audio! - Call to Jen

The Bass Player

1. draw the line by alfarman on Flickr