Educating or imprisoning the spirit: lessons from ancient Egypt

Theory Into Practice, Autumn, 2003 by Lisa Delpit, Paula White-Bradley

In this article the authors describe the programmed and scripted nature of many mandated instructional and "management" programs designed to raise test scores of urban children in low-income communities. They detail the programs" dehumanizing effect on the ways teachers and students interact, and the resentment the programs instill in the children they are supposed to benefit. The authors then show how one teacher has looked to an ancient African philosophy to seek more deeply meaningful methods of classroom interaction, methods that affirm children "s and teachers' ability to think, feel, and develop as human beings.

Scene I (A Fictionalized Account)

THE YEAR is 2092. The lO0-year-old man lies on his death bed, contemplating his long life. His children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren surround him. He has lived a good life. There have been good times and bad times--he has accomplished much that he is proud of and had many experiences that he'd prefer to forget. One of his favorite grandsons looks into his eyes and asks, "Grandpa, is there anything you regret in your life?" The old man closes his eyes. Just when his family thinks he has drifted off to sleep, he opens them again and says with an expression of deep, wistful longing, "Son, I just really wish with all my heart that I could have scored higher on the state-mandated achievement tests.'"

The absurdity of that scene isn't lost on us. And yet, we in education often allow politicians to push us to act as if the most important goal of our work is to raise test scores. Never mind the development of the human beings in our charge--the integrity, artistic expressiveness, ingenuity, persistence, or kindness of those who will inherit the earth--the conversation in education has been reduced to a conversation about one number.

The effect of such reductionism on the work we do in schools is mind-boggling. When we strip away a focus on developing the humanity of our children, we are left with programmed, mechanistic strategies, designed to achieve the programmed, mechanistic goal of raising test scores. Nowhere is the result more glaring than in urban classrooms serving low-income children of color.

Scene II (An All Too Real Occurrence)

The year is 2002. The inner-city classroom is filled with excited African American fifth graders. The teacher, deeply committed to her work and deemed excellent by all who have observed her, always tries to connect what the students are studying to the aspects of their lives and history. On this day she announces to the students,

"Okay, guys, today we're going to talk for a few minutes about some laws called Black Codes. The Black Codes were racist laws enacted after the Civil War. There were designed to keep African Americans 'in their place.' For example a Black man without a job could be charged with vagrancy and end up in jail. Just think for a moment. Can you imagine how horrible it would be in jail?"

"Yeah," responds one of her charges, "1 guess it would be kinda like being at school."

"Come on," she responds, startled by his words, "you don't mean that."

"Oh yes 1 do!"

The teacher is left to ponder that exchange for the rest of the day, not wanting to believe that her students honestly saw parallels between a prison and school, and wondering if her efforts and ideals could ever overcome the instructional and disciplinary programs mandated to "raise test scores."

We, the authors of this paper, believe that the two stories above are related. We are two educators who have worked, together and individually, in a variety of educational settings. One of us (Lisa) is presently an education professor who spends a great deal of time in urban classrooms. The other (Paula) is presently a full-time fifth-grade teacher in a low-income African American school, and a part-time university instructor of beginning teachers.

We believe that the reductionism spawned by the testing mania has created settings in which teachers and students are treated as objects to be manipulated and "managed." As a result of the all-consuming testing enterprise, classrooms--particularly those in low-income, urban areas--are inundated with scripted instructional programs, packaged classroom management schemes, and consultants whose job is to police teachers to ensure that all of the scripts are followed and all of the management policies implemented. The result is reflected in the words of the young man above: school is equated with prison. These words remind us that in spite of, or perhaps because of, our efforts, school for many children (and teachers) is a remarkably oppressive place to be.

Nowhere is this approach more evident than in the design of the packaged reading program recently implemented to raise test scores in Paula's school. The constructors of the curriculum assume that the students can achieve only through repetition of small steps that require primarily rote memorization and little or no critical thinking. They seem to also assume that if teachers' and students' words and actions are not scripted and strictly controlled, then no learning can take place. The program is meticulously proscribed, hopelessly predictable, and timed to be executed uniformly regardless of the characteristics of the teacher or the students being served.