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Local is the way to go on education reporting

Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010

Last month I posted a commentary about a new Brookings Institution report that chronicles the alarming decline in the quality and quantity of U.S. education news coverage. One way to push back against the trend, I asserted, would involve a kind of grass-roots writing spree on the part of school administrators and teachers. The theory holds – but in the weeks since the column ran, a number of readers and colleagues have responded with opinions on the issue. Their ideas seem well worth airing here.

At the heart of the discussion lies the question of local education reporting. The writers of the Brookings report admit that local journalists tend to cover the substantive work of schools better than national reporters, but they nevertheless takes a doom-and-gloom stance. The report concludes that “it is difficult for local outlets to maintain the quality of their coverage in the face of financial cutbacks and staff layoffs.”

Local papers certainly face many of the same challenges as the national news media, but whether or not their education coverage has been adversely affected seems to be up for debate. For example, Washington Post columnist Jay Matthews recently published a column in which he challenges the very premise of the Brookings report:

Maybe national education news is hard to find. Maybe it deserves to be, as boring and repetitive as it can be. But education reporting, at least the local kind that fills most of my days, is alive and well and provides more than 1.4 percent of what Americans read in their newspapers each day. […] Smaller papers are still devoting much of their space to schools.

Jay is not alone in his optimism. One reader responded to my column by pointing out the increasingly active and visible teacher blogosphere. Another, the managing editor of a local Denver paper, wrote saying that she has readers imploring her to cut back on her paper’s schools coverage.

The most striking response came from a friend in Indiana, who alerted me to an extraordinary series that has been running for six months in the Indy Star. The project began when columnist Matthew Tully decided to embed himself at Manual High, one of Indianapolis’s toughest public schools, and the results are nothing short of dynamite. Tully’s stories are colorful, incisive, and full of analysis that connects the school’s goings-on with changing conditions at the local and national levels. The project has garnered an impassioned following – so impassioned, in fact, that more than 2,000 people showed up to the school band’s winter concert after Tully chronicled the heroic efforts of its director.

This is the stuff of reporters’ fantasies and Hollywood movies, and it certainly suggests that local education coverage is still flourishing in some corners of the country.

My question, when it comes to the Manual project, is why nobody except for local Hoosiers seem to be in the know. Sure, a series focused around a specific school seems most directly relevant to local citizens. But given the lack of substantive national educational coverage, such a coherent and insightful series deserves to be brought to the attention of interested readers everywhere.

Maybe, then, national papers should start featuring a roundup of links to the best local stories? The industry has always worked in the opposite direction, with local papers relying on AP headlines to round out their content, but unusual times call for unusual measures. The roundup would take minimal effort and space, and it is hard to imagine that audiences would mind.

For this to work, of course, local education stories need to make their national relevance utterly clear. As far as I am concerned, this should happen anyway. Most of the interesting work happening in schools right now is either influencing or responding to national policy – oftentimes both. Journalists need to follow Tully’s lead and explore these two-way connections as best they can, connecting policies to classrooms and classrooms to policies. Only then might the public begin to fully understand the real, complicated, and exciting experiments that have begun to shift the landscape of public education in America.

Sarah Fine spent four years working at a charter school in southeast Washington, D.C. Her recent piece on the community schools movement appeared in Education Week’s February 3rd issue.

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Write like your school is on fire

Tuesday, January 12th, 2010

In his final from-the-editor post of 2009, Alan Gottlieb makes a spirited case for the value of this website by outlining the gloomy findings of a new report published by the Brookings Institution. The report, titled “Invisible: 1.4 Percent Coverage for Education Not Enough,” chronicles the decline in both the quantity and quality of U.S. education reporting.

The authors suggest that one way of reversing the trend would be for foundations and non-profits to expand their own forms of education coverage – exactly what PEBC has done by founding Education News Colorado.

I am certainly proud to be part of such a forward-thinking project, but the Brookings report hits a raw nerve. This fall, after four years of teaching and a summer spent mulling over my professional future, I decided to apply to doctoral programs in education. The decision represents what I intend to be a lifelong commitment to the field, and more specifically a commitment to writing about the complex stories that play out in the classrooms and offices of urban public schools.

I know that traditional media journalism faces an uncertain future, and that education stories rarely make the front page – but 1.4 percent? Can the effort to reimagine and reform our nation’s school-system really be that much less compelling than, say, the H1N1 flu?

It is not just my nascent career that concerns me. I have long been intrigued by the fact that American society tends to relegate education to the realm of the un-newsworthy. The relevant issue now seems to be about causes.

Why does education rank so low on the public radar? The question is obviously complicated, and the researchers at Brookings sidestep it neatly. They attribute recent shrinking of coverage to global media budget cuts – a reasonable explanation, but one that hardly explains why education coverage so often verges on invisible.

One thing that seems clear is that the problem does not stem from a lack of actual relevance. Almost all Americans have had at least some contact with the public education system, and a significant portion of these – parents and parents-to-be, teachers and their spouses, not to mention students – have an immediate stake in its success. It is hard to imagine that the American public would be unreceptive if they were offered some ongoing, in-depth, jargon-free reporting about the state of their schools.

Sadly, this is exactly the kind of reporting that is verging on extinction.

According to the Brookings study, the majority of recent national education coverage has been devoted to budget issues, school crime, test results, and school-based outbreaks of the flu. Even publications that educators turn to with great respect have been focused almost exclusively on big-picture issues around national policies and standards. Absent are stories about the ins-and-outs of school life: experiments with new rules and curricula, hallway tangles and triumphs, board meetings, poetry slams.

“The lack of coverage of the actual work of schools remains a significant problem,” write the authors of the Brookings study. They go on to outline three strategies for addressing the problem: first, school administrators should more proactively share information with the public; second, education reporters should write meatier stories; and third, nonprofits and foundations should follow PEBC’s lead and create their own sources of education coverage.

If principals and journalists and CEOs hearken to this call, education coverage certainly will deepen in some important ways. It strikes me, however, that the people whose voices best can represent the actual work of schools include not only administrators but also the rest of the school-level corps: parents, students, staff, and teachers. These are the people who know the rhythms and questions that punctuate daily life in schools, and who can tell stories which reporters rarely have time to unearth.

Especially teachers. Anybody who has spent time in a faculty-room knows that most teachers love nothing better than discussing the ins-and-outs of daily life in their classrooms. Many also have insightful observations about the impact of particular structures and policies on their students. Too often, however, these ideas are absent in public discussions, leaving teachers feeling disempowered and making education journalism the sole domain of think-tank researchers and overburdened reporters.

Of course, being a teacher or administrator or parent does not leave much room for extracurricular activities like laboring over op-eds. But the task does not have to be “extra.” When I began writing about the goings-on in my former school, it was as much to make sense of my experiences as to contribute to the larger dialogue about public education. The project was humbling and grueling, but the process allowed me to find clarity around some of the most troubling issues I faced.

And, astonishing to me at first, people seemed interested in what I had to say. I do not think it was because I have more insight than the countless other teachers out there who fall asleep each night musing about their students. I think it was because I tried to ground big-picture education issues in real stories about a real school, and readers were, and are, hungry for that kind of perspective.

So: people who spend time in schools need to write, prolifically. They need to find space to set aside their to-do-lists and think about what the public might need to hear in order to more fully understand the experiments in reform that have begun to change the American public-school landscape. Such an effort could go a long way toward restoring depth, breadth, and visibility to education coverage. It might give a leg up to education reporters, too – and they surely need it.

Sarah Fine spent four years working at a charter school in southeast Washington, D.C. Her work has appeared in Education Week, Teacher Magazine, and The Washington Post.

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Partners in reform

Tuesday, December 1st, 2009

Ever since the spring of 2008, when then-candidate Obama voiced his admiration for Geoffrey Canada and promised to replicate the Harlem Children’s Zone in other cities across America, I have been eagerly following the Promise Neighborhoods Initiative. It has not been an easy job. The planning stages of the project have generally taken place behind closed doors, and, well, let’s just say that the news media has had a lot on its plate lately.

One thing seems clear: nothing is happening in a hurry. The administration has requested $10 million for next year to help prospective Promise Neighborhood grantees develop proposals, but the money has not yet been guaranteed. In the meantime, the Harlem Children’s Zone has been hosting visits during which interested parties can take a closer look at how its “web” of services functions to support local kids and families.

I suppose, given the extraordinary ambition of the Promise Neighborhood Initiative, that such legwork is reasonable and even wise. Sigh.

What most excites me about the project is the shift in thinking that it represents. Over the last decade, efforts at education reform have focused almost exclusively on raising standards and strengthening systems of accountability. The party line has become that of “no excuses”: if students cannot read or compute on grade-level, schools just have to push them harder and longer to get them up to speed.

Now, however, more and more people seem to be recognizing that the issue is not quite that simple. With visionaries like Canada leading the charge, a faction has sprung up around the belief that the achievement gap will be closed only when excellent schools work in tandem with systems that address the many non-academic factors that keep students, families, and communities from thriving.

The vision that Canada schemed up represents the ultimate in collaboration: a set of schools and a seamlessly integrated network of programs and services that together form a “conveyer belt” to usher kids safely through to college. In neighborhoods as poverty-stricken as Harlem, this may well be the only way to sustainably change education outcomes, and communities, for the better.

There are other ways to go about orienting schools around the non-academic needs of students and families, however. I have encountered several of them myself, and while none are so grand or exhaustive as Canada’s model, they still can make an important difference.

First, there is the relatively simple tactic of co-locating schools and service organizations. The power of this possibility struck me the other day, when I stopped by one of the smaller branches of the San Diego Public Library. As it turned out, the library’s entrance lies about 20 feet from that of the local middle school. I sat in the foyer and watched a lively after-school scene unfold: parents wandering in to browse the latest selection of paperbacks, students typing papers at the computer stations, and a group of second-language speakers working with an English tutor in a corner.

The relationship between the school and the library has many shared benefits but requires few extra resources on the part of either institution. Brilliant! It strikes me that with a bit of planning the model could be replicated with libraries, after-school programs, and even health clinics. Of course, this is easier said than done – but compared to the billions associated with the Promise Neighborhoods Initiative, the cost of moving existing organizations onto school campuses seems trifling.

The idea of co-location already has more than a few advocates, the chief of whom is none other than Secretary of Education Arnie Duncan. During his tenure as CEO of the Chicago Public Schools, Duncan transformed 150 public schools into what have become known as “community schools” – schools that become local hubs by staying open for extended hours and allowing partner organizations to share their facilities. The project has resulted in higher achievement levels and graduation rates at the schools in question, prompting Duncan to reflect that the project was “the best money I spent.”

Schools can forge beneficial partnerships with local organizations even without moving anybody around. I saw an incredibly successful demonstration of this when I visited two of the Big Picture Learning Company’s schools recently. The schools, which I wrote about for this site and for an article in Wiretap Magazine , collaborate with a wide array of local businesses so that students can complete internships in their fields of interest. The situation benefits all parties: the students gain confidence and skills, and the businesses gain free help and an opportunity to give back to their local communities.

What interests me is that in the cases of both the San Diego Library and the Big Picture Learning schools, success hinged on a willingness to see boundaries as permeable. In the first case, somebody had the wisdom to base a decision on the fact that libraries and schools serve similar purposes despite organizational distinctions. In the second case, the schools had to forge connections with organizations that lie outside the world of education – and these organizations had to re-imagine themselves as actors in the educational domain.

In my opinion, this is the kind of thinking that might get us somewhere when it comes to education reform.

Luckily, I am not alone in my conviction. For the make-it-real-or-forget-about-it crowd, there is Geoffrey Canada and the growing number of community leaders hoping to follow his lead. And for those who believe that all kinds of local partnerships can help, there is the community schools movement, which has been slowly gaining momentum.

The best way to gun for the cause might be to publicly support the Full-Service Community Schools Act of 2009 , which would authorize Congress to release $200 million per year for five years to fund federal grants for partnerships between school districts and community-based organizations. The bill is currently slotted for consideration by the House Committee on Education and Labor, and those of us who believe in the possibility that it represents need to make some noise to our lawmakers.

As for Promise Neighborhoods, we will just have to hurry up and wait.

Sarah Fine spent four years working at a charter school in southeast Washington, D.C. Her work has appeared in Education Week, Teacher Magazine, and The Washington Post.

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A case for making it real

Tuesday, October 6th, 2009

This story begins with Alexis, a fiery tenth-grader who ranks among the most truculent students I encountered during the four years that I spent teaching. Each morning during the winter of 2008, Alexis would flounce into class and defiantly put her head down on her desk. I tried encouraging her, cajoling her, and threatening her, to no avail: it seemed that she just didn’t care about school.

One morning I decided to try a different tack. I had bumped into Alexis a number of times while at the local supermarket, where she worked as a cashier, so I brought up her job. “Alexis, I know that you’re capable of discipline and excellent work because I’ve seen how hard you work at the store,” I said. “You just need to pretend that you’re there.”

Alexis looked at me with a mixture of amusement and indignance. “Ms. Fine,” she said, pausing for effect, “I don’t like playing pretend.

The interaction threw me into an existential funk. Alexis was playing her usual defiance card, but it struck me that on some level she was also speaking truth to power. Is that what schools ask of students: to play pretend? Whose fault is it that the connection between school and the outside world isn’t clear for kids like Alexis? We educators talk endlessly about crafting “authentic” academic tasks, but have we thought enough about what this actually means?

These questions are deeply important to Dennis Littky and Elliot Washor, two educators who joined forces in 1994 to found the school-design nonprofit known as Big Picture Learning. Littky and Washor met thirty-seven years ago as college students and lived parallel but separate professional lives until they together were given the opportunity by the state of Rhode Island to open an alternative public high school in Providence. There, they strove to build a model that realized their shared beliefs about education: first, that schools should stay small; second, that learning should be highly individualized; and third, that traditional schools play far too much pretend.

“I have always thought it’s hysterical that inside the school building we work really hard to make lessons that look and feel real, when all the while, the real world is going on outside – and it’s filled with history, social issues, work issues, scientific exploration, math, writing, technology, and everything else,” Littky writes in his book, The Big Picture: Education Is Everybody’s Business. “Why don’t we just step back outside?”

Accordingly, the Big Picture Learning design provides a model for high schools in which students pursue “real work” both inside and outside the classroom. During their first months at the school, freshmen undergo training to prepare them for the rigors of working in the professional world, learning everything from telephone etiquette to resumé-writing. At the same time, with the guidance of their home advisor – a teacher who “loops” with one group of students for all four years of high school – they reflect on their skills and professional aspirations.

By the end of the term most students are ready to get to work. Literally. They go through the interview process with one or more of the school’s many local businesses partners until they land an internship position to which they report twice a week during the schoolday. Teachers spend these days tutoring students who are between internships and doing site visits so that they can help their advisees prepare rigorous projects to present back at school. Some students change internships every few months, exploring different careers and developing a range of professional skills; some find a niche where they stay for all four years of high school.

I was lucky enough to see one of Big Picture Learning’s 60-odd schools in action last week. The 200-student San Diego Met occupies a building on the verdant campus of Mesa community college, east of the city center. It was Wednesday and students were at work in their classes, looking for all intents and purposes like any group of urban public school students. When I got the chance to talk to a handful them individually, they were poised, talkative, and – yes – genuinely enthusiastic about their school experience.

“It used to be like I was a slacker and I didn’t care about anything…but this school helped me change from a teenager into an adult,” one student told me with a wry grin. He explained that he moved from interning in the media center of a college library to working as a cameraman for a local television channel. Another student, a senior, described how her four-year-long internship at a marine biology research organization had helped her to hone her career-goals and to build expertise. “I’m going to go to college for marine biology, but I feel like I’m way ahead because I spent all that time learning how to do it,” she said.

The mantra of “real work” extends to Big Picture classrooms, too. “The work that is done in schools looks like real work, but is not real enough,” Littky writes. He goes on to compare two social studies units – one designed around elections, and the other around travel. In the first unit, students learned about the electoral process and got involved in a local election by holding a voter registration drive. In the second, students planned a trip to a foreign country by doing research and creating a brochure. Both units were rigorous, standards-aligned, and hands-on, but they had an important difference: authenticity. In the first unit, learning led up to a community-based project; in the second, kids planned a trip that they were never going to take.

Which unit resulted in high engagement and enduring understandings? Take a wild guess.

The design that Littky and Washor came up with is not only innovative but also successful. Big Picture Learning schools have strong overall standardized test scores and boast that 92 percent of their entering freshmen graduate as seniors. 95 percent of these graduates are accepted into college, and one of the organization’s recent initiatives involves supporting all graduates through their transition to college and beyond. (This year, in partnership with the Roger Williams University, the Rhode Island Met is even piloting its own internship-based college program.)

Those unfamiliar with the Big Picture Learning schools might assume that their success comes from having a large number of high-capacity students. They would be right – except that the students who enter Big Picture Learning schools often begin as some of the most at-risk and unconventional kids out there. “Our space is the one with the most marginalized kids,” said Washor in a recent interview. “The point is that we think they can be successful if they’re given a chance. We don’t want to dead-end anybody.”

I came face-to-face with evidence of Washor’s pronouncement during the middle of my day at the San Diego Met, when a recent graduate stopped by to say hello to the principal. I asked him about his experience at the school and he laughed. “That place transformed me, dude,” he said. He described how as a ninth-grader he had no ambition and used to come to school “all messed up,” until his advisor finally intervened. “She just kept putting AA flyers on my desk. Finally, she got through to me, and four years later I’m in college.”

It was during this conversation that I finally realized what had been at the back of my mind all morning: the Big Picture Learning model is taking kids like Alexis and helping them to find purpose and meaning. It is incredibly important work, and even as I marveled at it, I thought with a tinge of regret about the well-intentioned but hopelessly conventional school where I spent the last four years.

What if I had helped Alexis become a better reader and writer by encouraging her to explore her unique interests, rather than by muscling her through a grade-wide curriculum? What if her time in school had felt more connected and relevant to her evolving identity? Would she still have been so defiant and unengaged?

The answer, I believe, comes straight from Littky: “When it’s real work, kids do it, no matter the subject.”

Sarah Fine spent four years working as a teacher, department chair, and instructional coach at a charter high school in Washington, D.C. Her work has appeared most recently in The Washington Post.

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