Line in the Sand

            In the first chapter of Ayers’ Book, “To Teach,” one quotation struck me as a painful yet inescapable truth. He writes, “Even as society occasionally posits a romanticized view of the dedicated, caring, inspiring teacher–brilliant, creative, self-sacrificing–we know that the harsh reality in many schools is a structure that disempowers and de-skills, a system that prespecifies each teacher’s thoughts and oversees and constrains our activities” (31). Throughout my intern and student teaching hours in the classroom–spread across 5 separate schools in 3 districts–I feel I have been a first hand witness and active participant in this disempowered school structure. In fact, as I have been studying the art and profession of “teaching” over the last 2 years, I have been unable to avoid the aggressive conclusion that teaching is no longer considered either an “art” or a “profession.” The question then becomes: was it ever? And beyond that, where did our “romanticized” ideas of teaching even begin? And how do we continue to ignore the fact that teachers are among the most manipulated bodies of workers in our nation?

            In our current system–as we have discussed thoroughly–the unique abilities of each individual teacher is diminished into the same type of “learning list” that Ayers speaks about in chapter 2. Unfortunately for teachers though, administrations too often enact scripted curriculums with the aim of safe guarding their classrooms against the typically perceived “deficiencies” of their teaching force (i.e. deficiencies in classroom management, test scores, and student control…). Instead of creating an open environment geared towards promoting authentic teacher creativity and innovation, we bully our teaching force towards passive conformity. In doing so, the teacher is then put in a position to enact that same kind of “deficiency control” over his or her students, where they do not create open situations for creative learning on the students’ part, instead positioning students in a manner which controls their deficits. As we now exist within the constraints of this current educational environment, what is our most productive form of rebellion? How do we regain some control over the educational outcomes of our students, without positioning our classrooms so strongly against the outside constraints that we lose our jobs or attract isolation? Is there a balance to be struck or must we simply “go for it” in the sense that we ignore the limitations of outside forces and build our classroom curriculums with little concern for what we do not value?

            Throughout the last few semesters, we (myself included) have discussed the idea of “carving out space” within the limitations of the mandated curriculum. In our discussions, we have focused on identifying key areas where we can “work with” the curriculum, and ultimately build space within these confines for “authentic teaching.”  Ayers, I believe, brings up a nice counter argument to this idea in his book. As he deconstructs the countless “myths of teaching,” he includes the myth that “good teachers begin with the curriculum they are given and find clever ways to enhance it” (25). This, in a general sense, is exactly the attitude I have been adopting over the past few semesters. Reading it as a teaching “myth” however, forced me to challenge this perspective, accept that it may be flawed, and in doing so search for some new approaches.  Although I agree that carving our space within a curriculum is not a negative pursuit, positioning the “authentic learning” as something that needs to be “squeezed into” the curriculum can have damaging effects. I believe, as Ayers would likely agree, that we need to flip the script on this perspective and begin to question/challenge every element of ANY curriculum (whether it is "given" to us or "created" by us). As Ayers admits in chapter 5, "When I realized that no curriculum unit was ever good enough (even though many materials and resources are terrific and worth drawing upon)and that I needed to focus on curriculum as a living challenge rather than as a better package, I began to evolve a framework for deliberating about curriculum in my own classrooms. I wanted to be proactive in thinking about curriculum, not always reacting to guidelines or requirements or units coming at me from the outside" (103-104). This new framework, of course, comes with extreme challenges and risks, but we must refuse to accept the idea that the areas of teaching that we truly value should somehow be limited by curriculum constraints, OR the limitation of our own curriculum ideas/goals. With this attitude we can begin to view the outside curriculum constraints themselves as the areas of the curriculum that must be “squeezed in,” while retaining the reflective perspective that our own ideas must be constantly evolving and must face relentless personal scrutiny. It is through this shift that our curriculum can take on a living form–always changing shape.

            Ultimately, each teacher has to figure out what works best in his or her own classroom. This is an extremely heavy task. I have been struggling this entire semester with many of these questions, as I have had to face the realistic fear that when I enter a difficult educational environment as a teacher my idealistic and theoretical philosophies may stand firmly in opposition with many outside forces. How then can I succeed? William Ayers poses the important question, “when we teachers look out over our classrooms, what do we see? [sic] We see students in our classrooms, of course, but who are they? What hopes do they bring? What is the language of their dreams” (41). I fully agree that these are important questions for teachers to ask themselves about their students, but I think we need to ask these same questions about ourselves as teachers. When we look at ourselves operating within the classroom, what do we see?  Who do we see? What are our hopes? What are our dreams? Where do we draw that figurative line-in-the sand? And more importantly–on which side of it do we stand?