An Open Letter to Secretary DeVos

Dear Secretary DeVos,

First, you should know that I did not support your nomination to be Secretary of Education. I suspect you come to this position excited to be tapped to hold such a noteworthy position and adamant in your support of education for children. I had hoped for a Secretary of Education who stands firm in her support for public schools, has worked in public schools, been a parent of children who attended public schools, has experience as a teacher, understands laws around public schools, and has published articles and/or books for teachers and/or administrators about teaching. I want the Surgeon General to be a doctor; I want the Attorney General to be a lawyer; I want the Secretary of Education to be a teacher. Nonetheless, you had credentials that the Republican party found made you the nation’s single most-qualified person to lead our public schools.

And so here you are. Please know I’m here to support you. I need you to support our public schools because that is your position. You might wonder what in the world the two of us have in common. I admit, I do not have your financial pedigree, but I do have decades of service to public schools and public school teachers, and I am a public school teacher. We disagree on the role of charter schools, but I suspect we would agree that without the best schools possible, our nation falters. I suspect we agree that our children of today are our best hope for a better tomorrow. I believe we would find common ground in the belief that our nation’s public school teachers are one our nation’s most precious resources. I bet both of us wanted an education for our own children that helped them be prepared for whatever this world throws at them; I would hope we both would agree that we want that for all children and that given the right resources our public schools can provide such opportunities. I would hope that you want to educate yourself about all that the Secretary of Education must understand and support regarding public schools.

In short, I would hope we might find more in common than we might have initially thought. So, I want to apologize for the way you were treated when you tried to visit a Washington, D.C., school. I want you in every school. I want you to sit in classrooms, talk with teachers, watch students, visit with administrators. Though you lack the credentials to stand before students and teach, I want you to sit through classes, go to lunch, head to P.E., stand in bus duty, take on lunch duty, visit the school libraries, sit with the school nurses. I want you to see the excellent teaching and joyful learning evident in our schools. I want you to watch teachers share their own money so kids can buy lunch. I want you to see teachers wipe away tears as children sob because Dad didn’t come home or Mom lost her job or a grandparent has been diagnosed with cancer, or a sibling is missing, or no one could take her to the store to buy the poster board the science teacher wanted. I want you to see teachers stand before thirty-five students who read at different levels and have only one textbook written at one level to hand to them. I want you in that school and every school. I want you to meet band directors who beg for any dollars to provide instruments for students, watch choir directors work after school with one more student who wants to try-out for district choir, see one more coach help one more kid. I want you to watch teachers deal with administrators who tell them to “get up test scores” when they know that teaching to the test means not teaching to the child. I am ashamed of the way you were treated and apologize. You are our Secretary of Education and we need you in many schools, immediately.

So, I’m here. Let’s talk. Let’s find our common ground – and I suspect that ground will be a larger parcel than either of us would have imagined. Let’s figure out how you can best support the people who each day walk into our nation’s schools and work hard to do their best, to ready our nation’s children for today and for tomorrow. And let’s figure out how I and many others can best support you. Let’s start today making our nation’s public schools what we all want: the best place for our children to reach their potential.

My best to you,

Kylene Beers, Ed.D.
Secondary Certified English Teacher
Past President, National Council of Teachers of English
CEL Outstanding Leadership Award
Comer School Development Program Senior Reading Researcher, Yale University
Author, When Kids Can’t Read/What Teachers Can Do
Co-Author, Notice and Note: Strategies for Close Reading
Co-Author, Reading Nonfiction: Stances, Signposts, and Strategies
Co-Author, Disrupting Thinking: Why How We Read Matters

What We Do Next

Dear Teachers,

So many of us are deeply disappointed in the committee approval of Betsy DeVos. We’re disappointed because we believe that the Secretary of Education ought to have deep understanding of educational issues and laws. We’re disappointed because during the hearings, DeVos did not demonstrate that she has that understanding. We must depend on that hearing because she does not have a history of work in public schools, at being published in peer-reviewed journals or by educational publishers. She hasn’t presented at state or national conferences, written educational blog posts, worked on textbooks, served on national councils, or been a part of the national conversation on educational issues. She doesn’t come to the job with the history of being a teacher, a supervisor, an administrator, a professor of education. So, it was the hearing that showed us, showed the nation, the depth of her knowledge of educational issues.

And that depth was shallow.

And so we wonder what it means that she might be our Secretary of Education. We wonder what it means that our Congress thinks she has the expertise to lead our nation’s public schools.

Here’s my answer: I don’t give a damn what Congress thinks. Congress seems to not care enough about what happens in schools to make sure the Secretary of Education actually understands what happens in schools. So here’s where I’m putting my effort: I’m putting my effort into helping you. I care what you think. I care what you do. I care what happens each day in your classroom.

And that means that tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that I need you to walk back into your classroom and teach students. Do the best job you have ever done. Look at each child and see that child as your own. Look at each child and know that one of them will cure cancer; figure out how to make polluted water clean; find a way to make sure no one is ever hungry; become a teacher or a fireman or a chef or a lawyer or a preacher or an actor or a mom or dad. That squirrelly child who can’t find a pencil might someday serve in our armed forces or become a policeman/woman or a plumber; a farmer or a pharmacist; a grocer or a salesperson. And one might decide to take on leading this nation and go into public service. Those children you teach are our tomorrow and for our tomorrow to be the best it can be, we need you to be your best today. Spend more time talking with colleagues about what is working and what isn’t. Read more. Read more. Read more. Push harder. Don’t ever give up.

Make sure you know who your local school board members are. Can you name them? Do you write them? Do you let them know what is working and what isn’t working in your district? Do you know who your state school board members are? Do you reach out to them? Do you create the time to write to them? Do you reach out to your local newspaper and describe all that is wonderful that your students are doing? Do you write for your state journals? Are you a member of your national content association such as the National Council of Teachers of English?

In other words, worry most about your kids. They deserve the best you can give. And worry a lot about what you know and don’t know. Work with your colleagues to learn more. Always learn more. And work hard to make sure you are active at your local and state level.

And call your Congressmen and Congresswomen. Respectfully share why you think our educational system deserves a Secretary of Education who actually understands and believes in public education.

And go tomorrow into your classrooms and teach. Shut your door and teach. And I’ll keep doing all I can do to support you.

You are, for so many of our nation’s children, their best hope at a better tomorrow. Go teach.

An Unexpected Gift on this Unexpected Journey, update 3-29-2010

We are given these unexpected gifts in our lives.  They arrive suddenly, with little or no warning, and warm us for a moment, or if we are lucky, for a lifetime.

There is no way I am ready to name, perhaps will ever be ready to name, cancer a gift.  Some are more generous-hearted than I and will find their journeys with cancer as some sort of gift.  I am not that person.  This doesn’t feel like a gift, nor does it feel like a burden.  It is simply what is next.  Someone pointed out that this was proof indeed that life is not fair.  “This what?” I asked.  “That you ended up with cancer,” he replied, his eyes brimming with tears.  “It’s just not fair.”

I so appreciate his care and concern, but me having cancer has nothing to do with life not being fair.  Life isn’t fair, but that is proven every day in ways far more important than this diagnosis. I am reminded of life’s inequalities each time I walk into certain schools in New Haven, Houston, Los Angeles, Chicago, New York City, Miami, Nashville, Dallas, Fairfax, Murfreesboro, Louisville, Detroit, Boston, or–well, the list goes on and on.  I am reminded of life’s discriminations each time I drive through the neighborhoods of those schools.  Too many of the schools I visit are filled with children and teens whose lives are dominated by hunger and bounded by fears.  I recall a ten-year-old boy who walks up four flights of stairs to a three-room apartment that has no air-conditioning save an oscillating fan, and no heat except the toaster oven that his mom leaves on in the winter.  He shares a mattress with two brothers and one sister and he knows that the night will be good if his mom is humming when she comes up the stairs because it means she will have earned enough tips at her job to bring home something she thinks will be special for dinner.  Life is not fair.  Why does this kid go hungry and that kid not?  Why does this little boy attend a school where, no matter what the teachers want to do with the students, the daily reminder from the principal is to make sure they can pass THE TEST and so their days are spent drilling with test-prep materials while students on the other side of town (literally) focus on growing vegetables in their school garden, reading novels of their own choice, and spend afternoons Skyping with kids in Alaska to talk about how oil-drilling in that state could affect their environment?  These are inequalities that matter.

There is no fairness that from the moment I thought something was wrong until the moment I was meeting with one of the best surgeons in town, less than a week had passed, while other women must wait weeks as they move from concern to test to diagnosis to plan. During my one week of waiting and wondering, I talked with a woman, a black woman, a dental aide, who, now divorced, has no insurance and has felt a lump in her breast but the Planned Parenthood clinic where she once could have gone to get a mammogram has closed and the closest one is several bus rides away and she can’t get there after her work before it closes.  She’s hoping to get into a free clinic that is closer to her home on Saturday, but for now, she tells me, she just worries and then she hugs me and wishes me well.  She hugs me and wishes me well.

And there it was: the unexpected gift.  That gift of a wish from someone who knows firsthand, in a way far different from the way that I know it, that life is not fair.  She asks if I know the health care bill passed the night before.  I tell her I do.  I tell her that my son, a freshman in college, called at midnight, asking me, “Mom, did you watch it? Did you see it? It passed!”  She nodded and said, “It’s going to help me.  I’ve been following it.  It’s going to be helping me.”  She smiled and concluded, “It won’t solve everything and I suppose it still has problems but it’s going to help me and that makes me breathe easier, for my kids, you know?  They need their mom to be able to keep working.  To pay the rent, you know?”

This past week, the House passed the health care bill.  Some of you reading this will be disappointed that it passed.  For some of you that will be because you have actually read the bill or at least made your way through detailed articles in news magazines or newspapers and can point to very specific provisions of the bill that you wish had not been included, or you will be able to point to gaps where you can say, with specificity, what else it is that the bill should have included.  Others of you reading this will be happy that it passed simply because it means that Democrats won and Republicans lost; some will be dismayed because it means the opposite.  But I wonder, just wonder, how many of us reading this and passing judgment on the passage of the bill do so in the context of being uninsured, being dependent on free clinics, and knowing that if we hear we have cancer we understand that lack of immediate care will make a difference in the length and the quality of our lives.

I’m carrying around her hug, a hug given without any commentary on the unfairness of life, without any strings attached.  I see teachers hand out this type of gift to students each day—the words of encouragement on a paper hesitantly turned in, the star next to the one answer on a test that showed real understanding, the nod of support as that shy student finally decides to speak up, the note home to the parent that only mentions reasons why that student is a pleasure to have in class, the willingness to say to the student who pleads for another day to get in the report to remember that sometimes life is not fair and we have the ability to level the playing field a tiny bit by saying one more day is just fine.  No new set of standards will be what makes a day feel just a bit more fair to these children; no new races to the top and certainly not one more mandate or test.  Teachers will make the difference.  And, of course, a hug won’t be enough.  We’ve got to make sure we know enough about each student’s progress to understand how to help each move forward.  We’ve got to make sure we understand enough about our own content to know how to teach and re-teach and, if necessary for that particular student re-teach yet again.  But we can’t ever forget that alongside the teaching we do, the unconditional and at times unexpected support and encouragement we offer to children who know firsthand that life is not fair is a gift that can warm a heart for a moment, or, if we’re lucky, a lifetime.

Reclaiming “Systematic, Direct, and Explicit”

In November 2009, Congress released to the public the LEARN Act, a comprehensive, K-12 literacy bill.  NCTE worked with five other organizations to help write the bill.

Criticism of NCTE’s participation in this process (read those comments here compelled me to write a response.  In that response, I address many topics, including the part of the bill that defines effective instruction as instruction that is—in addition to other things—“systematic, direct, and explicit.”  Critics of NCTE’s endorsement of LEARN are concerned over this language.  I, too, would be disappointed if I immediately believed that these three words can only suggest a scripted curriculum, one that takes instructional decisions out of the teacher’s hands.  But, I do not believe that.  As I wrote in my response:

We have let these three words become a synonym for scripted instruction when, actually, these words should always describe effective instruction.  Teachers I know who teach in a “workshop” environment will tell you that they are very systematic, direct, and explicit in the mini-lessons they offer students and are quite explicit in the types of questions they offer in reading and writing instruction to facilitate students’ thinking and understanding. First-grade teachers who embrace a constructivist view of education and teach phonics through trade books and student writing do not approach this haphazardly.  No—they plan exhaustively and are quite systematic in their approaches with individual students.

I believe we have an obligation to make it clear that the phrase “systematic, direct, and explicit” has been kidnapped by those who favor scripted teaching even though it is a guiding factor for presumably all effective teachers. The most outspoken critics of this bill have acquiesced to the assumption that this term can only mean scripted instruction.  If that is the assumption, then there is certainly opportunity for disappointment.  But the bill does not call for scripted instruction. It calls for “effective instruction.”  It is up to NCTE to now step forward with clear and compelling evidence and examples of the types of instructional practices that can be “systematic, direct, and explicit” without being scripted.  If NCTE fails to do this, if members fail to offer those examples, if respected educators in student-centered instruction do not offer the evidence needed to convince those who believe that the only way for instruction to be systematic or direct is for it to be scripted, then, then we should be ashamed.

Write your senators and representative and tell them what effective literacy instruction looks like in your classroom.  Don’t be afraid to tell them that your instruction is systematic, is direct, and is explicit even when it is not scripted.  Watch the NCTE website for ways to contribute your examples of effective literacy instruction.  Participate in the NCTE Ningconversations and share examples of effective literacy instruction with other teachers.  Attend your NCTE state affiliate convention and meetings and volunteer to present.  Submit a proposal to present at the NCTE 2010 Convention.  In other words, take the powerful work you do in your classroom and make sure that it is known.