Engagement and achievement rise when students have a voice in classroom decisions.
by Susan Black, American School Board Journal
My dad enforced one rule with an iron hand: Children are to be seen and not heard. I grew up learning not to argue, protest, or offer an opinion. Such behavior was considered "sass" or "backtalk" and was met with punishment that made it hard to sit for a few days.
Some of my teachers imposed the same rule. They expected me and my classmates to sit still, pay attention, and not make a sound. They didn’t resort to paddling, but I remember getting demerits and detention -- and lower grades -- for whispering in class.
In many schools, keeping kids silent is a thing of the past, and from what studies show, the change is happening none too soon.
Giving students a voice in classroom decisions -- such as suggesting themes and topics to study -- and in school policies -- such as homework regulations -- makes schools less autocratic and more democratic. And democratic schools, researchers say, tend to have fewer discipline problems, more civic involvement, higher student engagement, and higher achievement. Plus, schools that genuinely seek and appreciate students' ideas are more likely to see their school improvement plans succeed.
Even so, the idea of giving students a voice in school matters sometimes meets with skepticism and open resistance.
An administrator in a city district, for example, told me disgruntled high school teachers destroyed hundreds of surveys in which seniors had described their best and worst learning experiences. And in Maine, a high school principal looked askance at a business teacher's cooperative groups. One day he heard 10th-graders discussing working conditions and low pay at a local factory. The next day the teacher found a note from the principal: "Your students would learn more if you kept them quiet at all times."
Negotiating student voice
Why deny students opportunities to speak up and share ideas? In an ERIC document, John Kordalewski says the notion that "knowledge resides entirely with the teacher" keeps teachers talking and students mostly silent.
Kordalewski recommends trading in this traditional model of learning for one based on teacher-student dialogue. He proposes that teachers and students "negotiate curriculum" each time they embark on new classroom topics by working together on this learning sequence:
1. Share what they already know about the topic.
2. Agree on what is important and what they want to learn.
3. Determine how they will learn new information.
4. Plan how they will assess their learning.
Giving a voice to students works in all subjects, but Kordalewski uses history as an example. In the best history courses, teachers prompt students to think and learn like actual historians -- raising interesting questions and digging deep for answers beyond their textbooks. I saw this process at work in a classroom full of disadvantaged, mostly minority, kids.
The teacher, who calls himself a "co-learner" with his 11th-graders, introduced the topic of immigration and invited his students to narrow it down to questions they wanted to pursue as historians and researchers. The kids proposed several questions, including these:
- How have ethnic neighborhoods in our city changed in the past 100 years?
- Do government immigration policies support the concept of a "melting pot?"
- Why do some immigrants risk their lives, and the lives of their families, to come to America?
I didn't have to strain to hear these students' voices. They were clear, focused, and articulate -- anything but the "marginalized voice" Australian researchers Ross Booker and Doune Macdonald say is the best students could expect at many schools.
Silenced at school
Students' words matter, says Carole Gallagher of Indiana University, Columbus. In a 2002 study, she discovered that most school dropouts have been "systematically silenced," not only in curriculum but also in how their schools are run.
Gallagher's case study of four Indiana dropouts -- Molly, Chris, John, and Casey -- reveals a troubling pattern. Three of the four teens vividly recalled enjoying their elementary school experiences. "It was the time I was the happiest, and I had a large amount of friends," said Molly. Casey and Chris had similar memories.
But Molly, described as "articulate and introspective," dropped out at 16. Casey left school at 17, and Chris left at 18 during his senior year. John, a quiet youth, experienced episodes of racial discrimination and dropped out at 18 with just two credits needed to graduate.
Gallagher's interviews reveal the kids' alienation. None of the teens felt their high school was hospitable, and none felt they would be missed. Chris assessed the situation this way: "It was just a battle ... you had all these people everywhere ... but I didn’t fit in." Molly expressed the same sentiment: "I didn't fit in ... I felt really out of place; you just knew that underneath people didn't like you. I tried to pay attention to my teachers and not cause problems ... but by the end I got so I was speaking my mind more freely."
The problem was, no one listened.
All four kids emphasized that, emotionally, they were better off out of high school, and all four have gone on to pursue GEDs. But not all dropouts regain their initiative, and Gallagher urges schools to pay attention to those who "quietly disappear." To prevent kids from slipping away in the first place, she encourages schools to reach out to parents and students through "democratic discourse about the school experience" in which all voices can be heard.
