Classroots.org

Kyle Pace posted a challenge during last night’s #edchat on encouraging teachers to adapt and change in response to the needs of today’s students.

It sent me thinking in a new direction about teacher evaluation as practiced by us teachers.

Apart from formal teacher evaluation, we evaluate one another all the time. We evaluate ourselves against one another. Significant pieces of our professional identity come from who we think of when we ask ourselves: Who do I want to be? Who do I not want to be? Whose results do I want? Whose results don’t I want?  Students evaluate one another.  We evaluate students.  They evaluate us.  Measures change with points of view, but evaluation remains a personal, human enterprise.  We often run headlong into this challenge in the classroom, where what we value and what students value differs without intentional and prolonged community-building.  I suspect a similar challenge exists in teacher evaluation between teachers and their evaluators.

Evaluation is personal because we view results as shorthand for those who produced them. Consider how often we place students by their grades and test scores; consider how we talk about students because of their grades and test scores and placements.

What if we placed students by interest? By learning style? By mastery of content?

What if we restructured schools to do the same for adults? What if a school system reorganized to better manage its human capital by creating different types of schools where its teachers and students could find success? Why keep putting square peg teachers into round hole classrooms?

Why is our rhetoric all innovation and our funding all conformity? When do we ask radically new questions of the system to help us do the job it says it wants us to do?

We are all impatient for change, because we want results on which we can act. We want a good evaluation so we can evaluate ourselves against others. We’re in a system and entrenched political and media climate that encourages us to do so.  Competition suffuses our schools and our discourse about them. Public schools must be effective so charters are ineffective, or visa versa, so we can act. Teacher A must be effective so Teacher B is ineffective so we can act. Fund this, close that, fire them.

Haven’t we learned enough about either/or? Haven’t we played enough zero-sum games?  Do we want to keep playing Spanish Prisoner with students and test scores? (If you comply now then in X years . . . .) In leaving no child behind, is there no better solution than to leave schools and teachers behind?

Here’s an article that says no, turnarounds aren’t scalable (or maybe they are; links via Eduwonk). Okay. So let’s not turn around schools. Let’s re-organize them to succeed and re-organize our teachers, too. What if every school adopted a mission, and what if every division worked with schools to offer a meaningful choice between effective schools, beyond autonomy zones, but including general curriculum schools? Think of the possibilities for students and adults alike in authentic, passion-driven specialization. Think of the career tracks opened up inside classrooms and schools if novice teachers and administrators had the opportunity to pursue personally relevant professional paths. I want to be a top-notch collaborative special education teacher at the visual arts academy in five years. I want to be a top-notch art teacher helping students create album covers and concert posters at the music academy in three years. I want to be the assistant principal sharing a school-wide vision of scientific inquiry into sustainable living at the STEM academy in two years.  Next year I want to be the coach of students working through the STEM curriculum offsite at a more local lab-within-a-school.  Next year I want to be the R&D teacher inventing new methods that will benefit all learners with students who have mastered the year’s coursework already.

So what does any of this have to do with class roots reform?

First, take up Kyle’s challenge. Connect with a teacher from your PLN and connect with someone in your building. Start a caring partnership. Find the good in one another, acknowledge it, and emulate it. Put aside questions about who you want to be or don’t want to be. Ask new questions. Who are we together? How can we help one another change for the better? Go the extra mile beyond us and them in teacher evaluation. I regret that I have spent so much of my career competing with colleagues in the phantom teaching league of my mind.

Second, ask your leaders new questions. Ask to follow a passion. Ask to let the kids follow their passions. Align the work to standards, show results, and argue that they come from authentic teaching and learning, not from conformity. Ask about the efficacy of leveling. Ask about specialty centers and schools-within schools. Ask about sharing the responsibility for sharing out and scaling up new and successful ideas about how to reach students grouped by something more human than either/or. Invite your PLC to observe something new that’s working; ask for it’s feedback; ask if anyone else is willing to try. If you’ve built the kinds of partnerships Kyle challenges us to build, you’ll find some takers.  Create and advertise your team’s specialties; show others how to develop theirs; recruit and foster like-minded novices.

We can’t go back to the days of closed classroom doors and scatter ourselves to the wind on eccentric pedagogical whims.  However, we can leverage our strengths to create and scale-up classrooms with new approaches to teaching and learning that are authentic to students and politically viable to our leaders.  We can radically differentiate what we do to help students and ourselves, and then regroup in teams, schools, and divisions organized on principles more authentic, lasting, and human than standardized-test results.  Let’s get to the future and ask ourselves how we will organize education when everyone meets every standard.  And if we don’t think that’s possible, again, let’s do something different now to make our students the innovators, entreprenuers, and citizens we all want them to be.

Keep looking up and out and inside whenever the demands of the day let you and reimagine yourself teaching up there, out there, ahead of the curve. Come back with your vision, share it, and evaluate it in performance.

Over at Twitter recently, @mctownsley pointed toward an earlier post at Edumacation about the tension between standards-based assessment and traditional grading.

Assessments, like any kind of data-based research, can be used by many people in many different ways.

One teacher might pump her fist in the air after seeing that 95% of her students passed this year’s reading test.  Another might perseverate on the 5% who failed, knowing that those students are the toughest to reach and no one’s reached them yet.  Another educator might take issue with the test’s validity and discount the results entirely, instead focusing on whether or not her students’ final portfolios demonstrated mastery of reading and writing for a variety of purposes and audiences.

The same can be said of assessment systems.  They, too, can be taken and manipulated in many ways by many people.

Look at traditional grading.  Take two English teachers working in the same grade at the same school.  Despite sharing a common, 100-point scale, two teachers’ students could earn the same scores but learn dramatically different things depending on the curriculum, assessment, and instruction used in the two classes.  Even if those teachers shared a common curriculum, a 90% in one class doesn’t have to mean the same thing in the other class.  What if both teachers gave book tests, but on different books?  What if both teachers gave book tests on the same book, but one teacher’s questions never broke the knowledge/comprehension ceiling?  Or what if both teachers gave the same test and it included analysis items, but only one of the teachers ever modeled or gave practice in answering analysis questions during the reading of the book?

Look at standards-based assessment and reporting (SBAR).  Take another two English teachers working together in the same grade at another school school.  Ask the same questions; you won’t get very different answers.

I ran a SBAR pilot in my classroom for a year and was then fortunate enough to work with a group of peers willing to try it department-wide for another year.  We learned a lot about assessment, grade-book design, and report-card design from struggling with the tension between SBAR and traditional grading.

While I believe standards-based assessment and reporting is better for learning than traditional grading, and while I believe that the two should not be mixed, I don’t worry so much about which system to use anymore.  I worry more about people issues.  How can you make sure that every student has a teacher who provides opportunities for authentic learning?  How can you make sure that every student has a teacher working with colleagues to transform rote content into fuel for life-long learning?  How can you make sure that every student has a teacher who cares more that students’ learning demonstrates mastery than that students’ behavior satisfies the teacher?

The SBAR process does a better job of pushing teachers to tackle those questions than traditional grading does.  However, there are multiple obstacles in the status quo to implementing an SBAR classroom or school-wide grading system, including grade-books and report-cards which are commonly adopted by a whole school or system and not often up for change.  Perhaps the biggest obstacle is our conditioned impulse to equate a 4- or 5-point scale with the 100-point scale used for traditional grading.  They do not match up.  The should never be cross-walked.  They are irreconcilably disparate.  Don’t do it.  When you tell a student that mastery equals 80%, or that approaching mastery equals 60%, you effectively squelch any intrinsic motivation the student has to move forward in learning by equating formative feedback with summative grades.  The 100-point scale and its letter grade equivalents exist to sort children by summative, lag indicators.  The 4-point scale exists to promote student learning by articulating the characteristics of different levels of mastery.  The 100-point scale suffers from inflation, discrepancy, subjectivity, and the confusion of student behavior with learning.  The 4-point scale, while adaptable, concentrates on learning and makes public the teacher’s commitment to providing clear benchmarks for students to reach.  There’s not a lot of wiggle room in the 4-point scale to fudge with decimals, to reward extra credit schoolwork less demanding then the learning, or to take points off of mastery for too much talking.  Ultimately, it’s better to take the assessment and feedback lessons learned from SBAR and to apply them in practice using a 100-point scale than it is to ever try to crosswalk the two.

It’s a reform-crippling irony that the public thinks number- and letter- grades provide more hard data about student learning than rubrics built on 4- and 5- point scales do. If your school or public is unwilling to publish or accept “grades” based on SBAR and its scales, make traditional grading mean more.

All criticisms of the 100-point scale aside, I still think it can be used to promote learning if teachers work together to make sure that the grades stand for real learning benchmarks, and to make sure that students can always improve their grades by demonstrating higher levels of mastery over time.  If teachers working together agree to tier assessments, for example, so that no one gets a B without applying knowledge, and no one gets an A without analyzing or evaluating  “new” information with “old” skills, then it becomes likely that both of those teachers will provide some instruction and practice on the kinds of thinking that make work personally meaningful for students.  I want teachers to design assessments and instruction that promote student meaning-making, regardless of the grading scale the teachers use.

Ultimately, any scale needs to be used to value, promote, and reward authentic learning.  The scale is a construct – it’s a communications technology; it’s not the learning itself.  Does your quarterly message to parents and students promote learning?  Even if your division requires you to use a scale with which you disagree, you can call home or re-purpose school postage or bandwidth with a newsletter or narrative report that more accurately describes students’ learning in your classroom.  You can pilot student-led conferences.  You don’t have to stop communicating at your grading scale.

In fact, it’s not this scale or that scale that’s the problem.  The problem lies in how we use the scales and how much care we take in making sure that the scales encourage learning and academic risk-taking instead of discouraging them.  Our problems with grading are people problems.  They come from grading in isolation for too long and from believing for too long that the 100-point scale is enough to unite us and our work.  We need to network with one another, as well as with experts in the outside world, to provide personally-meaningful, autnehtic learning and feedback for our students.  We need to expand our PLCs into PLNs.

What does a 90% or a 4 mean to you?  What do you think it means to your students?  How does it move forward their learning?  What do you think it means to world?  How can you be sure?  How authentic are the “grades” in your classroom?

Beware getting caught up in arguments with your peers about how to label learning; unite with your colleagues instead to align assessment, instruction, and feedback to ensure that learning is authentic and happening in the first place.  Make your standard authenticity and make sure to share out how it goes.