“This inhuman place makes human monsters.”
–The Shining, by Stephen King
From the beginning of this school year, I have been continually disturbed by the language that we specifically as English teachers use to describe students, vis-a-vis test scores. We speak of them as commodities, as “bubble kids” (who’re just on the cusp of reaching another score category), and as pieces that we need to “move” from one bracket to another.
When one of our well-meaning instructional coaches spoke in a recent meeting about, “stay[ing] focused this year and really attack[ing] this, we can really help our students improve. We can really move a lot of our students,” I cringed and re-crossed my arms. She was speaking of course about our school’s dismal English test scores from last spring’s round of PSSA’s.
It’s not the language itself that’s the problem, but the assumptions hiding underneath that are deadening: we exist as teachers to improve students’ test-score numbers; a kid is useful only if they’re Proficient or Advanced; anything that cannot be easily quantitatively measured is not worth spending time on. Things like insight and community aren’t worth anything, except as a means to improving scores, or as another commodity that can be traded–as a point, as a grade, as a diploma.
There’s never discussion of the larger societal issue at the heart of our test-score debacle, which is racially and economically segregated schools. To be fair, our District is one of several who are currently awaiting our day in court with the state to fight for more equitable school funding. But we’re teachers, and our first responsibility is to the students who’re directly in front of us.
So instead, what is our answer? More practice testing–nine 90-minute periods just in English this year by my count, including SFA tests–and more diagnostic tests (four of the eight) designed specifically to mirror our state’s standardized tests. This doesn’t count the days when students who were either absent or couldn’t finish in 90 minutes are pulled from class to finish their test. We need that data, after all.
I feel called to resist this. Why? Because, again, our first responsibility is to our students. And while some might argue that I’m being selfish and standing up only for my own expediency and standing in the way of my students’ progress, I don’t believe that I’m being selfish by protesting a dehumanizing system of test-and-punish. And yet, I am part of this system. I administer the tests, sometimes without much protest. I do curtail my lesson plans to hew to the PSSA’s. I feel I need to, not only to protect my job and those of my colleagues, but also because the kids themselves feel they need to do well on the PSSA’s. So who am I to say that they don’t matter?
We force each other into these situations, and this needn’t be the case for the teaching of writing, specifically, in K-12 education.
There’s nothing wrong with the state’s mandate that students should be able to write effectively in three basic genres: narrative, informational, and argumentative. There’s nothing wrong with demanding that students are able to support a point or an idea with evidence from a provided text. The problem arises when–among other things–the state creates prompts that are boring, bereft of audience, purpose, and context. Any specific prompt is contrived and artificial by necessity, but then the goal of writing effectively is lost. It isn’t about changing the question, it’s about changing the way that good writing is taught and measured.
And back to the larger question: how can we as teachers not become monsters? How can we not allow ourselves to be entirely swallowed by this singular obsession with improving test scores, even as it dehumanizes both teachers and the students? Truthfully, I’m biding my time, taking notes, tallying days lost, starting conversations about testing with kids in class, and waiting for those days in the testing “window” in the spring. I’m curious to see if our test scores do in fact improve this year. I don’t think they will, but I will withhold judgement for now.
Then again, any improving scores are beside the point: if we brutalize each other and the kids, and “move” our students from Basic to Proficient, we’re still monsters. Even if the scores improve, we always have to ask if it was worth it.