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R-E-S-P-E-C-T (Published in
Mothering Magazine No. 103 Nov/Dec 2000)
An exciting new movement is stirring the world of education--a
movement that promises, at last, to make children participants in the
revolutionary changes that swept the world in the late 20th century. The
emergence of democratic schools all over the US, as well as in Israel,
Australia, Denmark, England, and Canada, is finally bringing respect and
equality to people under the age of 18, respect that is blind to race,
gender, culture, or belief--the same respect that adults have struggled to
win for themselves.
Sudbury Valley School in Framingham, Massachusetts--a school that I
helped found in 1968--was the first fully democratic school in the US.
Others have now been founded all over this country and in many other parts
of the world. The schools share a deep commitment to the idea that children
deserve nothing less than the full set of rights and freedoms that adults
receive in our society, and that in such a setting children have the best
opportunity to learn, to develop their sense of responsibility, to define
their value systems, and to grow into productive, self-motivated adults.
What Does It Mean? Like the old colonial towns that nurtured our country's political
traditions, democratic schools are self-governing. Children of all ages are
entitled to participate in all decisions affecting the school, without
exception. They have a full and equal vote in deciding expenditures, in
hiring and firing all employees (including teachers), and in making and
enforcing the rules of the community. In democratic schools, there is no
residual authority vested in adults, no veto power lurking in the
background.
In practice, democratic schools look more like a cross-section of
real life, more like a vibrant town or village, than like traditional
schools. There are no assigned groups or rooms, no specified activities or
time periods, no preferred curriculum or dress code, no agenda for
pressuring children into endless compromise and compliance. Here children
decide for themselves how to spend their time, what to do, and when and
with whom to do it.
Play is a big part of daily life, and it is the prime factor in
learning. Nothing compares to play as an instrument of learning, least of
all courses given by a teacher. Most of the students, especially the
younger ones, are too busy playing all the time to rest or even to eat. By
late afternoon, they're ready for a huge meal and a good night's sleep.
They've worked long and hard.
Lessons learned here become tools for a lifetime. What is mastered
is the ability to concentrate and focus attention unsparingly on the task
at hand, without regard for limitations--no tiredness, no rushing, no need
to abandon a hot idea in the middle to go on to something else. This
"lesson" is retained for life.
How Does It Work? Anyone who thinks that young children are not wise about these
matters need only attend a few such School Meetings. Kids know that it
takes a commitment from their families to send them to a democratic school,
and they are stern judges of what is--or is not--a necessary expense. When a
rule is passed at the School Meeting, it's often after weeks of
soul-searching debate.
Instead of deciding everything as a group, the School Meeting
delegates some tasks to sub-groups or to people elected by them to carry
out certain responsibilities. One sub-group may be composed of people
interested in the school's public relations; another may take care of the
school's bookkeeping. Someone may be elected to see to the grounds'
maintenance, another person to keep computer records of all of the judicial
activities. All of the people so elected are accountable to the School
Meeting--and they are aware of this accountability at all times.
One sub-group, a judicial committee, is always set up to deal with
rule infractions. Its function is to investigate written complaints about
possible rule violations and to see that justice is served, while
constantly being careful about due process. Rules are often broken, but the
culprits are usually good-natured about both admitting what has happened
and accepting the consequences. Peer justice is amazingly effective.
What Does It Feel Like? The absence of fear is what epitomizes democratic schools and makes
their atmosphere so unique. At Sudbury we say, "It's one of the things you
can't help noticing in the school--that little kids look adults straight in
the eye." Adults aren't authority figures, and we are very proud of the
beautiful results of age-mixing. It goes without saying that when you mix
ages people are going to learn from each other because they have different
levels of experience. That happens everywhere. The beauty of age-mixing at
democratic schools is that it is without fear. Four year olds walk up to 17
year olds and have no anxiety in relating to them.
The Legacy of Democratic Schools
FOR MORE INFORMATION See the book A Free Range Childhood: Self Regulation at Summerhill School by Matthew Appleton (Foundation for Educational Renewal, 2000). Also see the following articles in past issues of Mothering: "Summerhill Revisited," no. 59; and "Learning Without Coercion: Sudbury Valley School," no. 58. Daniel Greenberg, PhD, and his wife, Hanna, also a co-founder of Sudbury Valley School, have three adult children, all of whom are Sudbury graduates. They are now happy grandparents of seven grandchildren. What I Didn't Do at School Today Today, a five-year-old boy came looking for me. "How do you spell bandit?" he wanted to know. "B-A-N-D-I-T," I told him, then found a scrap of paper and printed it out. He took the paper back to the office, where he was working at the computer terminal with a six-year-old girl. About ten minutes later, he came looking for me yet again, this time with pen and paper in hand. "How do you spell cinnamon?" he asked. Then back he went to the office, leaving me to imagine the plot of a story that had both bandit and cinnamon in it. Obviously, both students were learning spelling and composition, as well as how to use the computer and to work cooperatively. Arguably, the boy was also developing planning skills: note that on the second trip he thought to bring supplies--pen and paper. For all I know, the girl was, too; she could have sent the boy to learn how the words were spelled. Both of the children were learning, as they would at any well-functioning school. At schools committed to self-initiated learning, adult behavior is what looks the least familiar. I neither assigned nor scheduled their activity. I didn't grade what they were doing, even to say, "What an interesting story you must be writing!" I merely answered the question I was asked, replying, "B-A-N-D-I-T" instead of countering with "Bbuh--what letter do you think bandit begins with?" Had I been busy when the boy addressed me, I would have said so, and continued with what I was doing. In printing out the words, I was consciously doing what contemporary pedagogy suggests, that is, combining visual with aural information. Other staff would respond differently, and their ways would work, too: motivated students will make good use of whatever comes their way. Though essential for the operation of the school, staff members' specific skills are less relevant to students than the relationship between staff and student. The bandit/cinnamon authors may have asked me to help them because they know that I, too, write stories, or because they like me--or simply because I happened to be nearby when they needed to know how to spell bandit. Nan Narboe is a founder of Cascade Valley School in Portland, Oregon. From Mothering Magazine, Number 103, Nov/Dec 2000 www.mothering.com or |