Preparing minds for markets: a noted child advocate laments the redefining of learning in proprietary terms
Categories: Medical TermsThree years ago, I was visiting an urban school in Columbus, Ohio, that had in place a program of surprisingly explicit training of young children for the modern marketplace. Starting in kindergarten, children in the school were asked to think about the jobs they might choose when they grew up. The posters that surrounded them made clear which kinds of jobs they were expected to select.
“Do you want a manager’s job?” the first line of a kindergarten poster asked.
“What job do you want?” a second question asked in an apparent effort to expand the range of choices that these 5-year-olds might wish to make.
But the momentary window that this second question seemed to open into other possible careers was closed by the next and final question on the wall: “How will you do the manager’s job?”
The tiny hint of choice afforded by the second question was eradicated by the third, which presupposed that all the kids had said yes to the first. No written question asked the children: “Do you want a lawyer’s job, a nurse’s job, a doctor’s job, a poet’s job, a preacher’s job?” Sadly, the teacher had not even thought to ask if anybody in the class might someday like to be a teacher.
Work-related themes were carried over into almost every classroom. In a 1st-grade class, for instance, the names of children and their assigned classroom tasks were posted on the wall, an ordinary thing to see in classrooms everywhere. But in this case there was a novel twist: All the jobs were described as management positions! There was a “Coat Room Manager” and a “Door Manager,” a “Pencil Sharpener Manager” and a “Soap Manager.”
In the upper grades, the management positions became more sophisticated and demanding. In 4th grade, for example, I was introduced to a “Time Manager” who was assigned to hold the timer to be sure the teacher didn’t wander from her schedule and that everyone adhered to the prescribed number of minutes that had been assigned to every classroom task.
In another 4th-grade class, an “earnings chart” had been taped to every child’s desk. On each chart, a number of important writing skills had been spelled out and, next to each, the corresponding earnings that a child would receive if written answers he or she provided in the course of classroom exercises displayed the necessary skills. There was also a Classroom Bank in which the children’s earnings accrued. A wall display beneath the heading of the Classroom Bank presented an enticing sample of real currency in order to make clear the nexus between cash rewards and writing proper sentences.
As I chatted with the principal, I asked her whether there was a reason those two words “management” and “manager” kept popping up throughout the school. “We want every child to be working as a manager while he or she is in this school,” the principal explained. “We want to make them understand that, in this country, companies will give you opportunities to work, to prove yourself, no matter what you’ve done.”
I wasn’t sure of what she meant by “no matter what you’ve done” and asked her to explain. “Even if you have a felony arrest,” she said, “we want you to understand that you can be a manager someday.”
Students as Workers
“We must start thinking of students as workers,” said a high-ranking official of one of the nation’s teachers unions at a forum convened by Fortune magazine in 1988. Is this really what it all comes down to? Is future productivity to be the primary purpose of the education we provide our children? Is this to be the way in which we will decide whether teachers are complying with their obligations to their students and society?
Admittedly, the economic needs of a society are bound to be reflected to some rational degree within the policies and purposes of public schools. But even so, most of us are inclined to believe there must be something more to life as it is lived by 6-year-olds or 10-year-olds or by teen-agers for that matter than concerns about successful global competition. Childhood is not merely basic training for utilitarian adulthood. It should have some claims upon our mercy, not for its future value to the economic interests of competitive societies, but for its present value as a perishable piece of life itself.
Few people who are not involved with inner-city schools have any idea of the extremes to which the mercantile distortion of the purposes and character of education have been taken or how unabashedly proponents of these practices are willing to defend them. For instance, the head of a Chicago school who was criticized for emphasizing rote instruction, which, his critics said, was turning children into robots, found no reason to dispute the charge. “Did you ever stop to think that these robots will never burglarize your home and will never snatch your pocketbooks? He asked, “These robots are going to be producing taxes.”