Beyond Discipline

"Finding Fault"

This was the first book that I picked up this summer (thanks in no small part to my Education-50 professor!), and the first thing I distinctly remember was being intrigued by the title. What did author Alfie Kohn mean by the term"community?" More to the point, what did the subtitle "From Compliance to Community" imply about today's classroom structure? Was it designed to focus solely on discipline, specifically how its use (or misuse) can actually damage a child more than it helps him? That was my first thought, but with further speculation (I had some time to reflect before I actually started the book), I began to wonder if the 'community' factor couldn't extend to other facets of the school as a whole. Issues like student/teacher behavior patterns, methods of instruction, peer relationships (and their presumed hierarchies), and classroom bounadaries may also share this bond, and discipline could be the tool that shapes their foundations, spurring them into motion. And I began to get excited.

I will admit, the main reason for my excitement was getting the chance to reflect on my years in grade school and to see how these concepts could have been applied to my own experiences. I've attended public and private schools in my lifetime, and so I'm not a stranger to either side of the spectrum. While I'm not the type to question the things that brought me to this point, both in my education and life in general, I've found that it can prove beneficial now and then to think about what might have been. What might sixth grade AIMES Math class have been like had my teacher focused more on practical math applications instead of drilling us with tedious and often confusing worksheets? Would I have latched onto her ideas quicker (or failing that, would those ideas stick with me) if I knew that decimals, fractions, and probability could prove useful, say, in figuring up my grocery costs for a week? Did the fact that these only existed as numerical stats have anything at all to do with how difficult it was for me to make sense of them and use them?

Believe it or not, I never thought to ask these questions in my classes. I always kind of accepted blame, whether outright or subconsciously, for my inability to grasp higher level Math, pre-Civil War politics in Social Studies, or the rule forbidding talking "out of turn." I'm amazed as I sit and type this, reflecting on how much has changed; it's not like a typical class at Furman is pin-drop quiet! But back on the subject, I don't think that I seriously considered the possibility, let alone the likelihood, that the rules were somehow at fault. I came into conflict with them as every kid has, of course. But I came to see these rules as invisible standards that couldn't be debated directly. It was either follow them or be punished; no arguments, no second chances, no last-moment pleas for mercy (okay, okay, I'm dramatizing a little bit here, but you get the point). So I learned to follow the rules. That sounds a little pat, but I thought very much like a self-preservationist as a child. Why risk sitting through detention or the dreaded note sent home to Mom and Dad when you can avoid such consequences by respecting the classroom structure? I learned two other things as well. Being on task helps the teachers to like you. And it teaches the other kids to hate your guts. Just a little insight on what my classroom relationships were like.

Needless to say, I can relate quite well to Kohn's point that more often than not, it's the system, not the student, that is at fault. His elaboration on the topic rings startlingly true. Even as a still-practicing teacher/apprentice, I have seen children chafe under regulations on seat posture, the lack of freedom to move around, and worst of all - no talking unless called upon. Not all of them show it openly, but it's visible in their grimmaces, annoyed facials, and defeated body language. I find myself wondering now, "How does the 'no talking' rule benefit a class such as reading or language arts?" These subjects should be thick with discussion! Unlike, say, history or math, in which there are more absolutes, a wide variety of opinions can be offered on stories, literature, poetry and other such elements of the field. There can never be enough time for all to be shared. Shouldn't that fact by itself push a teacher to make talking a coveted thing, not something to be shunned at all costs? Kohn says that the manner in which children behave in class is significantly related to the interest they have in a topic. I doubt that removing the freedom to converse (and worse, structuring the seat arrangement to specifically discourage it) while allowing the teacher to drone on about what he thinks they should know is obscene and counter-productive to the goal: gaining their interest. The only thing children learn is not to interrupt the teacher, especially when he's on a roll...

I began to wonder if some teachers might take offense at Kohn's criticisms until he dug into the real meat, or as he calls it, the method behind ineffective discipline (punishing and rewarding students). I feel it's easy to point out things that we don't like about how a teacher manages her classroom, but until we understand why she does it in a certain way, and what goal she is trying to achieve, our criticisms lack substance and attention (and this helps Kohn keep his audience). His research indicates several reasons. One huge issue is control, and I find myself identifying with that whole-heartedly. Personally, I never want to be remembered as a teacher who robbed his students of their freedom to exercise [a measure of] control over the flow of discussion (with me serving as a facilitator), but still, I like to be in control of things. It's a part of my personality; I'm what society might label a "control freak." I get worried or upset when time slips away from me, my status quo gets shaken, or the lessons simply don't proceed according to plan. There is always that temptation to pull back on the reins, so to speak; no matter how much I might want to make my classes as "student-friendly" as possible, I don't want my students to forget who is in charge. That desire is likely in the back of most teachers' minds ("I'm the teacher, darn it!")

So I took Kohn's "challenge." I thought about how my classes might proceed if the structure was different. Would my students be more willing to do what I said if I gave them more freedom, not less? I tested it out in a somewhat different setting. During the week of Vacation Bible School at my local church, I led the 1st and 2nd grade children in music. Curriculum is certainly a factor in VBS, especially if Lifeway is behind it. So my music classes had a pre-determined schedule that was pretty much built in before I even started: greet the kids, introduce the new song, practice motions, sing, new song, practice, sing ... lather, rinse, repeat. It's not a bad schedule; far from it. But as the week progressed, I thought about the need to be so slavishly bound by it all the time.

I asked myself questions and answered them. What was my goal? To teach children these songs. How could it be accomplished? Through practice, repetition and one-on-one help if needed. Why did they need to be taught these songs? To grow them spiritually and introduce a bigger depth to their faith in Jesus (or for some, guide them into faith). Why did I need them to be compliant? Because time is a factor (whether I liked it or not), and every moment is pivotal for growth. So once I established my initial motivations, I began tinkering with my routine to see what kind of reaction I'd get. For example, I skipped our Friday song entirely in two of my rotations because both the kids and I knew that the song wouldn't be used in our commencement service Sunday. It was a mutual agreement that we would be wasting time introducing yet another song; time that could be better spent practicing songs that would get used. I observed that my kids wanted everything that we did to have a purpose. They wanted our period together to mean something. Often it helped to begin each song with a little background/Biblical emphasis (as opposed to just jumping right into practice) to help them connect with it. That grounded the songs with meaning that they needed. In turn, they cooperated with my desire to maximize what little time we had.

I found even more results as I put this theory into practice. I let some kids come to the stage and take the lead on a few songs (because let's face it; it's much more fun to watch them do the wacky motions. And it's a surprisingly effective strategy to speed up the learning process), with me standing by just in case. I worked with one boy's desire to stay late and practice a song even though he was supposed to be picked up at noon in the Sanctuary (we made it work). I allowed them to sit or stand pretty much as they liked. One condition: they still had to participate. Even if that meant doing hand motions in the pews (again, give them something they want, and they'll be much more willing to give what you want). In fact, the one and only rule I made for the music class (and I made sure to stress it) was this: no soft voices allowed. You had to sing, and you had to mean it. Many smiled. Who comes to music to be quiet anyway? That's just common sense.

I had a relatively problem-free music class.

In that regard, I can imagine the positive feelings the teacher in chapter 6 must have felt when she let her students read or write in any position they preferred. What she did was give back a sense of freedom to her kids; once she loosened up, things began to click. Contrary to the catchy saying "Give them an inch, and they'll take a mile" (which gets repeated quite a bit in this book), children do possess self-control. Yes, discipline is needed to check it on occasion, but not in a way that disrespects their natural tendencies. Who am I to say that the best, or only, way to write or read a story is to sit at a desk? Why not do it in front of the class, or arrange the desks in a circle to get across the idea of a student-centered discussion? Heck, why not let them sit on a piece of furniture if one is available? My 12th-grade English teacher had this old, beige couch in a corner of her room. Every day before class, two or three of us would sack out on it, and we'd stay there even when the lesson began. At first, she resisted the idea. But as time went on, I think she saw how much we liked sitting there; it provided comfort, which made us much more oblidged to the lesson-learning at 8:00 in the morning! So she not only relaxed on couch sitting, but she altered the seating arrangement so that we all sat in groups of four, an observation of how we preferred to work together. We ended up signing that couch and giving it to her as a cute present. Another method of stressing community over discipline.