My response to Connor’s blog entry about a book by John Taylor Gatto. I originally planned to look at some of his work, but Connor’s highlight reel of one of his works makes me a little weary.

…we need to realize that the school institution “schools” very well, though it does not “educate” — that’s inherent in the design of the thing.
JTG

Um, how exactly is that?

I could learn if you stuck me in a pitch-black room and wrapped me in styrofoam. The ability to learn doesn’t come from the environment, it comes from within. If you’re going to make an argument that schools are less effective at the job, then fine, but don’t say it “doesn’t” because of the “design.”

Gatto is a proponent of open education, as I am. He favors situations and programs where children can learn from anybody, young and old, rather than a “licensed” teacher hired for the job.
Connor

Licensed teachers are often young and old :). I fail to see why students can’t learn as well from people trained to teach them. I also think it is completely unrealistic to expect small children (or teenagers, for that matter) to ask their “old and young” neighbors to teach them grammar or arithmetic.

Statements like these seem to infer that all “licensed” teachers must act like some sort of cold mercenaries. How exactly does a formal statement of someone’s teaching ability take away from… teaching ability? With all the glamor, fame, and money that is piled on teachers these days, I don’t see how his argument is really solvent. If anything, teachers are making a sacrifice to teach.

It is absurd and anti-life to be part of a system that compels you to sit in confinement with people of exactly the same age and social class. That system effectively cuts you off from the immense diversity of life and the synergy of variety; indeed, it cuts you off from your own past and future, sealing you in a continuous present much the same way television does.
JTG

Why?

First of all, I don’t know many public school classes that feature a single social class. Private schools, maybe so.

Secondly, if you think placing six year olds in the same class as ten year olds will work better, you’ve never taught either age group. Keeping children in relatively thin age groups allows you to tailor your curriculum to the children’s’ reading levels and attention spans.

This was once a land where every sane person knew how to build a shelter, grow food, and entertain one another. Now we have been rendered permanent children.
JTG

I think that land is about 300 years old. Dear Mister Gatto, welcome to the knowledge worker age.

Besides, what’s wrong with being forever young? ;)

I work as a specialist (programming, mostly), but I also play guitar, draw, dabble in electronics and play soccer. Many of my coworkers have similarly wide spectrums of interest. There’s no way I could do all those things if I was wasting my time building shelters or growing most of my own food. Specialization allows for people to do things at very low cost, and fosters trade.

Essentially, specialization allows for free time. Free time used well makes for more free time. You get the picture. I don’t think there’s anything with this setup stopping people from being renaissance men, and his own setup is actually what stops it.

That’s something I remember from my economics classes, for what it’s worth.

Finally, Mr. Gatto’s solution to the horrific monstrosity that is modern schools:

Encourage and underwrite experimentation; trust children and families to know what’s best for themselves; stop the segregation of children and the aged in walled compounds; involve everyone in every community in the education of the young: businesses, institutions, old people, whole families; look for local solutions and always accept a personal solution in place of a corporate one.
JTG

1. There’s no reason experimentation can’t be fostered in public schools, and was the case in many of my favorite classes growing up.

2. Well, there’s trusting families to know what’s best, but that’s different than allowing them to perform a specialized service for their children. I might as well argue that doctors don’t know enough about my childrens’ needs.

3. If you’ve ever had to substitute two primary classes and taken them outside, you’d know how effective this approach is. Age segregation allows for tailored teaching. This is especially important in younger classes. Secondly, walls are nice. They keep the cold out.

4.This was always the case in my high school growing up. I think it would be much harder in a homeschooling environment.

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I think Mr. Gatto likes to use emotive words too much. Dear goodness: schools are walled in segregationalist compounds, where children are confined to be compelled with crazy sequences and constant surveillance. Please. If I can glean that much rhetoric from just a few isolated quotes, I hate to think about what the rest of the book contains.My own public school experience was great. I remember lots of things from my generals classes, mostly because I was committed to learning rather than rote memorization for performance on tests. I had excellent, inspiring teachers, some of whom taught me things that eclipsed my classwork in college. There’s no way my neighbors or parents would have the depth of knowledge these individuals did.

That isn’t to say that there weren’t busywork classes and teachers that didn’t care, but all in all, I’d do it all again without much hesitation. I also fail to see how neighbors and parents would fare better, given they have no direct supervision… and can’t get fired for doing a poor job. The balance seems to sway in favor of licensed teachers in general.

With all Gatto’s idealist rambling, he fails to offer any viable solution. Sure, public education isn’t perfect, and some classes fall prey to his criticisms, but his emotive stance and his wild claims don’t win him any credibility. I suspect his educational utopia, where barefoot children roam in mixed-age bands, seeking knowledge from the local gurus (while at the same time sharpening their shelter-building skills) won’t happen anytime soon.

I just read today a great post by the Church’s CIO, Joel Dehlin entitled “Speak Up”. Having served in a mission office for part of my own missionary service, I really felt that communication was not what leaders in the Church were after. It’s really great to here someone from the top voice a need for exchange.

Later I found out that there was some grumbling afterward and that a few people had been afraid or unwilling to speak their minds–they wanted to appear like they were aligned with what they thought I wanted; they wanted to be good soldiers.

That’s a shame. Yes, I’m not partial to complaining and whining. Yes, people need to get on the bandwagon when decisions are made and be supportive. But crikey, that doesn’t equate to a gag order!
Joel Dehlin, CIO, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints

This led to some discussion with some good friends about obedience versus discussion amongst the rank-and-file of the Church. I personally wouldn’t be comfortable working for the Church, mostly because the lines between ecclesiastical authority and chain of command become blurred. Big decisions in the organization would come from the top, and when the top is composed of prophets, its hard to feel like you can correct or criticize.

This makes me wonder a little bit: would the Church be better served in some areas if the decision between obedience and communication were moved more towards communication? I work at the best web development shop in the known universe, and my boss often treats me like his. When I’ve been called into a meeting, I’ve been treated like a consultant: someone whose opinions and vision are weighed in before any final decisions are made. Both the CEO and president work this way, and one of my favorite features of our setup is a very flat organization.

Here’s to hoping that the celestial organization chart is rather flat. Do you think God will ever ask us for our opinion someday when working to better the human race? In a sense he calls us because of our own abilities and skills, and expects us to use our talents. Can we be his trusted friends if that doesn’t happen— at least to some degree—in the future? Maybe we just don’t know him well enough to truly communicate with him.