Entry # 9 -- "These questions that you're asking make me scared."

"Hope is abundant in the lens of privilege." (England, p. 36)

For a short time (about 6 months), I worked at an 18-bed residential treatment facility with children and adolescents who were described as having emotional and behavioral issues stemming mostly from abuse and neglect. At the time I was probably a bit naive in my reasons for my interest with this particular facility. I suppose I thought working with them might be my way of getting involved and trying to help inspire them... or at least empower them. After all, I had experienced situations somewhat similar to some of those experienced by the kids with whom I would be working. And since I had found a way to overcome a majority of those obstacles, to pursue a higher education, and to continue living my life on my own without placing myself in compromising situations which may have victimized me again, I had hoped that I might be a role model to a few of them as well. (Not that I planned to self-disclose my experiences, but oftentimes those who have been victims of various kinds of abuse can often sense an "understanding," so to speak, with others even when no words have been spoken. So I know, even though I was told the kids did not have the mental maturity to understand those situations, that they were intuitive enough to prove that a statement about their lack of perception was underestimated.)

While a majority of my responsibilities were dorm-related, I oftentimes helped in the school area also. The school consisted of 3 classrooms divided by age. Each class had a teacher and usually at least one, if not two, teacher's aides. The children each had IEPs and had held various (usually multiple) mental health diagnoses, such as bipolar disorder, oppositional defiant disorder, ADD/ADHD, etc. and were on various medications as a result. And, while behavioral issues did exist on dorm, I witnessed these to an even greater extent in the school and classrooms. I had witnessed a few experiences similar to the ones Kozol discussed, and I recognized quickly the the teachers did not seem prepared to teach to their students. Oftentimes, the classrooms were out of control, and the teachers seemed to try to reiterate "rules" like a broken record instead of trying to engage their students in their learning. Yes, some students had "attitude problems" -- at least that is what they were told time and time again. They were "spoiled, ungrateful brats."

This place was set up to be their "safe haven," but many of the actions I observed fell far short of that. Some of the verbal and physical interactions with the students could have been considered borderline (if not flat out) abuse. When I tried to explain this to my supervisor, I felt I may have been heard but had not been listened to, and I felt an overall sense of discouragement. I checked the handbook for guidance about what the next step should be but did not find anything. Even the lack of information in the handbook revealed the attitudes of the facility, not necessarily of the entire staff but of enough of the staff to where the others were ignored or did not seem to matter. However, still hopeful, I waited some time to see if anything would be addressed. However, after another day of watching a few of the children being pushed around by the staff and not being able to stop it, I spoke to the director of the facility about everything I had observed and handed in my resignation, refusing to be a part of the abuse from which they were supposedly taken away when removed from their homes. I still sometimes wonder whether I had made the right decision, but I thought by focusing more on my education, I might be able to help more children in the future.

Even after leaving the facility, I was concerned about what would happen to those kids... and the ones before and after them that I did not and would not meet. I was concerned about their resiliency and about what would become of them, knowing that most would continue to live in poverty and that most would never really learn how to read well or obtain knowledge that would help to empower them to improve their situations. Many of the children who left that facility in the past ended up in juvenile detention centers and in jail. Reading Kozol's chapter reminded me of all of this, of all those past feelings, but it also made me concerned for all of those other children. The reading made me think about those kids in terms of a more expansive, practically immeasurable number. I had only been exposed to 18 of those kids, yet, in reality, millions of them exist. The magnitude of all of the implications involved with this hit me so hard, as though I had observed it first-hand again... and I cried. I cried for all those children, for all their pain, for all the hopes that for the most part would not be realized. Yet, I still thought that maybe one day, I'd still be able to help, to somehow make a difference. And that thought of hope (and being able to have that hope still) reminded me again about how privileged I am because this time I was not crying for me or for my experiencing those things.

Moving on to England's passage about assessment, I still relate back to my experience at the treatment facility. One of the days I was working in the school was during scheduled state-mandated testing. Most of the kids could not complete the tests. Many often ran out of the school all together out of frustration. Most of them could barely read, yet alone understand, what they were being tested on, but most of them would be "passed on" anyway because I was told the students could not be failed anyway. The tests, of course, considered neither the learning disabilities of the students nor their mental diagnosis (especially the ADD/ADHD), and most of the kids told me they knew they were not going to pass the tests. The every-day antics and behavior problems in the classes were amplified on test days. On dorm, I helped some of these students with their homework, and I knew they understood the material because we had talked about it and they had explained the materials to me with success (and finished math homework correctly); yet they didn't pass these sections on the tests either. Obviously, these assessments were not modified (or even accommodated) for these students to perform the tests with any degree of validity. These assessments failed to provide even the "snapshot" of what the students knew or didn't know that England referred to in her book.

"Do not allow the will of students, or your own wills, to be damaged by a system in need of repair." (England, p. 50) With this quote as inspiration, I researched for solutions to the problems I described previously. As we discussed in class, considering the learning styles and interests of the students in lesson design is of paramount importance. And even though we had a few examples, most of us still seemed a bit stumped about alternatives to high-stakes assessments. This article provides some interesting information about high stakes assessments and alternative assessment models. The article also discusses these assessments in regards to social and political policies such as NCLB. Also, since the goal of alternative assessments is to try to provide more equality with assessments, this site lists some guidelines and suggestions to consider when designing alternative assessments.

Performance Assessment.org -- "Accountability: High Standards, Not High Stakes!" -- This organization provides information not only on performance assessment but also links to research and activism which includes information about legislation. One of the lawsuits discussed is the NY Performance Standards Consortium Lawsuit: "In detailed affidavits they [experts] have presented evidence that the Regents exams do not meet industry standards of validity and reliability." I concluded with this link because I appreciate the value in providing activism information, especially since I do still hope to do what I can to make a difference. :-D