What exactly is equity?

Last night I was reading the text for my Linguistics class and I ran across this quote: “Phonemic awareness may develop in some children as a result of early literacy experiences. However, other children come to school without phonemic awareness, so the best solution is to teach phonemic awareness directly and systematically.” Excuse me? Some children already have phonemic awareness, and others don’t, so the “best solution” is to teach them all the same thing? 

This may not be exactly what the authors meant to imply, but that actually makes it more dangerous. If a message within a textbook is subtle, is in fact not the main point of the passage, or the chapter, or the entire text, then the class instructor might not feel the need to discuss it. The student may not even realize she has read this message, or that it has joined and reinforced other similar messages within her worldview. And these messages are everywhere, because, the fact is, this is what we do. We learn to read in the first grade. That’s what first grade is for. So if you enter the first grade already knowing how to read, or already having some of the building blocks (such as phonemic awareness), too bad for you. 

Of course, it can also be too bad for you if you enter the first grade before you are ready to do so. But teachers are trained to recognize this, and programs to help struggling readers abound. But what about programs to help advanced readers? 

But what help could advance readers possibly need? How is it a problem to be ahead of the game? Sadly, these questions are asked (rhetorically) by many teachers, administrators, and parents. And it’s not just that these questions are potentially harmful, but that they are actually the wrong questions to ask in the first place. The right question, the most important question any teacher, administrator, or parent should ask is, “Is every child learning something new every day?” 

And, this, I believe is where this conversation really needs to begin. Whether you are a parent, whether you are a teacher, a pre-service teacher, a para, or administrator, whether you are a community member being asked to vote on the latest school bond measure or thinking about exercising your right to send a letter to the editor, think about this: who is in charge of the way you view educational equity? Who is in charge of what you believe it means to learn something new every day?

The discussion of educational equity--the discussion of any complex and emotionally-laden topic--must begin with you. Who do you allow to influence you? Who has credibility with you and why? Are you easily persuaded by emotion? By examples, by stories or hypotheticals? 

What do you believe about equity? What do you believe about what education should do for children on a daily basis? An argument, for example, about No Child Left Behind, really is not an argument about education. It’s simply about No Child Left Behind. When we allow outside constructs--such as legislation, budget concerns, or even the loudest voice out there--to shape our dialogues about our own children, something is wrong. 

In an chapter entitled Equity, Excellence and School Reform: Why Is Finding Common Ground So Hard? (Chapter 8 in Rethinking Gifted Education, edited by James H Borland),  Mara Sapon-Shevin discusses the fact that there is much antagonism in regards to defining educational equity. She writes: “The way in which the debate becomes framed and battle lines drawn can give us a clearer picture of the scope of the controversy as well as areas of both possible reconciliation and intractable difference.” While Sapon-Shevin writes specifically about gifted education, and her deeply-held belief that gifted education is elitist (an argument with which I will engage in later posts), this quote can be applied to not only education in general, but to any point of controversy.

When controversy exists, we have two choices: to jump right in and engage with the controversy as-is, or to sit back, unpack that controversy, and perhaps even avoid it entirely. Controversy is a powerful rhetorical device. Controversy persuades us to get mad, to take sides, to allow our buttons to be pushed and to try to be “right”. But controversy has nothing directly to do with that six-year old who already knows how to read, and who is expected to sit through phonemic awareness lessons and complete worksheet after worksheet, learning nothing for weeks on end.

I’m currently teaching persuasive writing to adult students in a college Composition course. They have marvelous examples of ways their children have tried to persuade them. My favorite is a mom who was confronting her son about his poor grades. “Well, he said, “I could do better in school if I had a better mom.” How many moms would allow this to push their buttons? Many would become angry, while others would feel guilty. Either way, the son would be off the hook for the moment, the real issue lost in a smokescreen of emotion.

This is, I believe, exactly what happens within the complexity of educational equity. We allow ourselves to become lost in that smokescreen, in the emotion, in the rhetoric. We allow ourselves to be bullied by the carefully-crafted arguments of others, instead of thinking for ourselves. These carefully-crafted arguments are sometimes built on solid research, sometimes on personal experiences, sometimes on projections for future consequences, and sometimes on logical fallacies, manipulative language, and so much hot air. 

To persuade you to believe my assertion that we all have to be careful about what we allow to influence us, I offer this (probably) true story as a metaphor. Harry Houdini died in 1926, of a ruptured appendix. While he had already been suffering from appendicitis, it was concluded that the appendix ruptured after several punches from a fan. Houdini had publicized the fact that he could take hard punches to the stomach, and one afternoon a young man dropped by and asked permission to give Houdini a punch or two. Houdini was sleepy, so even though he gave permission, he did not steel up his stomach muscles before the punches began. Had he taken the time to sit up, to say, “In a few minutes, after I prepare myself.” instead of simply, “Yes”, he may not have been killed.

So, as you think about that first-grader who can already read, or about the first-grader who never will learn to read; as you think about your own childhood experiences with educational equity, or those of your children, your students, or  the children in your community, think about this first: are you letting yourself be punched in the stomach by rhetoric? Or are you willing to take the time to prepare yourself, to reflect on what you truly believe, to read serious research and other primary materials, to listen carefully to various viewpoints, to swallow your pride if someone accuses you of being wrong, to refuse to take sides or allow your buttons to be pushed? 

In other words, what and who do you allow to shape your dialogue about your own children? If you truly want to be the one in charge of your children’s or your students’ educational opportunities, make sure that you really are. Borrowing the rhetoric of others is giving up your control, and, in the end, offers no help whatsoever to your children.

So, what exactly is equity? You decide. You think about it, you discuss it, you reflect on its complexities and implications. Then let me know what you think and we'll continue the conversation, not rushing to any too-quick definitive.

Next: Why is equity such an emotionally-charged concept?