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Smallness, Autonomy, and Choice: Scaling Up
Page 1
Statewide “Safe Places” for Distinctive Schools
Smallness, Autonomy, and Choice:
Scaling Up
by Deborah Meier
F
or those of us who would like to see Ron Wolk’s vision of schools
realized, the challenge of scaling up is the most daunting one we
face. Skeptics like to say, “Oh well, that ‘X’ and ‘Y’ did something
really special is irrelevant; they’re exceptions.” But my experience sug-
gests that today’s exceptions can become tomorrow’s norms.
If that is to happen, we need to provide a way for exceptions to be
nourished and made systemic. We need a new kind of system whose
central task is to maintain the protected space necessary for nurturing
what I call “exceptionalism”: a lean, mean system, with a limited but crit-
ical accountability function that protects the public interest; a system
that respects the fact that schools must be responsive, but to their own
constituents—the members of their community, not the system itself.
How to accomplish that goal is the challenge. My experiences lead
me to conclude the challenge is very much doable.
Winning Battles at Every Level
The school level: Thirty years of successful experiments have shown
that we can provide all children with public schools that produce
improved results—both academically and socially—for the best and
wealthiest children as well as the failing.
There is consensus about what the major features of good schools are:
1.
The schools that work best are small. Within them, people are not
anonymous and interchangeable.
2.
Schools that work best think of themselves as self-governing. They
accept being held accountable for their work because they are in
charge of making major workplace decisions.
3.
Schools that work best are places of choice. They feel special to
those who belong to them.
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These three qualities—smallness, autonomy, and choice—are com-
mon to almost all successful school reform efforts. When you think
about it, that only makes sense: few parents, when seeking a good work-
place either for themselves or for their children, wouldn’t prefer one that
had all three qualities. Wealthy people, like poor ones, may make differ-
ent choices when seeking schools for their kids, but they almost always
choose schools that have those three characteristics.
The district level: We have even figured out how to take that lesson
to the “next level.” The successful ventures of Anthony Alvarado in East
Harlem and Stephen Phillips in the New York City alternative high
school division exemplify what is possible for all children on a grand
scale if we extrapolate using the smallness-autonomy-choice formula.
Alvarado spent ten years slowly creating a districtwide system of
choice, comprising some 18,000 children in fifty-two school buildings
that could survive his departure, and he used the lessons he learned
there to redesign another district in the same city. Stephen Phillips
spent more than twenty years as the head of perhaps the largest district
of small, self-governing schools of choice in the world: New York City’s
alternative high school division, which serves many of the city’s tough-
est students but nonetheless is home to dozens of innovative and
acclaimed high schools.
The East Harlem and the New York City alternative high school divi-
sion’s efforts blossomed because of the support systems designed by
Alvarado and Phillips. The systems matched the task itself—flexible,
responsive, always (well, almost always) alert to ways to support the par-
ticular needs of each school.
Large, failing schools: In the context of frustration over the absence
of a citywide impact by our otherwise highly acclaimed high school work,
six New York City alternative high school principals accepted the chal-
lenge to make the formula applicable to the city’s larger reform agenda.
The six schools, all affiliated with Ted Sizer’s national Coalition of Essential
Schools (CES), with support from several major foundations, designed a
plan and made an offer. The Coalition Campus School Project (CCSP), as
the six CES schools called themselves, suggested that if big, impersonal,
failing high schools could be broken up into smaller schools, maybe they
would work in a fashion similar to the existing small high schools.
The New York Center of the Coalition of Essential Schools made the
following proposal: Gradually close one large, unquestionably failing
high school in each of the three worst-performing boroughs, then grad-
ually repopulate each school with the same student population, but now
as educational complexes housing five or six small CES-style schools
with formal mentoring ties to the original six CES schools.
Smallness, Autonomy, and Choice: Scaling Up
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Our proposal was accepted by the mayor, the state commissioner,
the city chancellor, the school board, and the United Federation of
Teachers. Despite skeptical colleagues in district and central offices,
sympathizers and converts emerged once it became clear that the com-
mitment of all parties was firm.
During the next five years—from 1993 to 1998—the Manhattan site
(the old Julia Richman High School) became a nationally recognized
example of reusing a large, old-fashioned high school building to serve
the same basic student population. The old Richman High houses four
independent high schools (including one exclusively for new immi-
grants), as well as an infant center, a K–8 elementary and middle school,
and a school for severely disabled youngsters. One of the new schools
was conceived by the former Richman faculty, and the other three were
incubated in off-site spaces.
Studies by Columbia University’s National Center for Restructuring
Education, Schools, and Teaching (NCREST), under Linda Darling-
Hammond, have validated the project’s goals: increased rates of gradua-
tion, daily attendance, and post-high school education, together with
lower dropout rates. Above and beyond those statistics were two impor-
tant qualitative changes: greater parental participation (for instance, vir-
tually all the parents in the new Bronx schools attended open-house
night), and safety (the school soon eliminated its metal detectors). A
study by New York University demonstrated that the small schools cost
only slightly more per student to operate than their larger predecessors
had. On a per-graduate basis, they were less expensive.
Whole-city size: In fall 1994, the second year of the CCSP project,
Walter Annenberg offered Ted Sizer and the CES up to $50 million to cre-
ate a plan that would systemically impact urban education: that is, a way
not only to secure the continued existence of CCSP-type schools, but to
scale them up to become the New York City schools’ operational model.
To explore the idea, the Coalition of Essential Schools and three
other experienced nonprofit school-reform organizations joined forces
in New York City. The four organizations differed on tactics, pedagogy,
and ideology, but they agreed on the three essentials: smallness, autono-
my, and choice. The challenge was to use our school-based experience
to design a complete system compatible with those essentials.
To house our work we established a parallel administrative struc-
ture, with no particular geographic boundaries, “The Learning Zone,”
designed for more than 100 small schools citywide. Ultimately serving
“only” 50,000 students (of 1.2 million in the overall system), the new
structure was subdivided into networks of four to seven schools and
overseen by a lean central office, ultimately accountable to the city’s
board of education.
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Although the proposed Learning Zone would encompass only about
5 percent of New York City’s vast student population, its size and scope
were right in the middle of the range of U.S. urban school districts—
about the size of those in Boston, Oakland, and Washington, D.C. What
was learned in the Learning Zone might be translated elsewhere, and, of
course, spread to the rest of New York City. Once again, we had the sup-
port of every critical constituency.
We knew that it was the particulars of each of our schools that lay
at the heart of our successes: their freedom of action, which inspired the
passions of those involved and drew out the best in every participant.
We concluded that the way to maintain those particulars was to balance
new and greater freedoms with new and more comprehensive methods
of accountability. In return for more freedom in using their per capita
resources, hiring personnel, and organizing individual schools in their
particular ways, schools agreed to accept greater responsibility for
demonstrating fiscal and educational accountability.
The “new and greater freedoms” part of the balance was, of course,
seemingly easier to address. Our five guiding policies were drawn from
shared experience:
1.
Keep it simple. (Our central office for the Learning Zone was tiny.)
2.
Be patient and learn from experience.
3.
Celebrate and honor variety within our midst, including interest-
ing work outside our ranks, and be wary of talk about sacrificing
some children’s prospects in the present for the greater good of
the many in the future.
4.
Negotiate a lean master contract among the individual schools, the
teachers union, the city, and the state. It would cover only the
most basic obligations besides unwaivable local, state, and federal
rules pertaining to health, safety, and equity.
5.
Withstand the temptation to respond to mistakes by adding a new
rule, department, or monitoring device.
The “new and more comprehensive methods of accountability”
part of the balance was more challenging: how to support and hold
accountable schools that were, by design, unalike. Equity, student out-
comes, and fiscal integrity were the bottom lines for which we agreed
to be held accountable, and we proposed four specific mechanisms of
accountability:
Judging student outcomes. Aside from reporting on a lean list of
standard common indicators, all our schools were committed to making
their individual standards, as well as the ways in which they measured
student work toward meeting the standards, explicit. All supported mul-
tiple forms of evidence.
Smallness, Autonomy, and Choice: Scaling Up
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Mutual schoolwide oversight and assessment. All our schools
agreed to answer to one another for the quality of their work to make
themselves visible to their colleagues and to accept new forms of colle-
gial oversight. We proposed that all schools in the Learning Zone join
small learning networks of four to seven sister schools. Each network
would organize a system of collective review of each other’s work,
which in turn we would study for lessons of success.
Formal reviews. We proposed formal review panels—public au-
ditors—composed of both critical friends and representatives of more
distanced and skeptical publics to attest to the credibility of the net-
works, their mutual accountability systems, and the work of their
schools. The findings of such review panels were to be publicly avail-
able, and their recommendations ultimately the responsibility of the
larger, democratically chosen public authorities, for example, the city’s
chancellor and central board.
Collecting information. We agreed that everyone—teachers, par-
ents, assessors, legislators, and the public—needed a shared body of
credible and, where possible, longitudinal information (samples of actu-
al student work and cohort studies, as well as numerical data) on which
to build and test their reflections and judgments about the work of the
project. Such data would help us and the public judge whether we
achieved important student outcomes, met the test of equity, and demon-
strated fiscal responsibility.
Why No Victories?
Despite a proven foundation and a comprehensive plan, the
Annenberg project did not move forward. What went wrong? Why isn’t
the Learning Zone now an example for others to follow? The simple fact
is that within six months, the leadership of every critical constiuency
changed hands, and only the union was willing to stick with the agree-
ment. The money kept flowing, but the Learning Zone was dropped,
along with all that it proposed. What lessons can we learn?
The need for protected space. To answer that we must go back to
the initial statement of need—“[W]e need a new kind of system whose
central task is to maintain the protected space necessary for nurturing
what I call ‘exceptionalism’ . . .”—and look at what the earlier success
stories had in common. In general it appears that we had created lasting
successes only when we had been able to formalize the necessary pro-
tected space with contracts, reporting relationships, and administrative
procedures (e.g., the successes of Alvarado and Phillips). In most of the
other cases where success had been short-lived, we had not been able to
formalize the necessary protected space; rather, it had been an artifact of
the patronage of specific individuals. That was true for the Learning
educational HORIZONS
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Zone. We didn’t have the time to institutionalize it before the leadership
changes hit our key constituencies; i.e., we lacked time to build suffi-
cient backing beyond our supportive but fickle patrons to make it diffi-
cult or impossible for them to renege on their commitments.
In my opinion, there are three reasons why formalizing the neces-
sary protected space proved more difficult than anticipated: two sys-
temic, and one unique to the present political environment.
The challenge of existing culture. The first systemic reason is that
the bureaucratic structure of public education is inherently hostile to
the variation, messiness, and even chaos of the smallness-autonomy-
choice formula. The current bureaucratic ideal is a machine: the bigger,
more centralized, and more rule-constrained, the better. One qualified
teacher is seen as the same as another; one licensed principal is right for
any principal’s slot. In the end, the system instinctively fears the excep-
tion so strongly that it does not allow schools to stray far from the norm.
If the exceptional school does flourish, it is in spite of the system, not
because of it.
The challenge of peer jealousy. The second systemic reason is that
exciting proposals are often met with hostility by natural allies as well as
natural adversaries. “Why you, not us?” was a cry often heard in the ini-
tial stages. Precisely because our small “pilot” design excluded so many
natural allies, we could not garner the kind of wide support needed.
The challenge of top-down standardization. The Learning Zone
was still in its infancy when we encountered the advent of the current
top-down standardization drive. The new wisdom was that the linkage
of classrooms, schools, and central authorities in America’s schools has
been too loose, not too tight. A new wave of reformers argued for cen-
trally designed goals and measurable results—test scores above all—plus
a host of intervening regulations to serve those ends. Schools faced
severe penalties for failure to meet the numeric testing goals. The result
has been the granddaddy of all five-year plans, with the stifling effect of
a Soviet five-year plan on smallness-autonomy-choice schools.
The trend has been to solve the accountability issue with politically
powerful decisionmakers—mayors, governors, or civic elites—who are
further from the action, not closer to it; typically, one or another high-
stakes standardized test replaces local assessments and professional
judgments. The rationale is that centralization is the only way to obtain
strong business support, and thus the needed funds, for reform.
The new consensus—that the change agents must come from out-
side, uncontaminated by intimate knowledge of schools, kids, or families,
and muster enough clout to overcome local resistance—has made hold-
ing on, not scaling up, the order of the day for small schools.
Smallness, Autonomy, and Choice: Scaling Up
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Problems in Three Cities
New York. The CCSP initiative and the Annenberg Learning Zone
directly contradicted the new state and federal top-down initiatives and
long-standing systemic conditions as well. Both initiatives were stifled.
Despite the resounding success of the Julia Richman High School
redesign, we were less successful in carrying out the redesign of James
Monroe High School in the Bronx, and we never made it to the third
promised site in Brooklyn.
The work on CCSP stalled because the school systems and their
powerful business and political allies weren’t ready to risk a decidedly
unusual idea that was not easy to grasp or summarize quickly. The
Annenberg project floundered for many of the same reasons: the city’s
inability to keep the same chancellor for more than a few years; a change
in state educational leadership after the election of a new governor; a
shift in the local central school board leadership; and a change in the
local union’s leadership. At the same time, differences in tactics, peda-
gogy, and ideology among the four supporting nonprofit school reform
organizations came to overshadow their consensus on smallness, auton-
omy, and choice. Only the union didn’t blink.
When the Learning Zone was abandoned, the promise of officially
sanctioned fiscal autonomy and freedom from the constraints of rules
and regulations was lost. Removing the carrot of additional autonomy
undermined development of the new, more comprehensive methods of
accountability and the necessary supporting networks. The planned
autonomy-for-accountability deal never developed.
During the same period other cities explored, flirted with, and even
established similar small-scale efforts with Annenberg support. Most suf-
fered fates similar to that of the New York initiatives.
Chicago. Chicago’s small-schools networks, one of the oldest in the
nation, had launched several dozen promising new schools as part of its
Annenberg grant. Almost simultaneously, however, Chicago’s political cli-
mate turned 180 degrees. The city that had been a pioneer of school-
based decision-making became a model of centralized power almost
overnight. Today, with supportive funds from the Bill and Melinda Gates
Foundation, Chicago is launching small schools, but in a climate of top-
down mandates and fiscal cutbacks. The same has been true in Oakland,
San Francisco, and many other cities that explored the small-schools idea
in the past two decades.
Boston. Amid a flurry of excitement, charter-style pilot schools were
also established by the union and the Boston authorities. However, the
next school administration viewed them as a sideline from which to draw
good practices, but not systemic ones. Teachers in other schools blamed
the pilots for all citywide school financial difficulties, and the union soon
educational HORIZONS
Summer 2004
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found the pilots a worry rather than an opportunity. Fortunately, because
the Boston pilots were written into the contract, they have not only sur-
vived but grown in influence over the years, standing as at least a short-
term exception to an otherwise discouraging norm.
Formalizing Protected Space
What conditions are needed to formalize and maintain the needed
protected space? In a nutshell, freedom from the vagaries of momentary
political whims is necessary, and it will require wider and more deep-
seated public support.
Precedent. Ample public wisdom supports the importance of for-
malized protected space. Federal judges receive lifetime appointments
so they can make rulings independent of short-term political pressures.
I have a contract with my organization for exactly the same reason. So
do presidents and congressmen! The term of a senator is three times that
of a representative precisely to allow senators a longer-term perspective
than a representative’s. And we use multiple forms of evidence to decide
upon the renewal of my contract or the reelection of elected officials:
the will of the people in the latter case, and the carefully crafted assess-
ment of my bosses in the former.
Public trust. Thus, the tools exist to formalize the protected space,
but to change the current top-down mindset we must deal with the issue
of public trust, both locally and nationally. Until Americans trust schools
to do the job well, we won’t be permitted to undertake the difficult long-
term work of redesigning the system as well as the schools.
At times that aspiration seems utopian even to me. Do we imagine
that all our fellow human beings are wise, good, and competent? Can we
trust them? Our immediate instinct is to write pages of “what ifs” and
“supposing thats” to protect ourselves from the abuses bound to arise as
ordinary people struggle to make their ideas work in real-world con-
texts. However, on the hopeful side, we should keep in mind that most
of our citizens do trust the public schools they know best—their own
children’s schools or those in their own communities. In one national
poll after another, parents and non-parents alike generally give high
grades to local schools.
Oft-replicated polling data suggest that the pressure to put the
clamps on schools is more precisely a belief that “there ought to be a
law” for other people’s schools: some systemic, powerful lever that will
get everyone working up to snuff without spending a lot more on any-
thing substantially different. But even there the evidence suggests that
twenty years of bashing our public schools and their teachers has done
surprisingly little damage. Strong leadership and effective advocacy, not
public trust, may be the missing element.
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Before making too much of the poll data, we must acknowledge a sig-
nificant exception: Latinos, and to an even greater extent African
Americans, support their local schools far less than other constituencies.
The polls reflect frustration and rage that public schools have been part
of the problem in failing to narrow the gap between the advantaged and
the disadvantaged. Many of the most vexing provisions of NCLB respond,
or appear to respond, to the frustration of that dream long deferred. The
demagoguery embedded in NCLB may be self-evident, but its strong, clear
language has not been matched by more sensible proposals.
Placing decision-making close to the decision, as successful school
reforms do, can be seen as a cop-out that simply leaves things to the folks
in the field. It can seem like a lame excuse for the forceful action that
some believe is required to address a long history of unequal treatment.
Therefore, if school-reform efforts are to gain the trust of African
Americans and Latinos, civil rights advocates must be accorded an
important voice in school reform discussions, and our proposals for
change must merit their support.
Pursuing Strange Bedfellows
Changing the public mindset to formalize the protected space we
need might be achieved by the bold and creative pursuit of several
strange bedfellows in public school reform.
Political conservatives. The freedom we want for our smallness-
autonomy-choice schools is the very freedom that conservatives want
for their own schools and, in theory, for every one else’s schools, too.
Whether or not the microregulated, centralized NCLB regime proves to
be a passing anomaly, liberal school reformers can still hearken to the
conservative value of local control and create the momentum to install
a totally unregulated voucher system.
Business leaders. Equally strange bedfellows would be America’s
business leaders. If general perceptions are correct, “business” is one of
the strongest proponents of the standards and testing that effectively
prohibit the necessary protected space. If that’s really true, it may be
because “business,” focusing too narrowly on a seductive but naive “bot-
tom line,” has thereby overlooked the real challenge: to produce success
rather than merely measure it.
A narrow fixation on the bottom line can cause as much mischief in
a business as fixation on test scores can cause in a school. Enron and
WorldCom fudged their earnings; high-profile school districts have
fudged test scores and graduation rates. Likewise, the past half-century
has seen a shift, however inconsistent, in recognizing the importance of
placing more voice and control close to the actual “production” line.
Recognizing the similar tensions involved in business and education
educational HORIZONS
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might allow us to transcend the simplistic translation of “the bottom
line” and learn from rather than replicate each other’s work.
Accountability activists. Even though accountability is the battle
cry of the top-down advocates, greater accountability may pave the way
to greater autonomy. We know that accountability is least effective in
large anonymous schools where no one “owns” the results. We know
from the Learning Zone that sophisticated accountability systems can be
designed. We know from the Boston pilot schools that external review
can be a useful tool, and that holding each school accountable to its own
individual school board can be a powerful determinant of success.
It may be that accountability activists can be brought to understand
that small, autonomous schools of choice are among the most willing to
be held accountable for achievement outcomes, equity, and fiscal integri-
ty. Perhaps the answer will be to emulate the Boston pilots and negoti-
ate autonomy in exchange for agreeing to one school board for each
school. Perhaps some day we’ll abandon our reliance on the 15,000
school boards we have nationwide today and get back to the 200,000 or
more school boards that existed in my childhood. Whatever the answer
may be, success will require bold leadership, patient negotiation, and a
more-constructive political environment.
In a less-extreme political environment we may be able to build
bridges with political conservatives, business leaders, accountability
activists, civil rights advocates, educators, trade unionists, and parents
and formalize that all-important protected space: the buffer we need to
support creativity, innovation, experimentation, and responsibility for
complex outcomes. In the protected space we can use the experiences
described here to build what we once seemed close to creating: schools
in which adults have the space to make their own decisions about mat-
ters of importance while also ensuring accountability to both the imme-
diate constituents and the larger public.
When parochialism is less to be feared, networking easier, and the
exchange of information across geographic and class boundaries more
extensive and powerful, we may be able to secure the protected space
we need to realize Ron Wolk’s vision. Then we can put substance behind
what today is but a political slogan: “No Child Left Behind.”
Deborah Meier is the MacArthur Award-winning founder of the
Central Park East Schools in East Harlem and the Mission Hill School
in Boston. A fellow of the Annenberg Institute for School Reform, she
is vice chair emerita of the Coalition of Essential Schools. The experi-
ences recounted in this essay were originally published in her book
In Schools We Trust (Boston: Beacon Press, 2002).
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