Is the “Trump Effect” on school bullying real?

Katherine Stewart recently made the case in The Nation that the rhetoric of the president-elect has caused a surge in ethnicity- and gender-based bullying in schools.

Stewart’s evidence is, not surprisingly, entirely anecdotal. But it’s hard to blame her for that–of course it’s too soon to have reliable data on the effect of what is an ongoing phenomenon. The anecdotes from around the country lead Stewart to the conclusion that Trump is responsible for the uptick.

Some 2,000 miles away, in a white suburban community in Washington State, Kyrian Smith caught her sixth-grade students engaging in similarly hate-filled speech, although in this instance they chose to target Muslims and students of color. “White students said in class that they were scared of brown people and thought all Muslims should be removed from the country,” she says. “The two Muslim students were bullied and called ISIS fighters. My black students were being called n-words.” As one of two black children at her own school when she was growing up, Smith says she knew what the targeted kids were experiencing.

Meanwhile, back East, even proudly liberal enclaves like Newton, Massachusetts, have been convulsed by bias eruptions. Michael Zilles, president of the Newton Teachers Association, says the district’s schools have been rocked by instances of anti-Semitic graffiti, bigoted comments directed to an African-American student group, and a Confederate Flag—“here in Massachusetts!”

“We have had more racial incidents in the last 12 months than there have been in years,” he says.

Across the country, educators are reporting a disturbing surge in hate-laced bullying among students of all ages, from the youngest elementary-school tykes to the most jaded high-school seniors. While bullying has a long and sordid history in American classrooms, the current surge is notable both for the similarity of its targets—Muslim students, immigrants and children of immigrants, children of color, girls, Jews—and the language used against them. And educators have developed a strong theory as to the cause: Donald Trump and the degraded discourse of this election season.

Confirmation bias is “the tendency to interpret new evidence as confirmation of one’s existing beliefs or theories,” and one could make the case that these cherry-picked anecdotes are more salient to observers because they confirm our worst fears about Trump, making it easier to create a narrative where no data exists to justify that narrative.

I want to believe that’s what’s happening here. However, the mechanism by which the Trump Effect works seems to confirm rather than dispel the theory. Here’s what I mean: most academics who study bullying subscribe to what’s called the “social norms theory” to explain the prevalence of bullying: when students believe that bullying is more common and socially acceptable than it actually is (in other words, when bullying is “normal”), it happens more frequently. In essence, students’ actions conform to their beliefs about what others will find acceptable.

That’s why schools that have employed the tactic of showing students that bullying is neither as common nor as accepted as they might believe have generally been effective in reducing bullying. A common technique is to post signs that provide real statistics about bullying: 97% of students at Lincoln Memorial think making mean comments is not okay; 95% of students at Jefferson Middle think students should never post anything hurtful about another student online. When students feel they are out of step with their peers, their behavior changes.

The “Trump Effect”, then, if it exists, uses the opposite mechanism: students who are constantly exposed to Trump’s rhetoric–which any middle school teacher can tell you closely resembles schoolyard bullying–may come to think that this type of behavior is (A) more common than it is (B) more acceptable than it is (C) less likely to result in adverse consequences for either party. In short, kids think, if the president talks like that, how come I can’t talk like that? 

There’s no way to tell yet whether the Trump Effect is real or a cognitive distortion that springs from the possibility of our worst fears coming true. But it’s a disappointment for those of us who thought that bullying based on gender and ethnicity was getting better and not worse. We may have our work cut out for us in the years to come.

Why we shouldn’t follow our instincts when it comes to discipline

Why we shouldn’t follow our instincts when it comes to discipline

In my previous post, I referred to the apparent contradiction of the need to establish safety for student offenders who have jeopardized the safety of others. Of course, I’m referring to two different types of safety. The behavior of students who imperil the safety of other students should never be tolerated and must be met with appropriate action; however, in the course of deciding what that action should be, we must engage in a crucial conversation with that student, and if that conversation is to have any chance of success, we must be vigilant in ensuring that the student feels safe as a participant.

When we’re responding to a serious infraction, it may be challenging to control our own emotions. We’re disturbed by the behavior of the student, protective of other students whose safety may have been threatened, and (possibly unconsciously) anxious about our own ability to rectify the situation. Thus, it becomes even harder for us to monitor what the student we’re about to confront is experiencing. Here’s Patterson et al.:

In truth, most of us do have trouble dual-processing (simultaneously watching for content and conditions)—especially when both stakes and emotions are high. We get so caught up in what we’re saying that it can be nearly impossible to pull ourselves out of the argument in order to see what’s happening to ourselves and to others. Even when we are startled by what’s going on, enough so that we think, “Yipes! This has turned ugly. Now what?” we may not know what to look for in order to turn things around. We may not see enough of what’s happening.

If you can catch signs that the conversation is starting to turn crucial—before you get sucked so far into the actual argument that you can never withdraw from the content—then you can start dual-processing immediately. And what exactly should you watch for? People who are gifted at dialogue keep a constant vigil on safety. They pay attention to the content—that’s a given—and they watch for signs that people are becoming fearful. When friends, loved ones, or colleagues move away from healthy dialogue (freely adding to the pool of meaning)—either forcing their opinions into the pool or purposefully keeping their ideas out of the pool—they immediately turn their attention to whether or not others feel safe. When it’s safe, you can.

The irony of the situation we find ourselves in is that no matter how upset we may be with a student’s behavior, we need that student to engage in an open dialogue if we want our intervention to be successful. (Of course, if we simply want to impose consequences unilaterally, we don’t need anything from the student at all. He or she can simply and take a tongue-lashing and serve a consequence. But I think we’re shooting for something greater than that.) It is a humbling experience to realize you still need to court the cooperation of a teenager who has just committed an egregious violation. And yet, there is a path forward that allows both sides to maintain dignity.

When it’s safe, you can say anything. Here’s why gifted communicators keep a close eye on safety. Dialogue calls for the free flow of meaning—period. And nothing kills the flow of meaning like fear. When you fear that people aren’t buying into your ideas, you start pushing too hard. When you fear that you may be harmed in some way, you start withdrawing and hiding. Both these reactions—to fight and to take flight—are motivated by the same emotion: fear. On the other hand, if you make it safe enough, you can talk about almost anything and people will listen. If you don’t fear that you’re being attacked or humiliated, you yourself can hear almost anything and not become defensive.

The first step is to become a “vigilant self-monitor.” When we come to understand our own emotional triggers in high-stakes, emotionally loaded conversations, we are better able to recognize when a conversation or confrontation has become “unsafe.” Once we learn to do that, what comes next?

The key is to stop, step out of the conversation, and create safety before continuing. The first condition of safety that you must address is “mutual purpose,” which the authors call the “entrance condition.” If participants don’t believe you have a mutual purpose, they will not feel safe to contribute to the conversation. For example, the student who sits (or sulks) silently because he believes that your purpose is solely to get him “in trouble” or to take the side of a favored student or group.

Mutual Purpose—the Entrance Condition

Why Talk in the First Place?

Remember the last time someone gave you difficult feedback and you didn’t become defensive? Say a friend said some things to you that most people might get upset over. In order for this person to be able to deliver the delicate message, you must have believed he or she cared about you or about your goals and objectives.

That means you trusted his or her purposes so you were willing to listen to some pretty tough feedback. Crucial conversations often go awry not because others dislike the content of the conversation, but because they believe the content (even if it’s delivered in a gentle way) suggests that you have a malicious intent. How can others feel safe when they believe you’re out to harm them? Soon, every word out of your mouth is suspect. You can’t utter a harmless “good morning” without others interpreting it in a negative way.

Consequently, the first condition of safety is Mutual Purpose. Mutual Purpose means that others perceive that you’re working toward a common outcome in the conversation, that you care about their goals, interests, and values. And vice versa. You believe they care about yours. Consequently, Mutual Purpose is the entry condition of dialogue. Find a shared goal, and you have both a good reason and a healthy climate for talking.

For example, in meeting with a student after he has been involved in a fight, you might say, “Both of us are upset right now about what happened today. But both of us have the same goal. We want to make sure that what happened today never happens again, and that you find a way to resolve these conflicts before they get violent.” Of course, you have other goals too that might not be mutual yet (e.g., you want to ensure safety for every other student, and you want to figure out how the offending student can restore the broken trust and relationships). Hopefully, you can introduce these other goals during the conversation.

It takes more than a simple statement like this for a student to come to trust your motives. You have to mean it, of course. Just saying it doesn’t make it so, and students are the best lie detectors. And this stance needs to be consistent with the actions and persona that you display daily in your school.

The other condition for safety is mutual respect. Participants can’t engage in authentic dialogue when they feel others don’t respect them (or if they don’t respect the other participants). I won’t delve into how to get students to respect you, that’s a topic for another time. What’s more pressing in this moment (a student in your office who just got into a fight) is whether or not you respect the student. It would be completely natural to lose respect (temporarily) for a student who has just hurt or endangered other students. How can you possibly show that you respect a student at a time like this? Patterson et al. weigh in:

Dialogue truly would be doomed if we had to share every objective or respect every element of another person’s character before we could talk. If this were the case, we’d all be mute.

However, we can stay in dialogue by finding a way to honor and regard another person’s basic humanity. In essence, feelings of disrespect often come when we dwell on how others are different from ourselves. We can counteract these feelings by looking for ways we are similar.

Without excusing others’ behavior, we try to sympathize, even empathize, with them. A rather clever person once hinted how to do this in the form of a prayer—“Lord, help me forgive those who sin differently than I.” When we recognize that we all have weaknesses, it’s easier to find a way to respect others.

When we do this, we feel a kinship or mutuality between ourselves and even the thorniest of people. This sense of kinship and connection to others helps create Mutual Respect and eventually enables us to stay in dialogue with virtually anyone.

Every disciplinary conversation or confrontation is unique. For most of us, following some of the steps I’ve written about here prior to or during these conversations (e.g., replacing frustration with curiosity, focusing on the future rather than the past, establishing mutual purpose and respect) run contrary to our basic (and perhaps base) instincts, which sometimes tell us that he who has made others suffer must suffer himself. Our work then, lies in breaking some of the mental models we’ve established through observation and prior practice. No easy task, but worth doing.

How fear of conflict kills teams

How fear of conflict kills teams

Author’s note: I’ve decided to occasionally veer away from school discipline to write about organizational behavior, as that’s been the bulk of my reading lately. When I do, I’ll tag those posts with this note. 

(Part 2 on Lencioni’s Five Dysfunctions of a Team)

I used to think that conflict was the enemy of a high-functioning team.

When I thought of conflict, I thought of arguments, disagreements, discord, and resentment.

None of those things sounded good to me.

Over the years, I came to realize how mistaken I was.

Lencioni’s second dysfunction of a team–fear of conflict–stems directly from the first (absence of trust). If one trusts his team members, he knows that he can raise new ideas, express criticism of others’ ideas, and divulge unpopular opinions in their presence. He can do so because he knows that

  • they will not perceive his criticism as a personal attack
  • they will engage with him on the merits of the idea, not on a personal level
  • they will not harbor resentment at being challenged
  • they will be honest in their response

A good team will have a variety of ideas on any given topic. Sometimes, the whole team will feel the same way on an issue, but that would be rare, and that topic then would probably not necessitate even convening the team.

That divergence of ideas naturally produces conflict. The free sharing of ideas and honest engagement with those ideas means that the best ideas will generally come to the surface (if team members are engaging in good faith). But if a team that fears conflict (perhaps new team members are fearful of disagreeing with veterans, or all team members are fearful of disagreeing with the boss), the best ideas remain unearthed.

What do we gain by remaining fearful of conflict? Well, on a team without trust, a lot, actually. If team members view criticism of ideas as a personal attack, the “offender” might lose status, opportunities, or even membership on the team altogether. When people don’t know whether or not sharing our ideas will cost them, it’s hard to blame them for not engaging.

The truth is there is always conflict on a team, because there will always be differences of opinion. The difference is that on teams that lack trust, the conflict remains submerged. But it doesn’t stay there forever; it bubbles up in lingering resentments and dissatisfaction, taking a toll on relationships.

Lencioni calls the result of a fear of conflict “artificial harmony.” Team members pretend they’re on board. In reality, they’re hesitant or holding back. Bringing back the example of the teacher team in a planning meeting:

Teacher planning meeting, members don’t trust each other: 

Teacher 1: We have to finalize the plan for the poetry unit. 

Teacher 2: Last year we had students write their final essay on “The Road Not Taken,” that seemed to work fine. I really don’t see a reason to change that, especially when we already have so many other things on our plates. 

Teacher 3, thinking: It really didn’t go fine. The kids were so bored and there was no choice. I know it sounds crazy, but I was really hoping kids could write their own poems and then analyze their own poems in their essay. I know it’s different, but I think engagement would be so much higher. I know we have a lot on our plates, but shouldn’t planning a great unit be our first priority?

Teacher 3, speaking: Okay … I guess we could do that. 

Teacher 2, thinking: What does she mean, I guess? I hate it when she is passive aggressive like that. 

A casual observer might think the team had come to an agreement. Technically, they did. But the harmony was, as Lencioni says, “artificial,” and those types of agreements lead directly to the third dysfunction–lack of commitment…

The first dysfunction of a team

The first dysfunction of a team

Author’s note: I’ve decided to occasionally veer away from school discipline to write about organizational behavior, as that’s been the bulk of my reading lately. When I do, I’ll tag those posts with this note. 

If you were a business major, you probably read Patrick Lencioni’s The Five Dysfunctions of a Team in freshman year. I studied American literature, so I’m just getting to it in my thirties! But I’m glad I did, as there’s a lot for school leaders and teachers alike to learn.

Lencioni devotes the first 80% of the book to a leadership “fable” that exhibits his major concepts. Then in the last 20% he explains them.

I personally like this style. The “fable” is cheesy and certainly not compelling as literature, but it serves its purpose, and the actual concepts are boiled down concisely at the end, unlike many leadership books that take 20 pages of great content and intersperse them among 200 pages of filler.

I won’t recap the fable here, but I will explore what the five dysfunctions are and the implications I see for teachers and school leaders, starting with Dysfunction 1 in this post.

Dysfunction 1: Absence of Trust

The first thing you notice about the five dysfunctions is that they’re simple to the point of  being almost trite or cliche. Yes, we all know that trust is preferable to the absence of trust. The hard part is the implications and application.

Trust in this context is not about being able to give sensitive information without it being repeated. Trusting an individual means knowing that individual will act with your best interests in mind. That doesn’t mean he will act exclusively with your exclusive interests in mind; that would be unreasonable. But that he will make a good-faith effort.

The presence of trust allows for something equally important: vulnerability. When we trust others, we can be vulnerable around them. We are willing to share ideas that might be out of the mainstream, or to divulge unpopular opinions. Fresh new ideas and unpopular opinions are, of course, crucial to the health and output of a team.

When individuals aren’t willing to share new ideas, the team does what it’s always done.

When individuals aren’t willing to divulge unpopular opinions, the team does something its members know isn’t ideal because they feared the repercussions of speaking out.

What might this look like on teacher teams? Here’s a brief illustration:

Teacher planning meeting, members don’t trust each other: 

Teacher 1: We have to finalize the plan for the poetry unit. 

Teacher 2: Last year we had students write their final essay on “The Road Not Taken,” that seemed to work fine. I really don’t see a reason to change that, especially when we already have so many other things on our plates. 

Teacher 3, thinking: It really didn’t go fine. The kids were so bored and there was no choice. I know it sounds crazy, but I was really hoping kids could write their own poems and then analyze their own poems in their essay. I know it’s different, but I think engagement would be so much higher. I know we have a lot on our plates, but shouldn’t planning a great unit be our first priority?

Teacher 3, speaking: Okay … I guess we could do that. 

Teacher 2, thinking: What does she mean, I guess? I hate it when she is passive aggressive like that. 

Here, the absence of trust manifested itself in a number of ways. First, teacher 3 was afraid to share her idea. Her idea was new and different, and the other team members might have reacted negatively. Because she didn’t trust that they had her best interest in mind, she withheld it.

But not only was teacher 3 afraid to share her idea, she was also afraid to criticize teacher 2’s idea, fearful of how teacher 2 might respond to the criticism (probably both because she doesn’t trust teacher 2 and because eacher 2 doesn’t trust her, and each has good reason for it).

It’s a pretty direct line between a team’s lack of trust among its members and a bad outcome for kids (in this case, a boring assignment). And it ties directly into the second dysfunction (fear of conflict), which I’ll write about in the next post I do on this book.

The question that lingers for me is how to restore trust to a team that’s lost it, and how to build it for a new team or a team that’s never had it.

 

The counterintuitive step you must take in all school discipline conversations

The counterintuitive step you must take in all school discipline conversations

I started reading Crucial Conversations to get better at communicating with colleagues. But the applications to school discipline soon became blindingly obvious.

The authors define a “crucial conversation” as one in which: (1) opinions vary, (2) emotions run strong, and (3) stakes are high. Almost every disciplinary intervention I’ve been a part of meets these criteria. For some, school discipline conjures images of Morgan Freeman policing groups of rowdy teenagers in a cafeteria or auditorium in Stand by Me; in reality, most of the critical work in school discipline takes place behind closed (figuratively if not literally) doors, one-on-one between student and adult.

Crucial conversations fail when one party comes to believe, consciously or not, that the interaction is no longer “safe.”

When it’s safe, you can say anything.

Here’s why gifted communicators keep a close eye on safety. Dialogue calls for the free flow of meaning—period. And nothing kills the flow of meaning like fear. When you fear that people aren’t buying into your ideas, you start pushing too hard. When you fear that you may be harmed in some way, you start withdrawing and hiding. Both those reactions—to fight and to take flight—are motivated by the same emotion: fear. On the other hand, if you make it safe enough, you can talk about almost anything and people will listen. If you don’t fear you’re being attacked and humiliated, you yourself can hear almost anything and not become defensive.

The two most common responses to a lack of safety are “silence and violence.” Silence consists of “any act to purposefully withhold meaning from the pool of information,” and includes masking (covering up one’s true feelings), avoiding (steering away from sensitive subjects), and withdrawing (refusing to engage entirely). “Violence” is any “verbal strategy that attempts to convince, control, or compel others to your point of view”, including controlling (coercing others to your way of thinking), labeling (dismissing), and attacking (making the other person suffer through belittling and threatening).

In all crucial conversations, we must be able to spot when others move to silence or violence and recognize those as indicators of a lack of safety. But we also have to recognize when we ourselves go “silent or violent.” In disciplinary situations, after an incident has occurred, the most common scenario is we (the adults) go to “violence” while the student goes to “silence.”

This feels “right” in some way, perhaps because it’s the mental model most of us grew up with. Surely the offender has “earned” this tongue-lashing; how else will we communicate to the student that they’ve seriously transgressed?

In reality, although these kinds of conversations may provide us a short-term sense of accomplishment, they accomplish little in terms of (1) restoring the harm done to relationships and/or property (2) ensuring the student does not engage in the same behavior again. Long-term progress can only be made if both parties move away from silence and violence and toward productive dialogue, and that requires that both adult and student feel safe in the conversation.

“Safe??” you say. “But it is the student who has committed the offense! He has put the safety of others in danger, and now we have to worry about making him feel safe??” 

In my next post, I’ll explain why this counterintuitive move is in fact necessary, and what steps we can take to make it happen successfully.

When a field trip becomes a lesson in Constitutional rights…

When a field trip becomes a lesson in Constitutional rights…

Readers of the blog know that I’m interested in the intersection between students’ Constitutional rights and school discipline. A recent story about a group of 8th graders who refused to take a photo with House speaker Paul Ryan, while ultimately relatively harmless, presents some fun questions for fellow Constitutional nerds out there.

It’s long been established that students “don’t shed their Constitutional rights at the schoolhouse door,” but several high-profile court cases have established limits on the free-speech rights of students at school. Most notably, Tinker v. Des Moines established the “Tinker standard,” which requires schools to determine whether student speech  “materially and substantially interferes with the requirements of appropriate discipline in the operation of the school.” In other words, if the speech does not constitute a substantial disruption to school operations, it is protected.

Choosing whether or not to have one’s picture taken with a prominent politician certainly represents symbolic political speech. These students’ choice is protected under the First Amendment, but did this choice represent a substantial disruption? Managing 150 students on a busy public street in a major metropolitan area is extremely challenging; was it not disruptive and potentially dangerous for students to choose to separate from the group to avoid this picture? (I’m playing devil’s advocate for a second here…)

On the other hand, if engaging in symbolic speech by taking photos with politicians is part of the trip, does the school not have a responsibility to the students to provide a safe alternative for those who choose not to engage in said speech? In that sense, the students can hardly be blamed for creating the disruption; the disruption only exists because the school failed to provide accommodations for students who did not wish to engage in political speech.

What other aspects of a trip to Washington DC could be considered forced political speech? Would a tour of the White House represent a de facto endorsement of a sitting president? Would a tour of the halls of Congress violate the free speech rights of a group of student anarchists? In that case, how would the school provide an equivalent educational experience for students who opt out? And to what extent would they be obligated to do so?

Ultimately, the students from New Jersey–whether they took the photo or not–walk away with a valuable civics lesson, and none of the thorny questions posed above will probably ever come to pass. That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun though.

Two assumptions underlying restorative discipline that would benefit from being challenged

Two assumptions underlying restorative discipline that would benefit from being challenged

In a restorative approach to discipline, offenders are made to see how their actions have negatively impacted others. They work to restore the harm done to those involved, and are less likely to re-offend because of a new understanding of the effect of their actions on others.

For this process to be effective, students must come to empathize with those their actions have harmed. But the assumptions underlying this process merit further examination.

The first assumption is that students are capable of empathizing with those their actions have harmed. I believe that they are. But what if this is not universally true? Just as there is a normal variance in academic outcomes amongst a student body, we should acknowledge that there is most likely a normal distribution of the ability to empathize. In other words, some students are capable of extreme empathy, while others might struggle to show even a little bit at this stage of their lives (they may develop it later). Yet, the restorative process treats all students as if they are equally capable of empathy right now. Those who engage in restorative practices should acknowledge that due to natural variations in empathy, some students may not come to fully understand the damage done by their actions until later in life. Practitioners should be prepared with alternative practices, and should understand that just because it doesn’t work with everyone doesn’t mean it’s not a valid practice.

The second assumption is that coming to empathize with those one has harmed after committing an offense will make it less likely for one to offend again. The problem with this assumption is that we may be comparing apples and oranges. Take the case of a student who destroyed school property after being involved in a verbal confrontation with a teacher. Sitting in a restorative circle one week later, after the smoke has cleared, with the teacher, principal, and head custodian, that student may be able to clearly see the harm that was done and empathize with the three adults who were affected. But the teenage brain is a fickle organ–when faced with a similar situation two weeks later, there is simply not a lot of evidence to suggest that student may be able to call up the empathy he felt back in that restorative circle and think twice about his actions.

My stance on restorative discipline continues to be one of support. But proponents of the restorative approach need to reckon with some of the big question marks still surrounding the approach if they want to be able to withstand the inevitable backlash coming as restorative discipline sees wider implementation in cities and districts across the country.

Exploring the punishment –> restoration continuum

Exploring the punishment –> restoration continuum
<-----Punishment----Consequences----Solutions----Restoration----->

Amstutz and Mullet position the restorative approach to discipline as existing not in opposition to a retributive approach but rather as representing the opposite point on a continuum. While this may seem like a distinction without a difference, I think it’s important to note because while critics of one side or the other often impugn the motives or methods of the other as alien or absurd, in truth the two have more than a little in common.

The authors describe the four approaches on the continuum, starting with the “punishment” approach:

Within the punishment approach, consequences are selected without any meaningful connection between the misbehavior and the punishment, e.g., suspension for stealing sneakers and trashing the locker room.

With this approach, the goal is simply to make the perpetrator suffer in proportion to the suffering caused by his actions. There is no thought given as to whether suspension is the appropriate response, whether suspension will restore the harm done, or whether suspension will make future instances of such behavior less likely. (The question becomes–could a thoughtful person think about this and still conclude suspension was appropriate? More on this in a moment.)

consequences approach seeks to make the punishment fit the crime by inking natural or artificially connected consequences to the crime. This may mean that the student’s consequence is to clean the locker room. These consequences are selected by adults or a peer jury based on a menu of options that are seen as connected to the misbehavior, e.g., the student “corrects” the harm done.

While there is more thought given to the punishment, it is still unclear whether the punishment will restore the harm done or make future instances of the problem behavior less likely. And, as many critics of “natural” consequences have discussed, what’s “natural” isn’t always what’s appropriate, nor is there often even a clear consensus between adults on what constitutes a “natural” consequence in a given situation.

solutions approach sees misbehavior as a problem to be solved. In the case above, the disciplinary procedure would look at why the student was in the locker room and was motivated to vandalize it and steal sneakers. Educators are familiar with a “functional behavior assessment” approach. It seeks to find the function or the purpose of the misbehavior, and then to develop  plan to replace the misbehavior with a positive behavior which meets the needs of the student but without breaking rules. In the stealing example, a disciplinarian might find, after interviewing observers, that the student who stole the shoes was upset because the owner of the shoes was getting more playing time than he was. The plan for change might include a new way to address play-time concerns.

The solutions approach comes at the problem from a “skill vs. will” standpoint. If students become better equipped to address their problems, we can eliminate or replace the behaviors that stem from facing problems they don’t know how to solve. Now, the question on the minds of most educators reading this probably a variant of “That’s it? What’s going to stop him or another kid from doing this again now that they’ve found out there are no consequences?” This is a valid concern that proponents of restorative discipline must become more willing to address. While restorative proponents claim that punishments are not effective deterrents because they don’t address the issue at the heart of the behavior, the truth is the jury is still out on the value of deterrents to change behavior generally. And since we don’t know the extent to which deterrents work, it seems reasonable to keep punishments for serious offenses in place while simultaneously working toward solutions.

There is a scenario in which a student might serve a consequence such as in-school suspension, be made to clean the locker room, and learn a new way to address play-time concerns. The first sends a message (crudely, yes, but it does) to all that the behavior constituted a major violation of community norms, the second begins the process of correcting the harm done, and the third equips the student to better handle the problem in the future.

When using punishment, consequences, and solution modes, adults typically select the plan or consequence without the input of the misbehaving student. Some form of retribution is usually meted out in this process, even if solutions are chosen to address an underlying issue. A restorative approach, however, recognizes the needs and purposes behind the misbehavior, as well as the needs of those who were harmed by the misbehavior. A restorative approach works with all participants to create ways to put things right and make plans for future change. Thus, the focus is on the healing that can occur through a collaborative conferencing process.

Both punishment and consequence modes are based on the hope that unpleasant results or pain will deter misbehavior. The solutions mode holds that solving the presenting problem will deter future misbehavior and provide a more healthy replacement behavior. The restorative discipline mode believes that harmers will choose more respectful options when they come to understand, through dialogue and conversation with those harmed, the pain they have caused by their misbehavior.

In this model, the restorative approach is certainly the loftiest and noblest way to deal with the situation. When executed appropriately, the restorative approach returns the situation to its ideal state, meets the needs of all involved, and prevents future reoccurrences. The rub, of course, is the difficulty level involved in carrying it off well, given how different it is from the approach that most of us grew up with and employ in our own schools.

I believe in the restorative approach in theory–how could you not? But the implementation is where the rubber meets the road. Amstutz and Miller (and others) have perfectly captured the ideals of restorative discipline; what we need now are better roadmaps for actually putting it into practice.

(Another thought, perhaps one for a different post–is the success of the restorative approach related to an individual’s capacity for empathy? If the approach hinges on harmers “choosing more respectful options when they come to understand through dialogue and conversation with those harmed the pain they have caused . . . ,” shouldn’t we acknowledge that the capacity for that kind of empathic understanding is not distributed equally amongst individuals, whether by nature or nurture? If we agree that individuals vary in their ability to feel or display empathy, aren’t we then forced to acknowledge that this approach may not be as successful with those who are [at least currently] less able to exhibit such empathy?)

 

Where the well-intended Dear Colleague letter went wrong

Where the well-intended Dear Colleague letter went wrong

Since I last wrote about the Obama administration’s Dear Colleague letter, attorney Hans Bader has published an interesting op-ed over at the Competitive Enterprise Institute.

Two legal foundations are calling for an end to federal pressure on school districts to adopt racial quotas in suspensions. And rightly so: It is wrong for an agency to pressure regulated entities to adopt racial quotas, or make race-based decisions, even if the pressure does not inexorably lead to a quota.  (See Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod v. FCC, 141 F.3d 344 (D.C. Cir. 1998)). I earlier discussed at length how Obama-era rules, issued without notice and comment in 2014, pressured school districts to adopt racial quotas in suspensions, which violated the Constitution; misinterpreted Title VI of the Civil Rights Act; and ignored judicially-recognized limits on disparate-impact liability.

On March 29, Roger Clegg, president and general counsel of the Center for Equal Opportunity, sent an email to the Justice Department asking the Trump administration to withdraw these rules, which are contained in the Obama administration’s January 8, 2014 letter to America’s schools, known as the “Dear Colleague letter: Racial Disparities In The Administration Of School Discipline.” Clegg urged “the withdrawal of the January 8, 2014 ‘Dear Colleague’ letter,” which was issued by the Obama Justice Department’s Civil Rights Division and the Education Department’s Office for Civil Rights. He called this letter “unsound as a matter of both law and policy,” citing “a variety of sources that have criticized the letter, again from both policy and legal perspectives.” Clegg is a former Deputy Assistant Attorney General in the Civil Rights Division, where he served from 1987-1991.

Like Kirsanow, Bader argues that even if the DOE does not explicitly call for a racial quota, it still may not pressure regulated entities to create what would essentially become racial quotas. I think that the Obama administration’s heart was in the right place, so to speak, when they issued the Dear Colleague letter. I think the letter seeks to address an undeniably real issue; I also think they would be derelict if they did not do something to address the issue.

But the more I turn it over, I simply don’t think path they chose was the right (or Constitutionally sound) one. The Department must envision for itself a higher role than simply demanding that schools bring disciplinary statistics in line with a school’s demographics. If you were overseeing a school in which black students comprised 50% of the population but accounted for 75% of suspensions in 2016, and in the following year suspensions for black students had fallen to 50%, would you be satisfied with that result? I wouldn’t. In fact, I’d be extremely concerned about what had to have been done to achieve that stat. I’d have questions about the legitimacy of the number, and if the number was “legitimate,” I’d have questions about why the solution, if it was truly as easy as the numbers suggest, hadn’t been applied earlier.

Fundamentally, I think this comes back to the general worldview of the Department of Education under Duncan and King regarding why schools aren’t improving. Duncan’s record suggests he believed schools didn’t do better because school leaders were not sufficiently afraid of the consequences of not doing so. Therefore, in order to fix the disparate impact of disciplinary policies, the Department could simply threaten regulatory action if the problem doesn’t get better. But those who work on the ground know that schools would solve their problems if they could solve their problems. If schools had the tools to remedy the disparate impact of their disciplinary policies, wouldn’t they have done it already? The solution then, rather than to threaten, is to seek a better understanding of the problem and better equip schools to solve it.