Dare to show kids your true feelings

Teens don’t know enough about history and literature to tie their own shoelaces. That’s more or less the conclusion of a study I read about in the New York Times (see “Survey Finds Teenagers Ignorant on Basic History and Literature Questions,” February 27, 2008). Common Core—a nonpartisan research and advocacy group that favors more teaching of the liberal arts in public schools—surveyed by phone 1,200 17-year-olds nationwide. The participants were read 33 multiple-choice questions about history and literature. The findings? More than 25 percent of teens couldn’t correctly identify the century in which Columbus sailed, less than half knew when the Civil War was fought, and only 40 percent recognized the name of Ralph Ellison’s classic novel, The Invisible Man.

Why such “stunning ignorance”? According to Common Core, the President’s education plan, No Child Left Behind (NCLB), bears some of the blame: since NCLB focuses on reading and math test scores, many teachers no longer teach content—they teach to the tests. While that may be true, I think there’s more to the story. We adults have allowed NCLB to have its way, in part, because we’re not sure which content matters. And since we can’t discern what’s important for youngsters to know, we can’t make a coherent case for what schools should be teaching.

It wasn’t always that way. During the culture wars of the 1980s and 1990s, traditionalists insisted that everyone needed to read the works of significant Dead White Men—from the ancient Greeks to our Founding Fathers down to, say, Ernest Hemingway. Opponents of that approach thought that students should learn about what the late Virginia Hamilton called “parallel cultures”—works that aren’t in the official canon, but are important precisely because they offer a fresh perspective. Although both camps greatly disagreed on the essentials, they each had a strong sense of what mattered. Nowadays, we no longer yell at each other over issues like these—mainly because we’re indifferent.

Yet, I’m still hopeful. Shortly after reading that Times’ article, I met with two groups of students—one of eight graders, another of high schoolers—at the Brooklyn Public Library to talk about my book Race: A History Beyond Black and White (S & S/Atheneum/Ginee Seo Bks., 2007). Both discussions were going smoothly, until I read a passage in which I admitted I hadn’t been able to forgive the Germans for what they did during World War II. I wasn’t trying to justify my feelings; I was simply stating what I felt in my heart.

One hand after another shot up. The young people couldn’t wait to speak. Most of the white kids were critical of me. They felt I needed to get beyond my feelings and that I was being just like the Nazis had been—trying to justify my emotions by expressing them. Most of the African-American kids were more empathetic: they recognized that prejudice can run so deep, it’s impossible to get beyond it. Whether these thoughtful, articulate young people agreed with me or not, they were riveted by the discussion.

Because I dared to show my true feelings, they dared to engage with the content—and history suddenly mattered to them. As an educator, if I’m only dispensing facts, I have a distinct advantage over my students: I know something that they don’t. But if I reveal something meaningful about myself to them, then we’re both equals—and as equals, we’re free to discuss and debate.

I’m convinced that the best way for adults to crack the sealed-off world of young people is for us to crack ourselves open. We need to show students that we have a genuine stake in what we’re teaching. Unless we’re willing to do that, we’ll continue to produce students who aren’t aware of any culture other than their peer’s, just like the teens in that recent survey. The message I took away from the groups I met with was: be brave. The braver we adults are, the more young people will be eager to hear what we have to offer.