Taking Student-Centered Action
I was a demoralized teacher.
Demoralization differs from burnout because it is rooted in having to face frequent moral conflicts. These dilemmas are rarely “I’m not sure what the right course of action is,” but more “I know the right thing to do, but am unable to do it.”
Doris Santoro, Professor of Education at Bowdoin College, talks extensively about her research into teachers' professional lives in her book Demoralized. She offers insight for educators and leaders on how to recognize demoralization and move towards re-moralization.
Of the strategies she offers, I will be exploring student-centered action.
“But you’re a teacher, isn’t everything you do student-centered?”
In short, no. The following scenarios will help illustrate this.
Story 1: Disservice to “easy” students
As one of seven high schools in the district, Bedford is unique in that it also has a middle school side, connected only by the cafeteria. Like large districts often do, Bedford has high student mobility (starting and ending the year in different schools). As a special educator, this means my caseload usually fluctuates in size throughout the year. This year, however, the number is just growing. By mid-year, every intervention specialist on the high school side has reached our legal maximum. Lacking funds or vision to hire an additional teacher - the obvious and ethical solution - the plan from our district representatives is to give “easy” students on our caseload to a middle school teacher, instead. This would make us available to take the incoming students who frequently transfer from other city high schools as a consequence for violating the student code of conduct (verbal assault, physical assault, possession of a weapon, etc). (I call it shuffling the deck; it doesn’t solve anything, but at least the board can say they did something.)
This “solution” left me nothing short of furious. The “easy” students, as they call them, are quiet, put in good effort, and have good attendance. More bluntly, they don’t give adults a hard time. But these students are also the ones who are already overlooked by most teachers on most days. When your building exists in crisis mode, the ones who don’t demand immediate attention too often get hardly any. But they deserve so much more. They need so much more. Here lies the ethical dilemma: to comply with the Office of Special Education’s policy is to do harm to already neglected students.
Story 2: Denying IEP services and distrust
Dreams Academy is an elementary school with a special focus: to support the wellbeing of the whole child. The school receives supplemental funds and more autonomy. I was thrilled to start here, hoping these differences would enable me to stay in teaching for the long-haul.
In the spring, I began to plan out my schedule for testing season. (For those unfamiliar with the term, yes, testing season. Due to the number of standardized tests, I would spend 11 consecutive weeks administering these tests rather than delivering specially designed instruction to my students with special needs.)
The factors I consider while creating my schedule include finding enough space, following the accommodations and modifications in my students’ IEPs, communicating with parents, and so on.
One student on my caseload was an absolute joy, truly a treasure. She also happened to be multiple years behind grade level, reading at a mid-kindergarten level at the end of 5th grade. Her IEP appropriately reflected her needs, and her data showed satisfying progress this year. Per her IEP, I scheduled time to administer the test with a human reader modification - a decision aligned with her goals and signed off on by last year’s IEP team.
When the week of testing came, I was approached by building-level, and then district-level, special education leaders. I was informed that the district prohibits this particular test to be read aloud.
Shocked to hear someone in authority suggest I not follow an IEP, I took my time and did my research. Here’s a summary of my response:
The IEP is a legally binding document (signed by a district representative), and this service is clearly named for this specific test.
The district policy was just that - district level. Information on the test’s website clearly states that a human reader can be an appropriate and allowable feature for students.
I had more than enough documentation to support how this is a logical and appropriate use of a human reader for this student.
The response? “Rachel, district policy is to not allow a human reader for this test. Providing this is not an allowable option.” I was left with a choice. To follow my district’s demand was to violate what I understood as my moral and legal obligation to this student.
While these stories are certainly not encouraging, I hope they shed light on how heavy the demands and policies placed on educators are - especially the demands that force us to act in ways that are very much not student-centered. When teachers enter the field to live out their deeply held values, these ethical dilemmas lead to one of the strongest, most painful symptoms of demoralization: guilt. For me, this guilt was rooted in the belief that by doing my job, I was doing wrong by my students. Even when there was no just action possible, I was acting against my desire and responsibility to do what was right.
Using student-centered action to remoralize educators
Given this understanding of demoralization and teachers’ wholehearted desire to enact their values through their work, taking student-centered action as an act of resistance just makes sense. By intentionally acting on behalf of the students rather than the system, teachers can connect their actions to their deep moral values, the values that motivated them to enter this field.
Student-centered action can be:
Talking openly and honestly to students
Saying “no” to more so you can do good work with the time you have
Informing parents of their rights
Developing or using high-quality anti-racist curriculum
Standing against high stakes testing
Attending a teacher-led protest
And so much more
In Story 1, I made a student-centered plan. Though my turn never came to give an “easy” student to a middle school teacher, I had my response ready. If my leadership could not offer me another solution that would not harm my student, I was prepared to inform the child’s parent of the reason for the transfer, that professionally I could not support this decision, and provide the parent with the phone numbers of whom they could call about this issue.
In Story 2, I took student-centered action through advocacy. My building principal first helped me by shedding light on the reason for this policy: this test score is used to evaluate teachers, and as a blanket rule, the district believed teachers would cheat. With my principal’s support and connections, she suggested having an “unbiased” teacher administer the test. This solution gained some traction up the chain of command. Ultimately, this situation did not end well for us. Not only was I accused of having corrupt motives, my advocacy efforts also fell flat; my student had to take the test without her legal, ethical, and logical modification.
This leads me to a question you may be asking: “What if my student-centered action doesn’t work?” To be real with you, it won’t always, as you just read about. But it’s not about winning every battle. It’s about exercising agency in ways that make the work more bearable. In the end, you will still have to decide for yourself if it is enough for you to be able to stay.
