The power of grassroots movements

Last week, I attended the four-day Innovate conference hosted by the Graded School in Sao Paulo. This year, the title of the conference was reimagining school; well, on paper this sounds straightforward enough, but in reality, teachers and administrators are faced with daunting structural limitations that curb their outreach.

So on my way back to Lima, I was left with more questions than answers: how much autonomy do teachers and administrators really have when it comes to reimagining education? Why are elite international schools some of the most timid when it comes to innovation? Should a school’s main purpose be solely to prepare students for university?

What’s certain though is that there are many educators out there who are trying to leave a mark. At the conference, I sat in on some thought-provoking presentations about technology in education,
redesigning learning spaces and student data. All these are great tools at our disposal, but they’re ineffective if we end up shoving them into the traditional 7 period schedule.

That schedule represents the educational paradigm that once was, but which, sadly, continues to be.  And in this constraining model, it’s easier to teach the same content to everyone, to stifle relevance and to test rather than to reimagine.

Andressa Lutiano

But it doesn't have to be this way. There are passionate educators out there who in the face of all these obstacles are still willing to search for ways of making the most with less. At the conference, we met Andressa Lutiano who started the Wish Bilingual School in a suburban area outside of Sao Paolo in 2008. She took this massive undertaking because she wanted her daughter to have a more purposeful learning experience. Even though she has very limited resources, her team is still able to put into practice a solid pedagogy for some hundred lucky K-11 students who get to collaborate across year levels on hands-on projects and get to plan their own weekly work schedule.

In Sao Paolo we also visited a small democratic school called Escola Politeia. Like Wish Bilingual School, it gives students a plenty of autonomy. They are the ones who get to choose the topics they want to learn and have a say in the big decisions that the school makes. In their assemblies, kids get to discuss how to best allocate the resources the school has and take a vote. The school might not have state-of-the-art facilities, but as we walked through those rooms, we could sense that what gels that community is the strong sense of identity it has. In that context, money becomes secondary.

Students from Escola Politeia

And these are only two examples of grassroots movements that are leaving a dent because their love for learning defies the educational status quo many schools find themselves in; in these blooming ecosystems, educators have the autonomy to iterate outside the boundaries of traditional education and that's true innovation.

These homegrown movements are distinct from one another; they all have their own dynamic and vibrant culture which reflects the community they’re in. What they do share is an unrelenting commitment to providing a learning experience that’s relevant, highly collaborative and transdisciplinary.  They’re indeed a reminder for all of us that we can indeed reimagine education.

Life according to Werner and Santi

Werner Herzog’s a peculiar guy. He has eaten his own shoe after losing a bet, he has jumped in a cactus field for the sole entertainment of his crew and cast, and has even gone as far as threatening to shoot the life out of the acting prima donna, Klaus Kinski on the set of Aguirre the Wrath of God.

It’s clear that nothing Werner says or does should surprise you too much. But even so, his view on happiness comes right out of leftfield:

““I barked at a Hare Krishna disciple one time at the Miami airport because he insisted I take the book he was offering. “Aren’t you interested in happiness,” he asked. “No!”” (Werner Herzog- a guide for the perplexed)

Is this just a rant of a cranky old man? We couldn't be more mistaken to think so. The reason that Werner doesn’t seek happiness is that he knows too well.  He can see right through the empty charm of such promises.

Santiago Gavidia has only lived a fifth of Werner's life. Santi is still a high schooler. He might not know all the ins and outs of life, but he certainly has profound things to say about our quest for happiness:

"People seem to be scared of sadness (at least I sort of  am), like we are supposed to be happy all the time, and in this eternal pursuit of happiness we forget that contrast is key. Sad moments eventually lead to happy times as so on. I guess if you're doing what you love most with the people that you love, you'll find your place in this world." (Santi's blog)

Santi is up to something here. If happiness is not a constant and it intertwines with sadness, then what is it that we should really aspire for in life? Finding purpose is key.

We live in a world often defined by vanity metrics. We look up to those metrics because of our unrelenting need of instant gratification that we equate to happiness. We chase the elusive ideal of happiness instead of asking ourselves if we’re serving our purpose. While fulfillment is a state of mind, happiness is a fleeting moment, just like serenity, self-doubt and fear.

Football is indeed one of the greatest metaphor of life, so here it goes: if we spend our lives pursuing happiness, we’d be just as foolish as the football supporter who’s expecting to see nothing else but goals scored by his favourite team  in a single game. The fans go to the stadium knowing that those ninety minutes will encompass an assortment of emotions, and that’s exactly what makes them love the game. The goal is merely a climax resulting from the combination of all those emotions. And often times-especially if you're an Inter supporter- that goal might not even come. But if you remove all those emotions you’d be killing the very game.

And this is why Werner dismissed that Hare Krishna monk. Werner found fulfillment in doing what he loves most: filmaking. But this was no bed of roses and he knew it too well. When he was filming Aguirre the Wrath of God in Peru, he often had to resort to humbling measures to make ends meet such as trading personal belongings for sacks of rice. He also had to fend off the naysayers, those who questioned his rather unorthodox vision and stand his ground.  When he came up with the idea of dragging a ship over a mountain in the thick Peruvian jungle on the set of Fitzcarraldo, people thought he had lost his mind. He was faced with many setbacks while creating that masterpiece, yet he persevered. Werner's life has been cast with struggle, but he has endured it all, because he knew that the road to fulfillment is an uphill battle.

If we spend our life chasing unrealistic goals we'll become frustrated and dissatisfied. With purpose comes perspective and that’s when those mundane emotions such as happiness, sadness and uncertainty take a whole new meaning. 

To quench a thirst

I ended my last blog post with a quote from Werner Herzog's A Guide for the Perplexed. And now looking back at it, I feel that my conclusion sounds cliched; after all, it's not the first time that we have read that education along with a solid health system can be the silver bullet to end all the suffering in the world. But we need to delve deeper

In A Guide to the Perplexed, Herzog uses filmmaking as a pretext, to share candid anecdotes about his life and talk about how important it is to remain through to oneself. Herzog refers to civilization "as a thin layer of ice resting upon a deep ocean of darkness and chaos" and that's where I had made the connection with education. Indeed, education can thicken that ice, but let's make no mistake: education ain't schooling.  Herzog, a proud self-taught filmmaker, had this to say about education, making a clear distinction between the 2:

"Everything we're forced to learn at school we quickly forget, but the things we set out to learn ourselves- to quench a thirst- are never forgotten, and inevitably become an important part of our existence." 

Last week, I trekked the W circuit on the Chilean side of Patagonia. There isn't a corner in that vast piece of wilderness that isn't breathtaking. Yet, looking back at the experience, it wasn't easy at all; trekking uphill carrying a 13-kilo backpack was actually quite humbling for a city boy like me so used to living in comfort. But I didn't flinch, I carried on. No matter how beat my body was, something deep down kept me going.

I wasn't always this keen on trekking.  I remember how back when I lived in Germany, my ex girlfriend had invited me to spend Christmas vacation hiking with her family in Rügen, an island north of Berlin. Unfortunately for her, all I did was whinge. At the time, I simply couldn't understand how people got a kick from walking so much and resented the whole experience.

Photo by Sean Marie Sweeney

So last week, while I trekked with my buddy Sweeners,  I recalled that experience and regretted having been so closed minded. I asked myself, what had changed over the course of the years? When did that click happen?

The fact is that back then, I didn't understand the purpose behind hiking, and quite frankly I felt it had been imposed on me. In such conditions, you could have taken me to paradise, but I would have resisted it with all my might. It took time for me to appreciate the beauty of being out in the wilderness, but that transition happened slowly and organically.

As a student I wasn't any different; I was a Maltese George Costanza, committed to my "work avoidance programme" and it seems I'm not the only one. Students might not be as eloquent as Werner Herzog in explaining to their teachers and parents why the system doesn't work for them. In fact, many of them will make it just fine. Some will even thrive through schooling. Yet we must ask ourselves, is this the best we can do?

In the last years, we've used some buzz words like differentiation, inquiry and student empowerment, and it has allowed us to enhance learning, but not to redefine it. These are all taught in a contrived setup and students see it from miles away.  I would give students KWL charts for them to fill out, yet in the end those ideas and questions would not really matter because I would have already designed that unit.

Real inquiry can only happen if we let students design their own learning experience. Inquiry is all about being able to figure out what it is that you don't know that you'll need to know in order to achieve an objective that you've set. This is darn hard, so we teachers do it for the kids;  we assume that students are too young to do it, but in doing so, we are stifling the very essence of higher-level learning and providing "the one size fits all" experience instead, assuming that everybody is at the same stage in the curriculum.

If, as from a tender age, we can get students in the mindset to have a thirst for knowledge, and show them how pursue it by planning their own learning experiences, we 'd be allowing them to become metacognitive learning machines.  In this new context, differentiation and student empowerment would take a whole new meaning because they'd be falling into place.

If you think this is too far-fetched you might want to check out Free to Learn by Peter Gray. There are schools out there such as Sudbury Valley which have been using this model for ages. Students there are in the driver's seat. Driving is certainly harder than simply tagging along in the passenger's seat, but you are more likely to remember and most importantly understand the route.

As for my Innovation Academy cohort, this semester the students will be getting in groups to plan their class projects. This is totally new and daunting for me, but I know it's going to benefit their growth. They will be the ones identifying what relevant skills and concepts need to be learned explicitly. I'll be there to support them and so will their parents; the students will be pitching the projects to them and getting their expert feedback. We refer to schools as learning communities; it's time we start putting it into practice by having parents play a more central role in their children's learning.

I chose this profession because of my deep belief that the world doesn't necessarily have to be resting on thin ice. A better world is one where individuals grow up understanding who they are and how they can bring value to the world. But for this to happen they must first learn how to identify what they thirst for and know how to quench it.

Donetsk Airport

In the last weeks, we've all seen on TV the sheer destruction taking place in war-torn Eastern Ukraine. Probably the image that stuck with me the most was that of CNN correspondent Nick Paton Walsh reporting from Donetsk airport, the once state of the art complex reduced to rubble in a matter of weeks. 

Donetsk Airport Before and After

This image is an admonishment for all of us: peace is not a given, peace is a privilege, and shame on us if we underestimate such basic fact. We always think of stability, especially in the west as a status quo, but this tragedy speaks volumes about our own fragility. Who would have ever imagined that events would escalate so dramatically in Ukraine, the very country which only 2 and a half years ago hosted the the Euro 2012? Did the architects who had so meticulously revamped that airport so that it could welcome the thousands of supporters flocking to Donetsk ever fathom that in a matter of months that building would come to symbolize this human tragedy?

And now, after a shaky truce has been signed by the parts and with a death toll that many believe may be higher than 5000, I cannot but think of Werner Herzog's ominous words: 

"Civilization is like a thin layer of ice upon a deep ocean of chaos and darkness" 

The ice is thin indeed, but that's exactly why education matters. Make it purposeful so that it can help thicken that ice a little.  

Trust me be

Many don’t understand what’s the big deal with a bunch of guys kicking a leather ball. Well, I don't either if we're referring to American football. However, when it comes to football--I won't call it soccer round here or I'll get lynched by the masses-- then you have my full attention. Football is a religion in the Mediterranean. Obsessions are irrational, and football fans aren't immune to it. They go through emotional rollercoasters that often border the farcical and the grotesque. My obsession goes by the name of Internazionale also known as Pazza Inter (That's also the name of the team’s main anthem). And by the way, just in case you’re wondering: Inter’s not crazy in the cool way; Inter’s the let’s shoot ourselves in the foot kind of crazy. I’ve seen champions of the calibre of Bobo Vieri and Ronaldo throw the towel inexplicably when they were only 45 minutes away from winning a much awaited and agonized championship. That’s only one of the countless memorable debacles by my beloved team. Football fans are resilient, but Inter fans are in a league of their own. Inter fans are masochists.   

My buddies Daniel and Cost are masochists too. We’re comrades who have had to endure a lot. So it would only make sense that we’d fly all the way to Milan to experience it all live. And being the devoted fans we are, it also made sense to buy tickets with the Ultras in the Curva Nord, the most hardcore and masochist group of them all.

As soon as we entered the Curva, we were hyped. I was there supporting my team with my people. When we watch the games on TV, my buddies and I bring the house down, and now that we were at the Meazza, the home of Inter, I knew we could unleash it all. 

But as soon as the game started, the head Ultras came facing the crowd and demanded we all sing their chants and clap all together. Fair enough. But they did this through intimidation and pinpointed those who weren’t clapping and cheering enough. My friend Cost was one of those who got reprimanded by one of the middlemen. It wasn’t pretty. What a great way to spoil the fun.

What at first felt like the genuine need to cheer the team I’m so passionate about, soon became a constraint. I found myself cheering because I didn’t want to get into trouble with those guys, and suddenly I felt deprived of what had been until then the innate urge to shout for my boys. 

Corey says that transitions are crucial, so here’s my segway: taken at face value, football chanting and education have nothing to do with each other, especially since in a school community I find myself surrounded by great human beings.  Yet, that's the power of the metaphor.  A smart man once said that all you need to do to suppress the appetite of voracious eaters is to force-feed them. That’s what had happened to us at the Meazza; that’s what I also felt was happening to my kids back when I taught them Humanities. No matter how interesting the topic was, for many of my students the grades took precedence over everything else, stripping them from their drive to learn. I was their teacher and in many ways, I felt culpable because grades weren’t simply one of the many diagnostics we use to give students feedback; grades had become the spoon being shoved in kids’ throats. So rather than being intrinsic, motivation was for the most part extrinsic, hampering deeper learning.

I’m currently reading Free to Learn by Peter Gray. This book raises some important questions about education: should we, the adults, be in the driver’s seat of our children’s learning because of the general belief that they’re too young to make their own calls? Should education equate to obedience training? Are those students who are achieving straight A’s truly gaining deeper mastery or is their learning shallow? I personally, don’t have all the answers. The IA is a great program but it’s not flawless; in fact, I still haven’t encountered a model that is. But this much I know: iteration is key. I’m lucky enough to be at a school, that trusts me be, giving me the autonomy to explore ways of educating rather than schooling. Education should be all about facilitating a meaningful learning experience for our children, organic and tailored to each individual sitting in front of us. And in this sense, the growth shown by the kids in the IA is very encouraging. In the IA grades aren't what drive student learning. 

The biggest disservice we can do to our children is to simply embrace the status quo just because things have always been this way. We owe it to them to keep on questioning the system, and ultimately questioning our own practice.  In fact, I only question the things I love most, and education is up there in my list.

I could throw at you all sorts of literature that delves more into motivation. I'll rather end with this: if I'm watching an Inter game, trust me, I'm gonna scream my lungs out even if the team ends up losing to Torino in the 94th minute (Sunday's happy ending). You don't need to intimidate me. Instead be there for me and help me find my way. Don't assume I'm like everyone else, because I'm not. Be there for me by genuinely caring about my self-discovery.

Harmony Part 2: A Beautiful Juxtaposition

Today, I woke up with an urge to visit a place from my childhood. The playground in Mellieha Bay is secluded behind the parish church and isn't that easy to find. I suppose one can see it overlooking the islands of Gozo and Comino driving up from the coast road, but the place doesn't stand out straight away. As I stood in front of the church, I didn’t quite know if I’d still find it there, but some places outlast the decades and this is one of them. Most of the equipment in the playground has been replaced-- there’s even a seesaw for disabled children now--but to my surprise, the old rocking horse is still there. The paint's wearing off but the children are still enthralled by its imposing structure. Seen through my toddler eyes, it seemed huge and indestructible. Seeing it now again after so many years, I reckon that my perception wasn’t that warped after all.   

It’s as if time pauses in this playground; one can hear the cars drive by on the coast road beneath, but the noise is quickly muffled by the peace up here. My parents used to bring me here on Sunday afternoons, and I’d spend ages immersed in my play. The place is only 20 Kilometers away from my hometown, yet it would take us at least 2 hours to get here, courtesy of the Maltese Public Transport Authority. But it didn't matter: as a kid I loved it because it felt like a legit traveling experience and made me appreciate this place even more.

Fast forward to 2015. As soon as I got here, I started to take pictures but didn’t really know what I was looking for. Was I simply going down memory lane? I knew I’d be writing a post about this place, but had no idea on what exactly. Most importantly, I kept asking myself what was it about this place that I still treasure so much. It’s in moments like these, that I realize how complex writing is: we become consumed by a feeling, an emotion, but how can we capture it in a word, a sentence or paragraph, especially when the memories date back to my early childhood? 

But then, suddenly, it all fell into place. Next to do playground there’s a tiny cemetery, and the two are separated by an old wall. Strangely enough the cemetery doesn’t feel eerie at all; instead it whispers cozy. I’m not a huge fan of burial myself, but I can understand why people bury their loved ones here. It's serene.

On the left hand side one can see the wall covered in plaques. 

And as I stood from a distance, I understood what made this place so special to me. From this vantage point, I could see the toddlers play only a few metres away from where the dead ones are resting. The same ones that not so long ago played there too. 

We usually don't associate playgrounds with cemeteries; we're either faced with the lightness of childhood or the heaviness of death. I came here thinking that what I missed was my childhood playground. It turns out that what I loved about this place is the beautiful juxtaposition between life and death. The 2 coexist peacefully here and strike that perfect balance. Life and death. This has been a leit motif in my recent posts but there again the more I think about these 2 combined, the more it all makes sense.  It’s the new that replaces the old. The cycle of life.  

I’ve now moved to the Seaview Snack Bar facing the playground. As I sip my cappuccino and type away, I take a glance at the lucky "heirs" who flutter around mindlessly. Who knows, maybe I'll bring an heir of my own here someday.  

Adulthood

This time last year, I read Joseph Conrad's Shadowline.  Conrad uses the metaphor of the captain who's out at sea facing the elements to capture the protagonist's transition from early youth to adulthood. In many ways, this novella was quite foreboding of the year that was to come.

2014 wasn't a very jolly year; it threw at me all kinds of curved balls in both my professional and personal life. I won't go into the details but trust me, it kicked me in the ass.

In the past, I would have repudiated this annus horribilis; I would have felt vindicated by the mere fact that 2014 was coming to a close and welcomed the new year with arms wide open. But then we grow up.

The fact is that at this time of my life, I find myself crossing that metaphorical shadowline.  This time is cast with treacherous storms that are still waiting to happen. This is adulthood. I've just stepped past that invisible line so I'm still figuring it all out. However, what I do know is that when I was confronted with what felt insurmountable, I was able to withstand it and grow. And it still wasn't anywhere close to the trials that people I know had to endure this year. This is only the beginning of this new period and I'm fully aware of it.

Wanderer above the sea of fog by Caspar David Friedrich

But most importantly, I know that all these hardships give me a deeper appreciation for life, because they're helping me get to know myself better. Pain can be excruciating but only by confronting it are we able to connect with our deeper, more spiritual self.

Yesterday, I spent New Year's Eve with my loved ones, but I ended up going home early because I wasn't feeling so well. Annus horribilis I'd be tempted to say. But as I laid in my bed all bundled up, listening to the ships' horns welcoming the new year from afar, I couldn't but feel grateful for 2014. It has been a tough teacher indeed but this is only the first of the many challenging years that lie ahead. 2014 has prepared the ground. Bring it on 2015.