More Than a Score (22 page)

The International [High School]:

Arise Ye Over-tested Teachers

On May 1, 2014, in a small high school in Brooklyn, twenty-seven teachers and five support staff refused to administer the New York State English Language Arts exam. It was the first time that New York City high school teachers had organized a boycott of a state standardized test. So many factors came together to make the boycott possible that, looking back, it feels like an organizer's dream. But it wasn't a dream or a miracle. It was the result of patient organizing; the anger, frustration, and resentment built up over years of then New York City mayor Bloomberg's testing regime; and a test that just didn't make an ounce of sense for our students. These pieces came together and the result was an urgent desire to act. Teachers at the International High School at Prospect Heights had bemoaned the havoc wreaked by standardized tests on their students' confidence and learning and their classrooms for years, but this test pushed them over the edge.

Our opt-out story really begins in October 2013. Bloomberg had one foot out the door, and his department of education would soon be replaced. A progressive Democrat, Bill de Blasio, was poised to win the mayoral race and all signs pointed to the appointment of a chancellor of education who actually liked teachers and students. You could feel the entire school system—teachers, students, and parents—ready to breathe a sigh of relief.

Our school is the kind of school where people come to stay. It's a small school that most of us consider a second home, a tight-knit family. Our student community is made up of predominantly English language learners, many of whom have missed several years of school (often due to trauma) prior to arriving in New York City. Students feel at home in our hallways. Often, the school is one of the first places they feel comfortable and at ease in a new country. Both the students and the school staff work collaboratively to do classwork and make school decisions. Teachers are passionate about their students' rights as learners and as citizens, and put valuable time into building relationships with students and their families.

After negotiations between the city and the teachers union over a new teacher evaluation system failed in 2013, the state imposed an evaluation system for teachers based on test scores and observations. The evaluation system mandates that 40 percent of teachers' ratings be determined by test scores. The other 60 percent is determined by observations based on a rubric of teaching and learning. With the birth of a new evaluation system came the creation of new exams—the misnamed Measures of Student Learning, or MOSLs. The sole purpose of these tests is to evaluate the teachers. The tests are not connected to what we are teaching. For students, the tests don't count for anything.

That fall, schools around the city worked to understand and implement the new teacher evaluation system. In practice, at our school, the collaborative staff portfolio process was overrun by the need to comply with the new regulations. A team of teachers and administrators was selected to sift through a menu of tests that could be used. The menu provided the illusion of choice—in reality, the “options” were between one bad test and another bad test. Many teachers would be evaluated based on the scores of students they had never taught; others, on subjects they didn't teach. As a staff we considered our options and ultimately decided that it was most important to stand united against what we all agreed was a punitive, divisive, and ineffective evaluation system. We chose the “solidarity” option, which meant everyone would be evaluated on the same exams whenever possible.

In early October, ninth and tenth graders took the ELA (English Language Arts) performance-based assessment exam. This initial assessment was used to provide a baseline for our students and to place them in a peer group so that the city could evaluate the “growth” of their English teachers. On paper this seemed harmless, but in practice it was demoralizing to both the test takers and test givers. The test was more than four pages of rigorous nonfiction reading in twelve-point font and an essay prompt. The majority of the students were beginner-level English speakers and readers, and many were preliterate in their native languages. The test was simply beyond the reading level and comprehension of our students. The idea that a test so wildly inappropriate could provide any meaningful information about our students was just absurd. And to think that we would then be scored on their performance on that test was downright appalling.

Like any students, our kids wanted to do well on the test. We did our best to explain to them that the test didn't count and would not hurt their grades, but they wanted to succeed and feel validated. Instead they were devastated. Humiliation ran deep on both sides. Students looked at teachers with puzzled faces that seemed to say, “Why would you ask me to do something you clearly know I can't?” One of the ninth graders was a tiny, quiet student brand new to Brooklyn and the United States. She didn't speak a word of English, and was intensely dedicated to school and her work. She sat staring at the test. She asked one of us for help over and over in Spanish. She just looked helpless and sad.
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After trying to make sense of the test, and realizing they couldn't, many students put their heads down. Some cried. The majority of our students, even those who could read and write above a sixth-grade reading level, scored a zero on the test. When talking to one of our tenth graders about how she felt about the test, she said, “I felt really bad after. I knew I didn't do well.” This is a young person who has managed to master English in less than two years, reads constantly in her spare time, and helps other students selflessly. She simply doesn't deserve to feel that way.

For many it was the first experience of testing in which they would be told that they are not good students; that they are not smart enough; that they do not have what it takes to succeed in school. Testing is a part of high school life for most public high school students in New York City. And our students, new to English, new to the testing culture, quickly learn the lessons that high-stakes tests teach: you are not the right kind of smart, you cannot do well, you will not succeed. For too many students, it is a test that keeps them from graduation year after year—not their ability to think critically, to analyze a text, or do a valid science experiment, just a test. The difference with this ELA performance exam was that it meant nothing for students—it was not a gatekeeper, not for credit or promotion, but only to measure their teachers. After it was over, several teachers vowed never to put their students through it again.

A few months later, stories circulated of parents around the city opting their students out of high-stakes tests. “Opting out” gained prominence even in the mainstream media, with stories like that of Castle Bridge in Washington Heights making the news (see chapter 20). The numbers for opt-outs around New York State were growing as well. At our school, the buzz didn't fall on deaf ears. The school was already deeply engaged in a conversation about how to get our students out from under the burden of the tests.

We had been on the waiting list to become a New York Performance Standards Consortium school for years to no avail. But this year, the talk around the city was that more schools would be let in, and most likely we would be one of them. The consortium in New York City is a group of schools that have state exemption from the Regents exams—these exams are the blood and guts of most schools' curricula, as students must pass them to graduate high school. For our students, recently arrived emergent bilinguals, the Regents exams are the major roadblock between students and graduation. Moreover, the Regents exams do not adequately measure our students' understanding of content or their ability to think critically and creatively. As a school, we have been thinking deeply about the alternative assessments and the creativity and rigor our curricula would embody once freed from these oppressive exams.

The fall then was shaped by two factors: 1) a punitive and absurd teacher evaluation system that had pushed people over the edge; and 2) what the consortium represented—the prospect of creating our own assessments based on the curriculum we taught and that truly prepared students to be college ready and provided them with practical life skills. Together, these factors created the fodder for resistance—we knew what we were against, and we knew what we wanted. Water-cooler chats of opting out became a common occurrence. As more teachers became agitated, the possibility of resisting a test became more and more a reality. An ad hoc group of educators began having more serious conversations and hosting organizing meetings among the whole staff.

Teachers were not the only ones talking about the opt-out movement. Parents discussed testing requirements for their students in a PTA meeting. Our administration made sure they understood what each test meant for their children and what their rights were as parents. Students too joined in the discussion. The student government set up a table during parent-teacher conferences to give parents information about the tests their children take throughout high school, the stakes attached to those exams, and their rights. Parents began submitting opt-out letters for the ELA assessment exam. During parent-teacher conferences, teachers had the opportunity to talk to parents about their thoughts on the tests. One parent put it very clearly: “Why should my student spend class time on a test that doesn't matter for her?” Another parent at first took the position that it wasn't really that big a deal. Then as she talked, she stopped and said, “Unless it's a bad experience for the students. I don't want my child being put through that test if it will make him feel bad—he already feels insecure about speaking English.” Our administrators, along with Chancellor Carmen Fariña, supported all parents' right to opt out. A week before the exam more than 50 percent of parents had opted their children out of the performance assessment.

As the test date grew closer, and more opt-out letters came in, teachers began to think about what we could do as educators to stand up against this test. A handful of teachers had already stated their intention to refuse to give it, and the idea was catching on. While we stood firmly against the test, we were also nervous and afraid. After all, refusing to give a test is an act of insubordination that could carry significant consequences. The opt-out movement was growing around us, and it certainly gave us strength, but the movement was still in its beginning stages. We felt very much like we would be out on a limb and on our own.

We also understood that as a school, we were in a better position than most to take action. The turnover rate in most New York City public schools is high, but our school has a staff of almost all veteran teachers and only three teachers who did not yet have tenure. That meant we were uniquely positioned to speak up, as tenure provides the necessary protection we would need from undue punishment or unfair treatment. Our administration is wonderfully supportive of teachers, truly trusting that we know what is best for our students, which is sadly rare. And what's more, they stand firmly against the high-stakes testing reforms that are dismantling public education. Most teachers do not enjoy these circumstances. Because of that, we felt that we were in a better position than most to bring attention to what was happening to English language learners all over the city. It was our time to stand up for what we knew as educators was right for both our profession and our students.

Another factor worth mentioning is that the staff had experienced collectively standing up for what they believe. The year before, the school had created a scholarship fund for undocumented students. The scholarship fund provides money to students who can't access state and federal financial aid due to their immigration status, and, as a result, often can't go to college. In addition to the personal relationships that teachers have at the school, there is also a foundation of politics and organizing.