Abolitionist Teaching in an Urban District: A Literacy Coup

Abstract

This article presents a preliminary study of an urban school district, and its use of a scripted middle-school language arts and literacy curriculum. The majority of students served by this district are African American. By interviewing a small sample of four teachers and one literacy coach, gathering preliminary data, and observing students within language arts classrooms, we analyze the impact of the district’s move to non-skill-based Reading and Writing Workshop Models curricula. This curriculum is neither aligned with the Common Core Standards, nor does it allow for teacher autonomy based upon student need. District mandates direct teachers to “follow the script” of a curriculum that was not intended to have a script—in effect, the students have less guidance than the teachers within this scenario. In this article, we highlight specific literacy practices, policies that disempower teachers and students, and strategies for abolitionist resistance within urban schools.

Keywords

abolitionist teaching culturally responsive teaching Reading and Writing Workshop Models

Background

In this article, we raise questions about the impact of a district-imposed literacy curriculum on all middle-school students attending a Midwestern urban school district and how it impacts their students and teachers. This curriculum is best described as non-skill-based Reading and Writing Workshop Models, one that promotes independent reading and writing for middle-school students without explicit instruction in practical literacy skills. This curricular choice is inherently problematic because it presupposes that students are coming to school already proficient in foundational literacy skills (e.g., reading and writing at grade level and well-established independent reading behaviors), and this is not the case; this curricular choice is particularly problematic because of the way the district is compelling teachers to implement the curriculum, which means to use it as a “script” and not to deviate from it.

The building literacy coach, tasked with analyzing the curriculum to ensure that each grade-level curriculum meets all required Common Core standards, claims, “This is missing the mark.” Almost every unit covers theme and character but disregards the following: figurative and connotative meanings, craft and structure, comparing and contrasting between and among texts, and studying vocabulary (all of which are required by the Common Core). This curriculum has been in place for 6 years. Teachers were trained to use the curriculum as a script to be followed—without exception. What we have observed is a lack of direct instruction on skill-based literacy strategies. The implications for students is that many come to middle school with no understanding of parts of speech, sentence structure, grammar, or basic writing conventions. The curriculum also has neither summative assessments nor unit assessments for any of the grade levels.

This curriculum, which shall remain specifically unnamed, is philosophically opposed to that recommended by Muhammad (2019), which she deems Historically Responsive Literacy, based on her study of literacy development in 19th-century Black literacy societies. Muhammad’s framework is essential for Students of Color who have been historically marginalized, and curricularly underserved (Martin & Beese, 2020) in schools, but is also effective for all students. Historically, racism in the United States ensured and solidified an intractable opportunity gap for Black and Brown students, from the prohibition of slaves being educated, the segregation of Black students into underfunded schools, the pushout of Black teachers from the field of education (Martin & Brooks, 2020), and, ultimately, to a curriculum that neither values nor speaks for or to Black and Brown students.

As Kendi (2016) reminds us, the “. . . ‘inequality of the white and black races’ was ‘stamped from the beginning’” (p. 209). Muhammad’s framework requires identity development, skill development, intellectual development, and criticality (e.g., understanding power, equity, and anti-oppression through text), most of which are absent from non-skill-based Reading and Writing Workshop Models.

The question remains, Why was this particular language arts/literacy curriculum chosen for this urban district, where four of the five middle schools are considered to be “underperforming?” One district-level literacy coach had the power to choose this curriculum, and train all of the building literacy coaches and teachers in the district, but no rationale, other than the intention to improve district test scores, was provided to justify the choice of this curriculum. This study is comprised of interviews with four teachers, an additional building literacy coach, and our observations of a variety of middle-school classrooms throughout the district middle schools. Again, this is a preliminary study, and data are not yet available on the national effectiveness of the curriculum we problematize in this article. We desire to communicate the concerns of teachers on how this curriculum is disadvantaging their students, many of whom were already reading and writing below grade level when they entered middle school.

Introduction

I do not think White teachers enter the profession wanting to harm children of color, but they will

hurt a child whose culture is viewed as an afterthought.

—Bettina Love

As the epigraph indicates, abolitionist and culturally responsive educational practices are key in inspiring students to feel safe enough to learn, in any school or classroom. According to Love,

Abolitionist teaching looks different in every school. It’s about action. It comes from a critical race lens and applies methods like protest, boycotting, and calling out other teachers who are racist, homophobic, or Islamophobic. It’s also about Black joy, and always putting love at the center of what we’re doing. (Love, 2019c, December, para. 5)

An abolitionist and culturally responsive teacher should bring their students’ home knowledge(s) into the classroom and make them an integral part of the curriculum. Scripted curricula prohibits any deviations, even to meet the needs of the students, because they are actually harmful to students. In this article, we highlight specific literacy practices and strategies for abolitionist resistance within urban classrooms, and, by extension, all classrooms, as we talk back to policies that disempower teachers and thereby the students they serve.

A particular policy that disempowers teachers by eliminating their autonomy is mandated scripted curricula—curricula without the possibility of deviation to meet the desires, interests, and needs of students in a particular classroom (Muhammad, 2019). According to Tatum (2007), “The pressure to meet adequate yearly progress (AYP) has contributed to overlooking young people (OYP)” (p. 83). Tatum clearly spells out the danger in focusing on student test scores while ignoring issues of equity. When the focus becomes about teaching skills and strategies to raise reading scores, students become curricularly underserved (Martin & Beese, 2020). Rather than raising scores, our focus should be on raising human beings who are secure in their identities and are prepared to interact within their communities and the world (Love, 2019a). We argue that scripted curricula, overutilized in urban schools (Schmoker, 2019), harms students by perpetuating low expectations and maintaining the hegemonic status quo. We also acknowledge that there are abolitionist teachers working under scripted mandates who are doing their best to resist damaging curricular representations and content.

In this preliminary study, we investigated the adoption of a district’s Reading and Writing Workshop Models, which were used in a scripted manner, and their impact on students and teachers, in what Milner (2012) deems as an Urban Characteristic district, meaning that this district is “. . . starting to experience some of the challenges that are sometimes associated with urban school contexts in larger areas. . .” (p. 559). We do this by interviewing four middle-school teachers, a building literacy coach, and directly observing middle-school language arts classes. In this particular district, located in a suburban Midwestern city—one of the most segregated in the United States—racial demographics are changing, and district leaders are having a difficult time retaining teachers. Stereotypes about “those students” and “those schools” abound.

Decades of research on urban education demonstrates the need for urban teachers to involve themselves in their students’ worlds (Delpit, 2009), reject deficit notions of their students (Emdin, 2016), build and sustain relationships with their students and communities (Milner, 2018), develop a critical consciousness (Ladson-Billings, 2009), and remain authentic (Milner, 2018). The policymakers in the district we studied are effectively undercutting best practices in urban education via the requirement that teachers “stick to the script.” Scripted curriculums can dismiss the humanity of students. According to Schmoker (2019), “Highly scripted lessons were patently misconceived—the content and assessments were misaligned with the unfocused, haphazardly assembled array of (so-called) ‘learning objectives.’ In other words, the lessons lacked the most obvious elements of good teaching” (p. 1). Not only do scripted lessons fail to draw upon the knowledge and creativity of the teacher, but scripts also fail to address the needs, desires, hopes, and interests of students. This is a problem for all of our students but is especially problematic for Students of Color.

Historically, our education system in the United States has failed to recognize the brilliance, creativity, and the mattering of Students of Color (Love, 2019a; 2019b). Curriculum that does not allow our students to matter—to be heard—fails everyone. According to Minor (2019), “When we are inflexible in our approach to school, kids and their families and communities are unheard. This is one of the great evils of modernity. Whole communities are rendered silent simply because we have refused to hear them” (p. 11). Moreover, students are keen to acts of subterfuge. In essence, scripted curricula require teachers to lie to their students about experiences they have had, their aspirations, and about who they are. For example, sometimes scripts are very specific and ask a teacher to claim having a family member that they do not (e.g., “When my brother and I went camping. . .), or having had an experience that they did not actually have (e.g., “One day while on a hike. . .”), to adhere to the narrative in a given script. The Reading and Writing Workshop Models ask teachers to do just this, and when teachers are required to use the model as a script, the result is disingenuity.

In essence, educators may be encouraged to be disingenuous within a scripted curriculum framework, and this interferes with relationship-building—effectively destroying the sense of community in a classroom. In a variety of school settings (K-12–postsecondary), many nonhegemonic students feel “isolation and alienation”: that they have to leave certain aspects of their identities at the school door to be successful (Carter Andrews, 2012, p. 1). Milner (2018) argues that relationship-centered teaching is central to meeting students’ academic, social, and personal needs, particularly if they have been previously underserved in schools. Ultimately, scripts perpetuate “educational survival mode,” where students are merely surviving rather than thriving, that is, not being challenged, or inspired (Love, 2019a; Nieto, 2013).

Literature Review

Literacy, as defined by Freire (1970/2000), is the ability to read the world; in this sense, it pervades every aspect of schooling. Some students learn that what they know (and, it could be argued, who they are) is not valued; that their language is wrong, thus, failing at school and dropping out should come as no surprise. When school failure is the only way to preserve cultural and/or linguistic identities, for some students, the choice is simple—having to make this “choice” is most prevalent for Students of Color. According to Salazar (2013),

. . . students of color have been compelled for generations to divest themselves of their linguistic, cultural, and familial resources to succeed in U.S. public schools . . . When students of color experience academic difficulties, their struggles are often attributed to their culture, language, and home environment. (pp. 121–122)

Scripted curricula are disproportionately utilized in urban schools, where students are also often viewed from a deficit perspective, as entities in need of “fixing” (Love, 2019a). Needless to say, some of the attempts that we have made at equalizing literacy through consistent instruction of basic skills can be counterproductive. If equity is about (re)storing any semblance of equal-ness among students who struggle as readers, literacy instruction needs to be much more. Remedial programs in isolation tend to marginalize rather than equalize (Allington & Walmsley, 1995; Trelease, 2013).

Haberman (1991) blames the “pedagogy of poverty” for the inadequate academics available to students in urban schools. The pedagogy of poverty includes remedial instruction, worksheets, skills and drills, focusing on tests and focusing on student compliance. This pedagogy does not promote a lifetime love of learning and can, in fact, cause students to associate school and learning with negative experiences. Haberman explains that the pedagogy of poverty is based on fear and control. Good teaching, the anecdote for the pedagogy of poverty, includes relevant issues, focusing on human differences, big topics rather than minute details, real-life applications, reflection, and opportunities to revise and improve work.

Literature Review: Culturally Responsive Literacy Practices

As far as fostering lifetime literacy skills and interest, there is no better “program” than reading (Foster & Nosol, 2008; Krashen, 2004; Layne, 2009; Lesesne, 2003). Before requiring students to just read, however, they need opportunities to find books that are engaging. Students need to be exposed to a variety of books that include characters and situations that are familiar and relevant. Books written by diverse and “Own Voices” authors must be a part of classroom libraries (e.g., African American, Appalachian, Asian, Latinx, and Native Nation authors; Cart, 2011; Jacobs & Tunnell, 1996). All students need access to print, opportunities to read books they choose for themselves, opportunities to be read to, and rich literacy environments. Educators need to let students talk about, and respond to, what they read. Some of the best ways to promote books and literature are to talk about books, read-aloud from great books, and to develop creative ways to provide access and hook students into good books (Allington & Walmsley, 1995; Krashen, 2004; Layne, 2009, 2015; Lesesne, 2003; Trelease, 2013).

Jacobs and Tunnell (1996) suggest that when choosing multicultural books to avoid stereotypes, the culture still needs to be represented accurately and authentically. Rudine Sims Bishop (as cited in Jacobs and Tunnell, 1996, p. 181) discusses three categories of race representation in books: “neutral,” “generic,” and “specific.” Culturally neutral books have themes and plots that may pertain to any group but show children of different races and cultures. An example of this might be a novel where one friend is African American, and another is Japanese American, but these representations have no bearing on the story. These books, while not addressing cultural differences, at least make an effort to show diversity.

Culturally generic books represent a particular cultural group, or race, but not many details about the cultural group are provided. In other words, the characters, though representing a particular group, tend to show life for white Americans, rather than drawing attention to cultural details. These books are helpful in providing more texts that represent cultural groups that are not usually found on the bookshelves, but they may not be the best representation of a given culture.

Culturally specific books define characters, themes, and cultures using specific details. In providing more specific details, the authors and illustrators must stay faithful to accuracy and authenticity. These are the books that can, and should, be in classrooms and school libraries as much as possible. Some examples of contemporary authors who write high-quality, culturally specific books are Kwame Alexander, Margarita Engle, Nikki Grimes, Kekla Magoon, Cynthia Leitich Smith, Jason Reynolds, Nic Stone, Angie Thomas, Padma Venkatraman, and Jacqueline Woodson, just to name a few.

Literature, especially high-quality literature, is a very important component of literacy education that promotes equity. Beers and Probst (2017) and Rosenblatt (1938/1995) affirm the humanitarianism and self-actualization available in literature. Sharing common human experiences, or sharing experiences that would otherwise be unknown, are fundamental to mental and social well-being. Literature provides the vicarious opportunity to explore and experience the world from other perspectives. According to Beers and Probst (2017), “For kids to become the readers our ever-changing society needs—our democracy needs—the first thing they must do is become responsive readers” (p. 24). This means that not only do students need to read a variety of texts, but they also must be empowered with choice.

Reading instruction should be significant, relevant, and robust. Tatum (2007) uses the idea of textual lineages (books that have made an impact) to “score with reading” rather than meaningless passages that are intended to change reading scores. Some of the meaningful texts suggested by Tatum are The Handbook for Boys by Walter Dean Myers, and the poem “If” by Rudyard Kipling. The biographies of Richard Wright and Malcolm X, men who educated themselves through reading, can also be powerful books for building textual lineage (Krashen, 2004; Tatum, 2007; Tatum & Muhammad, 2012).

In an attempt to foster equity, we must constantly produce, promote, and provide high-quality literature that is relevant, meaningful, and accurately and authentically conveys different human cultures and common human experiences. However, literature is not enough to truly transform literacy education, or to eradicate inequities.

Literature Review: Urban Teachers/Asset Mind-Sets

Foster and Nosol (2008) and Milner (2018) recommend that teachers in urban settings break through stereotypes by getting to know each student individually, allowing “real talk,” and having high expectations for all students. Teachers are encouraged to allow informal vernacular. Foster and Nosol advise having explicit conversations with students about code-switching, and how students can find empowerment in choosing their language based on “setting, audience, and purpose” (p. 43). These types of challenging, engaging, enriched curriculums should be available at urban schools (Goldenberg, 2014).

Emdin (2016) advocates for students through reality pedagogy, which includes simple conversations between the teacher and their students, collaboration, and co-creation of learning experiences. The premise is that reality pedagogy will honor the voice of all students, create a safe environment with a student-constructed culture, and open communication among all members. Co-teaching, that is teaching with the students rather than at the students, is an intentional method to promote peer-to-peer relationships. In essence, these are relationships that go beyond peer tutoring and, instead, put students in the forefront, teaching each other and taking ownership for the classroom community.

Education as a means to freedom requires more than changes to curriculum (hooks, 1994). True transformation takes place when there are changes to pedagogy. It is not an easy change, as hooks explains, “ . . . more radical subject matter does not create a liberatory pedagogy, that a simple practice like including personal experience may be more constructively challenging than simply changing the curriculum” (hooks, 1994, p. 148). Radical pedagogy, abolitionist teaching, and engaged pedagogy require a fundamental belief that requires educators “. . . to teach in a manner that respects and cares for the souls of our students” (hooks, 1994, p. 13). It is progressive, emphasizing wholeness, self-actualization, and coming to voice. hooks reminds us that some students, privileged students, may come into the academic setting feeling whole, actualized, and already believing that their voices carry value. Radical abolitionist pedagogy, however, advocates for all students to find their voices, to bring their own narratives and experiences to the discussion (Love, 2019a; Tatum & Muhammad, 2012). Although it may be uncomfortable for the privileged to make way for the marginalized, and for the marginalized to realize and speak to their own value, the process is transformative.

As Freire (1970/2000) states, “Human beings are not built in silence” (p. 88). Freire tackles racism and oppression through the pedagogy of liberation. Liberation comes from dialogue, open communication based on mutual trust, honestly addressing the effects of power in a way that humanizes both the oppressed and the oppressor. Liberation is transformative, and liberated humans are new people. To liberate, to teach freedom, is a side-by-side struggle rather than one doing for another. Freire calls it “comradeship” and “co-intentional education” (p. 61 and p. 69, respectively). When pedagogies of poverty are put aside, and reflection and action become priorities, change happens. Humans who had once been considered objects, become Subjects, empowered with voice, “striving towards plentitude” (p. 101). Freire warns that there is no place for fear in this kind of revolutionary education. It is not false generosity or false charity but to risk an act of love. Both the mind and the heart belong in the process. Comradeship and co-intentional education are essential pedagogical imperatives for urban teachers who serve students and communities that are often viewed from deficit perspectives.

Theoretical Framework

The theoretical framework that informs this analysis is culturally responsive literacy practices built upon abolitionist teaching (Gay, 2000; Love, 2019c, December; Love, 2019a). According to Ladson-Billings (2009), cultural responsiveness involves academic achievement, sociopolitical consciousness, and cultural competence. Because cultural responsiveness seeks, through education, to identify, problematize, and ultimately transform institutions and society with the goal of ending all forms of oppression, culturally responsive teachers must not only possess the will to end oppression but the knowledge to inform their choices and actions. Howard (2013) defines “responsiveness” as involving “. . . our capacity as teachers to know and connect with the actual lived experience, personhood, and learning modalities of the students who are in our classroom” (p. 131). Thus, culturally responsive educators take the extra time necessary to research the experiences, individuality, and learning styles of all of their students to better reach/teach them by meeting them where they live. In sum, cultural responsiveness is a lens allowing for the interrogation of social, educational, and political issues by prioritizing participant voices (Chapman, 2007). In addition, as Milner (2013) argues, cultural responsiveness demands that teachers incorporate their students’ ethnic and racial backgrounds into learning.

Culturally responsive literacy practices seek to explain how language and literacy (re)produce subjectivities and subject positions. Students can also engage in such practices when they consider multiple meanings and constructions of identities and text. As Freire (1970/2000) inspires us, literacy can empower when people are encouraged to question the world around them with the goal of advancing social justice. Students can be encouraged to utilize critical consciousness in school, which may help them to navigate the heightened surveillance in their lives—disproportionately poised upon communities of color. If students are provided with the opportunities to practice literacy in their home languages as well as in standardized English, they will develop what Charity Hudley and Mallinson (2012) refer to as “linguistic versatility” (p. 87). As critical literacy implores, knowledge consumption is not enough. Students must have the opportunity to be critical of their own curriculum, to deconstruct and reconstruct it (Freire, 1970/2000), and, in fact, take an active part in developing it. Freire’s concept of a “humanizing pedagogy” allows for the expression of students (1970/2000). In essence, students become co-creators of knowledge through the problem-posing method of local struggles and the development of critical consciousness (Freire, 1970/2000).

Gay (2000) reminds us that students can feel ashamed, embarrassed, and angry when their ethnic or racial group is either portrayed only negatively through the curriculum, or not at all. We must better prepare educators to provide equitable educational opportunities to all students, and to challenge and confront the dominant social order, but this work is difficult, and hegemonic students tend to resist it (Milner, 2010). According to Leonardo (2016),

When confronted by challenges to their unearned advantages, Whites become possessively invested in identity politics based on race, and cling to the idea of meritocracy, even as they claim that Whites have deserved their disproportionate share of advantages in social life. (p. xiii)

To acknowledge various -isms exist is to acknowledge that those in the majority have benefited.

Hegemonic teacher training programs, or programs that do not provide culturally responsive instruction, serve to exacerbate this problem (Milner, 2013). Cheryl Matias, a critical teacher–educator, has done much work to analyze white student resistance to antiracist and social justice work. She has found that her mainly white and female students mask their racialized animus as paternalistic “caring.” That is, despite the fact that preservice teachers claim to care about all students, they often lack an authentic sense of caring for their underprivileged students because of racial and cultural bias (Matias, 2016).

If teachers ignore their students’ racial (and other) identities, they are effectively communicating to them that their life experiences, and who they are, do not matter. Rather, we need to center students’ racial, cultural, and identity experiences into the classroom for all of our students to connect to the curriculum (DiAngelo, 2018; Gay, 2000). These culturally responsive literacy practices are inherently abolitionist teaching practices, in the sense that they must be built on the “. . . radical imagination of collective memories of resistance, trauma, survival, love, joy, and cultural modes of expression and practices that push and expand the fundamental ideas of democracy” (Love, 2019a, p. 100). This is exactly why we critique any type of curricular “master script,” for this presupposes hierarchy (not abolitionist teaching); why we critique mandates that forbid teachers from deviating from said “master scripts,” for this presupposes a lack of teacher autonomy (not abolitionist teaching); and why we critique the inherent teacher-centered model of these “master scripts,” for this presupposes the lack of student consideration and involvement in the creation and implementation of the curriculum (also not abolitionist teaching).

Finally, according to Love (2019a), co-conspirators are crucial in doing abolitionist work; the concept of the co-conspirator goes beyond the idea of being an ally. Ally-ship involves doing work that is mutually beneficial; co-conspirators work for the benefit of groups of which they are not members—which involves, “question[ing] their privilege, decenter[ing] their voices, build[ing] meaningful relationships with folx working in the struggle, tak[ing] risks, or be[ing] in solidarity with others” (p. 117). Being a co-conspirator is decidedly more dangerous work.

Method: Research Procedures and Protocols

This article represents an abolitionist response to one urban district’s utilization of a scripted curriculum for middle-school language arts and literacy. Our response is based upon observational data, interview data, and publicly available information, to enter into conversation and critique over the related intersecting ideas and issues related to scripted curricula: the inherent lack of teacher autonomy, the absence of educational equity and abolitionist teaching practices, and the overall lack of cultural responsiveness.

Participants

We interviewed four teachers—three currently working, and one formerly working within the same large Midwestern urban district. This research initially began with interviewing one of the participants, Iris. This was followed up with snowball sampling that led to inviting additional participants into the study. All four were middle-school teachers, teaching the same scripted Reading and Writing Workshop Models language arts curriculum. All were white, three female, and one male. One white female, Iris, wrote a personal narrative, in addition to her interview, excerpts of which are included in this manuscript. Iris had been teaching for 14 years. Charlotte had been teaching for 12 years. Sally left the profession after 15+ years of teaching because she could not support the scripted curriculum. In fact, her trauma was so deep that she felt triggered by the interview questions. Craig was a special education teacher, in his first year of teaching the scripted language arts curriculum. We also interviewed a building middle-school literacy coach, Nina, a white woman with 15 years of teaching experience; she was currently in her first year as a literacy coach and held an EdD in literacy. Pseudonyms were used for all participants to protect their anonymity.

District Demographics (Midwestern Urban District)

The total student enrollment in this district is 14,862, with students identifying as 44.2% white, 39.8% Black, 3.2% Hispanic, 2.2% Asian, 0.1% American Indian, 0.1% Pacific Islander, and 10.4% two races. In total, 73% of the enrolled students qualify for free or reduced-price lunch, and 2.7% students are homeless. The school district has an attendance rate of 92%, and the chronic truancy rate is 20%.

The district has 1,023 employed teachers, 20% male and 80% female. The teacher racial demographics are as follows: 87.9% white, 8.3% Black, 0.9% Hispanic, 0.7% Asian, 0.3% American Indian, 0.0% Pacific Islander, and 1.8% two races.

Interview Questions

What strengths and weaknesses did you notice with the Reading and Writing Workshop Models? What is missing from the curriculum?

How does this curriculum impact students?

How does this curriculum impact you?

How does this curriculum impact other teachers?

If you could choose your own curriculum, what would it include?

How does this curriculum affect your sense of autonomy?

Data Analysis

We developed our questions to evoke relaxed, “inquisitive” dialogues, as opposed to “investigative” exchanges. The interview discussions were guided yet designed to encourage the free flow of information (Beauboeuf-Lafontant, 2005; Warren & Karner, 2005). All interviews were recorded. They were later transcribed and hand-coded for themes. To contain our own biases, we utilized strong reflexivity, which involves the recognition, examination, and understanding of how our positionalities, locations, and beliefs impact what we choose to study, why, how, and so on (Hesse-Biber, 2012, p. 17), and continual member checking, informant feedback, and content validation to ensure not only applicability but also authenticity (Carlson, 2010; Hesse-Biber, 2012). Practicing reflexivity involves acknowledging the ways in which “our own agendas” impact our research at all points, including analysis and interpretation (Hesse-Biber, 2012, p. 17). Trustworthiness, in the analysis of our data, was enacted and ensured via member checking. Participants had the opportunity to read and reflect upon our analysis of their experiences and to make necessary changes.

We then engaged in two phases of data analysis to generate themes and findings. In the first phase of our data analysis, we performed a more traditional version of social science coding. Guided by the work of Saldaña (2016), we used verbatim coding, which is particularly useful in educational research as it honors the voices of the participants with their actual words. To do this, we highlighted portions of interview data where words, phrases, and short examples struck us as relevant and germane to our inquiry. Saldaña (2016) suggests a second level of coding to enhance the findings. To this end, we then used pattern or descriptive coding in a second round of data analysis to begin the process of generating themes and offering interpretations. We coded all data by hand (as recommended by Lincoln & Guba, 1985). We did not create categories before the data analysis began; rather, we used an inductive approach to discover patterns as they emerged. Our emergent themes included rule-breaking, teacher trauma, fear of repercussions, and co-conspirator collaboration.

Findings

Our findings are separated by participant. We retell their narratives, as they were revealed to us in our interviews. We then analyze participant narratives in terms of how relevant they are to the themes of rule-breaking, teacher trauma, fear of repercussions, and co-conspirator collaboration.

Teacher Recollection 1: Iris

I broke some rules. I read Bronx Masquerade (Grimes, 2001) with one of my literature classes. I chose to read this book, specifically, because I wanted to encourage collaboration and a sense of community among the students in the group. I wasn’t supposed to read this book with my class. It was not part of the mandated and scripted curriculum.

The curriculum I am required to teach claims to follow the “Reading Workshop Model,” but it falls short. Granted, this mandated curriculum does include some fantastic middle-grade and Young Adult novels. However, the problem is that I am not allowed the autonomy to select the titles or to choose how, or when, a given title might be read. Moreover, teachers are not supposed to ever read a whole-class-novel, as students are expected to read a self-selected title independently.

Yes, picturing a class full of students reading self-selected titles independently is a lovely image, but it is not automatic. One does not become independent on command, or via a scripted regimen. My students did not yet identify as readers. They did not yet have the skills, stamina, or motivation to read independently. I employed book-talks; book “tastings” (this is when students “sample” a variety of books by looking at the covers, reading the back or inside flap of the book, or reading the first page to determine if they would like to spend more time with the book); conversations about genre; and several other tactics to highlight some of the books available. The students were still not reading. They made it obvious that they did not want to read and would not read. I was stuck. I agonized about this for weeks. I wanted to honor the curriculum—to follow the rules. Some of my literature classes were engaged in reading, but this one particular class was not having it. They were trying to tell me something, and I was trying to listen, but I was ultimately treading the tension of maintaining “fidelity” to a program that wasn’t working. As long as I kept folding back to the curriculum, the scripted curriculum, I was not meeting the needs of my students.

Analysis

What is evident in part 1 of Iris’s narrative retelling is that actual student needs are not being met within this curriculum. What is not clear is whether the scripted program actually dictates away from skill and interest-based teaching and learning, or if administrator mandates require no deviation from the script. In a later interview, we learned that the latter was the case: District mandates forbid teacher deviation from the script. Iris, an abolitionist teacher, represents a clear case of “breaking the rules” in the best interest of her students.

The irony is that the scripted curriculum is based on the “Reading Workshop Model” (Biggs-Tucker & Tucker, 2015). Reading workshop, when it is a true community of readers, which includes the students and the teacher, can be one of the most effective methods for reading instruction (Atwell, 1998; Fountas & Pinnell, 2001). Reading workshop is a block of time for guided reading, independent reading, and the discussion of books. When done well, reading workshop can be the forum in which students engage with authentic text, find authors and genres that they enjoy, and become lifelong readers. This can include Muhammad’s framework that requires identity development, skill development, intellectual development, and criticality and analysis of power, equity, and anti-oppression through text (2020). Ultimately, this happens in a reading community where the teacher models their love of reading, and the students get to share theirs as well (Layne, 2009; Lesesne, 2003).

In addition, Iris’s telling represents a struggle faced by many an urban teacher: unfunded mandates. The literacy curriculum selected by Iris’s district was one used in well-resourced districts—where the presupposition is that students are reading on or above grade level, and school and classroom libraries are well-stocked with a multitude of genres and titles. This was not the case in Iris’s district. Not only were her students not reading on or above grade level, most were reading well below grade level, particularly in the aforementioned class, and did not express an interest or desire to read. Independent reading was, thus, not an effective way to strengthen literacy skills in Iris’s classroom—at least not at this stage, but also, Iris did not have the resources to purchase the texts she needed to make this curriculum work. Another issue was that her students needed to gain some foundational literacy knowledge, such as reading comprehension strategies, word identification, and fluency; this curriculum did not allow time or space for this necessary learning. Iris also expressed frustration that the script disallowed her from reading aloud a whole-class-novel. How were her students expected to develop a love of reading if they did not see it modeled consistently? Iris needed to build a community of readers first before her students felt comfortable enough to read independently.

Finally, Iris was not afforded the autonomy to select and purchase the types of texts that might spark her students’ interest. She ultimately spent thousands of dollars of her own meager income over the years to supplement her own classroom library, but it was still not enough.

Teacher Recollection 2: Iris

One afternoon, I sat in the quiet of my classroom reading the scripts for the next day’s lessons and feeling the weight of the burden I was carrying. Honestly, I was feeling the weight of the burden my students carry. They were too smart for scripted emptiness. This group knows a lot about the world, about humanity, about truth, and that was not what I was offering. They wanted liberation and genuine interactions with text with a teacher who was actualized and confident. Unfortunately, I was busy slamming myself against the walls of a scripted curriculum that kept me bound.

As I sat at my desk, lamenting, Regal, the afternoon Custodian, entered my classroom, “Hey Iris. How you doin’ today?” To which I answered, “Meh.”

“What is ‘Meh’? I ain’t heard that one before.”

I responded by physically turning away from him, “It’s meh.”

Regal moved closer, “C’mon now, Iris. Talk to me.”

So, I did. “Meh means it’s too much to talk about.” I started crying, but since he asked, and I had already started answering, I let the words and the emotions flow.

“But, now you’re in it, so . . . I’m really struggling with this class. We’re not a community. The kids argue with each other and don’t know if they can trust me yet. I’m supposed to follow this curriculum and have them independently reading their own books, but I feel like I need to build a community first. I’m really struggling.”

“C’mon. It sounds like you forgot who you are. You know. You got to trust yourself. You know these kids. You know these books.”

While one voice in my head is saying, “But the curriculum says . . .” another voice was louder, “Even the custodian knows that you need to share a book with the whole class and build the community through a powerful book.” I get up and say, “You’re right, Regal.” I slid a bin off of my bookshelves labeled “Novels-in-Verse” and found my copy of Bronx Masquerade by Nikki Grimes. “This is the book. I am going to start reading it with them tomorrow.”

My students were not failing. They were empowered, and they were choosing not to learn via a system that oppressed and limited them. They wanted to learn, and they wanted to read but on their terms. So, I continued to break the rules.

Analysis

Part 2 of Iris’s narrative retelling reveals that district mandates were causing her to experience teacher trauma: true emotional turmoil at how underserved her students were by this curriculum, and more so, what could be possible, the building of a classroom community, if she were trusted as an autonomous professional. Although Iris was fearful of the repercussions, her conversation with Regal revealed to her that she needed to do what was best for her students. Regal became her first “co-conspirator.” In this collaborative conversation, Iris realized that she would, in fact, break the rules; she would deviate from the scripted curriculum to create the conditions for her students to connect to a text, to reading, and to hope for a future where they would find their own independent connections to reading in general.

Iris’s narrative reveals how frightening abolitionist practices can be in a hostile environment. Administrator mandates for this scripted curriculum included administrator classroom walk-throughs, and deviations from the curriculum could result in teacher sanction. Iris’s choice to embrace abolitionist teaching practices by engaging in read-alouds, modeling literacy practice through the choice of a whole-class-novel (Bronx Masquerade), and deviating from the script, was eased by her relationship with her first co-conspirator, Regal. Love (2019a) indicates that co-conspirators are necessary in abolitionist work.

Finally, Iris acknowledged that her students were willing and able to engage in literacy and learning; they simply had been previously curricularly underserved (Martin & Beese, 2020) and did not respect the curriculum that was being force-fed to them. Iris truly took a risk for her students to serve their best interests and to provide them with the opportunities to see themselves in the texts they read in her class. Regal pointed out that Iris was already listening to her students with, “You know these kids. You know these books,” and her next step was to put that listening into practice, into action.

Teacher Recollection 3: Charlotte

Charlotte had been teaching middle-school language arts for 12 years. She explained she did not like using the script. When she read the script, she began with a disclaimer, such as, “I’m going to read this to you like I’m supposed to.”

Charlotte discussed some of the challenges with the curriculum, explaining that students who were not yet strong readers “had a hard time generating ideas” and that “I sneak in a lot of graphic organizers.” She went on to say that she often incorporates extra resources to explicitly teach skills pertinent to the lessons: “Sometimes when we come across a new word, I tell the kids what it means. He [the principal] told me not to do that.” Charlotte said that she followed the requirements when being observed, but subversively resisted on a regular basis. “I sit with the students who need extra help,” and “sometimes one mini-lesson gets stretched into three days.”

When Reading and Writing Workshop Models was first introduced at her school, Charlotte was invited to pilot the program. She used the scripted curriculum for one of three reading classes. Charlotte used results from a standardized test to monitor student growth in reading. “The class I was piloting with? They grew 11%. My other classes grew 64% and 58%.” Charlotte was asked to talk about her instruction prior to the piloting, and eventual full implementation of the scripted curriculum. “Before this? Well, for two years, my class had the highest writing scores in our building. I know how to teach these kids.”

Charlotte said that most of the educators in the language arts department at her school were dissatisfied with the scripted curriculum. She spoke of a male teacher that walked into her room with the curriculum guides, claiming, “I’m done!”

“You taught the whole unit?”

“No, I’m done teaching this. It sucks.”

We asked her what this teacher planned to do instead. “Oh, he’s going to teach Notice and Note. That’s way better for our kids.”

Analysis

The reader may ask, “Why was Charlotte required to use the Reading and Writing Workshop Models if the pilot showed lower growth?” The answer? This is what the district required. This is why the concept of the co-conspirator is crucial. Charlotte knew that the decisions made by the district were underserving their most vulnerable students; thus, some teachers felt compelled to break the rules.

Charlotte experienced teacher trauma as a result of being informed (both implicitly and explicitly) that her expertise, years of experience, and care for her students were inadequate to make curricular decisions for them. This was more than disheartening for her and her colleagues. She, thus, sought out co-conspirator collaboration to “do right” by her students. Not only did Charlotte resist the scripted curriculum by modifying and supplementing to respond to her students, but she offered resources to her colleagues. Notice and Note: Strategies for Close Reading (Beers & Probst, 2013) is a teacher/practitioner guide for close reading instruction. The premise of the book is to teach students to notice and take note of particular moments in the stories they read, and to empower students with critical thinking skills so they can analyze the texts they have selected to read. Discussing this resource with a colleague enabled Charlotte to extend her resistance toward the Reading and Writing Workshop Models to impact students beyond her own classroom.

In her own classroom, Charlotte included students in the pushback against the mandated script. For example, when she used the disclaimer, “I’m going to read this to you like I’m supposed to,” prior to reading from the script, she was signaling to her students that she was momentarily complying with something that she usually responded to subversively. This way, she was signaling to the students that they were invited to resist or dismiss the script before she read it. In addition, signaling this way allowed students to know that they were “receiving a script,” in contrast to the liberated and authentic experience they usually had with their teacher. Most of the time, Charlotte taught side-by-side via “comradeship” and “co-intentional education” with her students rather than relying on the script—a pedagogy of poverty (Freire, 1970/2000). This is abolitionist teaching, and this promotes students thriving, as opposed to merely surviving, in spite of the curriculum delivered to them.

Teacher Recollection 4: Craig

While Craig had used a variety of scripted curricula for language arts, this was the first year he taught the Reading and Writing Workshop Models curriculum. He explained that he liked this one the least because the script included anecdotes that “seem too personal.” For example, in one of the scripts, the reader/teacher had to talk about a friendship with a published author. “If I follow the script, I lie to my students. It’s not right.”

Craig spoke of a time when the curriculum required him to tell the students about an interaction with an older brother, “I feel lucky that I actually have a brother to share about. There was another one about being in a choir, and that’s not ever been true for me.” While Craig displayed signals of discomfort (whispering, looking down, fidgeting) while discussing the tension between choosing to follow the rules and meeting student needs, he displayed different signals (smiling, eye contact) when he shared his acts of resistance. “We read Fish in a Tree even though we aren’t supposed to do a novel.” Craig shared that students who had not formerly identified as readers were excited to read and discuss the book. After the class completed the book, they had a Skype conversation with the author. “If I was following the script, they wouldn’t have been able to Skype. They loved it, though. They want to read more of her books. One for the Murphys is next.”

Analysis

In his first year of teaching the Reading and Writing Workshop Models curriculum, Craig was immediately struck by the inauthenticity of what he was being asked to do. Thus, he “broke the rules,” and engaged with the texts to which he thought his students would be drawn. In fact, he went above and beyond to engage his students with a published author, something for which the script does not provide—authentic experiences.

While Craig did not verbally express teacher trauma or fear of repercussions from his curricular choices, he did exhibit physical gestures of that fear or discomfort (whispering, looking down, fidgeting). These gestures were all the more evident in contrast to the facial expressions (smiling and direct eye contact) that he exhibited when talking about the book the class read, discussed, and shared together. It could be said that the expressions of discomfort parallel with the pedagogy of poverty, while the expressions of joy parallel responsive and abolitionist teaching (Haberman, 1991; Love, 2019a; Nieto, 2010, 2013). For Craig and his students, the pedagogy of poverty may promote surviving, but responsive and abolitionist pedagogies promote thriving.

The Reading and Writing Workshop Models curriculum also led Craig to seek out co-conspirator collaboration, and he expressed that he would continue to do so. This, he felt, is what his students truly needed. Not only did he voice his intention to collaborate and co-conspire with colleagues, but he voiced the love students felt when given the opportunity to collaborate directly with a published author. This is the heart of abolitionist teaching and the pursuit of educational freedom (hooks, 1994; Love, 2019a).

Teacher Recollection 5: Sally

In conversations, Sally indicated that her students were not getting what they truly needed from the Reading and Writing Workshop Models curriculum. For example, she was not permitted to teach writing in the way in which she had been doing for years—with great success. She was disallowed from “interrupting the script” to engage in direct instruction when she felt it was warranted. That is, the “script” encouraged students to express their ideas through writing, as opposed to learning grammar, mechanics, and other foundational skills in conjunction with writing for expression. Sally indicated that her students’ writing scores, as well as their proficiency, suffered for it. Although she spoke up about the negative impact of this curricular change, her protestations were not taken seriously by district administration.

Because of these experiences, Sally ultimately elected to leave the teaching profession. She had been teaching middle-school writing for years but left the profession after experiencing the Reading and Writing Workshop Models curriculum for 1 year. When we asked Sally to share her experience, she agreed. “Sure. I have a lot to say about it. That’s why I quit teaching.” She voiced the importance for change, so we sent her the interview questions right away. However, after trying to schedule an interview, she wrote, “I can’t help with the curriculum stuff. Every time I sit down to answer these questions, the whole topic puts me in a terrible mood. I just don’t want anything to do with that stuff anymore.” However, she did agree that we could share her experience in this analysis.

Analysis

Sally represents an extreme example of teacher trauma. After having felt like a trusted professional for many years, she now felt the autonomous rug being pulled from beneath her. She chose to leave teaching because she could not abide with what was being done to her profession with the scripted mandate, in particular, and to the students in general. She was too tired to stand and fight, too exhausted to attempt to find co-conspirators.

Sally’s lack of a narrative is telling in and of itself. As educators, we must be attuned to the gaps and silences—of our students, our communities, and our colleagues. Sally’s silence spoke volumes, as does her decision to leave the profession entirely.

Teacher Recollection 6: Nina

As Nina shared with us, the middle-school language arts teachers she works with are frustrated. Several times a week, teachers express to her that they feel disheartened or powerless to support students in the ways they feel are necessary. For example, Nina articulated that students have not learned how to write complete sentences, which plays a part in writing complete paragraphs, and impacts the overall structure of student writing. The Reading and Writing Workshop Models curriculum attempts to empower students to write about topics that might be relevant to them, and to read articles and books of interest to them; however, students are not taught explicit skills to support their overall literacy. When students do not feel good about the quality of their work, they are not invested in their learning. The same goes for reading, as Nina argued. She stated that students have not been taught how to select reading materials that are right for them. The reading curriculum asks students to analyze literature that is more complex than they are able to read independently. So, a lot of students pretend to read, or do not read at all. Students are allowed to choose how to respond to their reading in journals, but the guidelines for what they should write, or how they should write, are very minimal. This is great for motivated learners who have these skill sets, but for students who are struggling academically, it makes them more vulnerable to further academic disengagement.

In her first year as a building literacy coach, Nina was able to work with students in small groups and one-on-one to get the “right” books in their hands, and, she explained, that has nothing to do with the curriculum. Students inform her that they are reading for the first time, and, again, this has nothing to do with the curriculum. It has everything to do with the relationships Nina builds with students around her love of books.

Analysis

Nina’s telling typifies the themes of rule-breaking and co-conspirator collaboration. Nina has made “breaking the rules” part of her practice. And she serves as the main co-conspirator for frustrated and disempowered teachers. Her wealth of knowledge is a resource for both teachers and students, and she works well beyond her required school day to improve literacy engagement in her building. She also shared that she has provided critiques of this curriculum at the district level. Nina’s decision to take action and to teach in a manner that “respects and cares for the souls of our students” (hooks, 1994, p. 13) enabled her to liberate students to have more choice in their reading materials and provide access to relevant texts.

Discussion and Conclusion

Although this analysis focused primarily on teachers, we are troubled by the impact the decision to use Reading and Writing Workshop Models as a scripted mandate has on students as reported by the teacher participants. In terms of the harms caused to the teachers in this preliminary study, we found that teachers had experienced fear, and some trauma, at the prospect of breaking the curricular rules to meet the needs of their students. If the system is unfair, then the rules should be broken; if the system is built upon the foundation of repressing Black and Brown children, then the rules must be broken in the interest of antiracism. The system must be changed, but in the meantime, individual teachers should break rules that harm children. The two things that brought comfort to these teachers were finding co-conspirators in this work and abolitionist practices that served the interests and needs of their students. These teachers chose to “break the rules” to recognize the brilliance, creativity, and the mattering of their students (Love, 2019a).

When students’ voices and discursive forms are devalued within the school, students can become set up for lowered expectations via scripted mandates. However, research indicates that the key to building student confidence with literacy is by valuing their chosen linguistic and cultural forms (Charity Hudley & Mallinson, 2012). In addition, students’ cultures should be reflected in selected literature, and teachers should seek literature reflecting a variety of diverse perspectives. The question remains, Why are we doing the exact opposite?

As Gee (2000) states, “. . . literacy leads to nothing when it is delivered in a self-contained and general way” (p. 413). Although some students enter school with literacy gaps (areas of missed instruction), mandated scripted instruction is not the answer. Students feel disrespected by such a curriculum, according to our participants, for the students know this curriculum was not made for them. Students can become disillusioned with literacy instruction, and with reading in general, because they are not taught through a model that values their modes of thinking, speaking, and communicating (Boutte, 2012; Tatum & Muhammad, 2012). Scripts do not respect their life experiences. Working as abolitionists, with students, to develop new literacy competencies, while supporting the language students bring to school, is exactly what we need to do (Delpit, 2009; Muhammad, 2019).

We must value students’ cultures and work together with them to determine how to teach (Muhammad, 2019). Moje et al. (2000) recommend project-based literacy pedagogies to engage marginalized students where students can work together on questions/problems of interest to them, including addressing real-world problems, knowledge production/creation, working in conjunction with teachers, and using technology.

As Edwards et al. (2010) argue, there are “pockets of hope” that remind us that we can do better for our students (p. 12). We hope that this preliminary study will provide some pockets of hope for current and future teachers who seek to “break the rules,” find “co-conspirators,” and become abolitionist teachers to do what is best for students. We also hope that policy and decision-makers will rethink the value of scripted curricula, and mandated decisions that devalue teachers, students and students’ culture, interests, home knowledge, and need.

Limitations

As this was a preliminary inquiry study with few participants, the findings may not be generalizable to all of the teachers in this urban district. In addition, these findings may not be generalizable to teachers working outside of urban environments. More information is required about the purported effectiveness, on a national level, of Reading and Writing Workshop Models for literacy instruction for all students.

For Future Research

Future research is necessary on this issue with a larger pool of participants. We also seek to inquire about the impact of Reading and Writing Workshop Models, as scripted curricula, on students. For example, how does Reading and Writing Workshop Models (used as a script) impact student relationships to literacy? Do culturally irresponsive literacy programs contribute to student alienation from school, Students of Color in particular? Future research regarding the implantation of scripted literacy programs should also include teachers in rural and suburban communities. It is crucial to determine if such programs continue to disproportionately impact Students of Color in urban schools.

General Implications and Recommendations for Urban Education

The concept of scripted curricula is not going away any time soon, especially when it is a moneymaking proposition. Teachers new to the field may find comfort in planning within a system that promises to meet certain standards and benchmarks. While purchased curriculum programs may decrease the burden of writing and implementing original and student-centered curriculum, we contend that these programs are not responsive to students and are not best practice.

We suggest that curriculums are written in ways that allow for more experienced teachers to adapt any and all lessons to meet student needs and interests. Moreover, we recommend that administrators yield to the professionals in the classroom, bestowing them with trust to plan curricula that leads students beyond benchmarks.

Students educationally thrive when they know they matter to the adults in the room—when they are seen and heard. Literacy instruction, better yet, literacy experiences, must be responsive to the students. Effective instruction is insufficient, as effectiveness can mean “obedience and passivity,” which is not the same as thriving (Boutte, 2012; Love, 2019a). It is time to bring mattering, humanity, and thriving back into the educational setting.

This means that teachers must be given autonomy to teach in response to their students—the students they see and hear every day, the students to whom they are listening (Nieto, 2013). Teachers must be allowed to be creative, responsive, bold, and to work in the pursuit of justice and joy. Abolitionist teachers will continue to protest, act, and pursue these things for ourselves, and for our students, until we are all thriving.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iDs

Julie Wasmund Hoffman

Jennifer L. Martin

Author Biographies

Julie Wasmund Hoffman is a member of the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE), and an active member of the Illinois Reading Council (IRC). Her passion for children’s literature and Young Adult literature, fused with her interest in social and emotional learning, makes her a strong advocate for all students, especially the underserved. She values literature as a means to introduce students to resilience and hope.

Jennifer L. Martin is an assistant professor in the Department of Teacher Education at the University of Illinois at Springfield. She is the editor of Racial Battle Fatigue: Insights from the Front Lines of Social Justice Advocacy (Recipient of the 2016 AERA Division B’s Outstanding Book Recognition Award), and co-author of Teaching for Educational Equity: Case Studies for Professional Development and Principal Preparation, Volumes 1 and 2 (Roman & Littlefield). She is the 2019 recipient of the Paula Silver Case Award for Volume Year 2018, UCEA Journal of Cases in Educational Leadership (Volume 21): for “The Bathroom Case: Creating a Supportive School Environment for Transgender and Gender Non-conforming Students” (with Dr. Jane Beese).

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