Case Studies of Success

The Deficit Paradigm

The deficit paradigm is rooted in the outdated belief that intellectual and temperamental differences between racial groups are innate and unresponsive to educational intervention, such that students from some groups are less likely to achieve at high levels compared with their peers from the dominant cultural group. From this perspective, “blame” for the achievement gap may be attributed to minority students and their families, whose cultural practices, values, and characteristics are interpreted as deficits thought to undermine educational success (Ford, Harris, Tyson, & Trotman, 2002). Although most teachers of minority students would explicitly reject such beliefs, the considerable body of research on differential teacher expectations for students from minority ethnic backgrounds has suggested that the deficit paradigm remains alive and dangerously well (see Tenenbaum & Ruck, 2007, for a meta-analysis). This is despite evidence from empirical research that interacting school-based factors such as quality of education provided and differential treatment of students by race more effectively account for the achievement gap than student-based factors such as social and cultural capital and level of engagement (Oates, 2009). The deficit paradigm may contribute to the achievement gap via multiple paths, including through low teacher expectations for some groups that translate into low-level curriculum and instruction (Lynn, Bacon, Totten, Bridges, & Jennings, 2010; McKown & Weinstein, 2008; Swanson, 2006) and are ultimately internalized by students.

In the gifted education literature, the deficit paradigm has been touted as a “principal barrier” to equitable identification and support of minority students in advanced programs (Ford et al., 2002, p. 53). For example, it is suggested that deficit thinking in relation to African American students is reflected in an overreliance on identification instruments that are known to be poor indicators of ability in this population, a misinterpretation of some common cultural characteristics as deficits (e.g., communalism and the oral tradition), and the use of practices such as tracking and static ability grouping that consistently result in the underrepresentation of minority students in advanced tracks or courses (Center on English Learning and Achievement [CELA], 2003; Donovan & Cross, 2002). These approaches may stem from traditional views of giftedness as a set of performances and behaviors that reflect dominant cultural values. They may perpetuate the notion that minority students more rarely evidence gifted potential and belong in lower academic tracks, and that the causes of low achievement lie beyond the control of the teacher or the school (Briggs & Renzulli, 2009).

The Discontinuity Paradigm

The discontinuity paradigm highlights the tension for many minority students between the sociocultural contexts in which they live and the dominant cultural values communicated through mainstream schooling (Lewis et al., 2008). According to this paradigm, underachievement can be attributed to the failure of teachers and schools from the dominant culture to offer culturally responsive curriculum and instruction that acknowledges and values diverse perspectives and serves as a bridge between individual students and academic content (Ford, Milner, & Moore, 2005; Ladson-Billings, 1992; Spillane, 2004). At the peer level, this discontinuity has been framed in African American populations according to the well-documented phenomenon of “acting White,” whereby students associate achievement-related behaviors with the dominant White culture, perceiving the pursuit of academic success as synonymous with sacrificing elements of one’s racial identity (Ogbu, 2004). The existence of these beliefs was supported in a recent study of gifted African American middle and high school students, the majority of whom equated “acting White” with being intelligent and achieving in school, whereas “acting Black” was identified with lower intelligence, low priority for academic work and achievement, and poor speech and behavior (Ford, Grantham, & Whiting, 2008).

The discontinuity perspective has been central to discussions not only of identification or selection but also the retention of minority students in Advanced Placement (AP) and gifted education programs and students’ choice to participate (Ford, Whiting, & Gilman, 2010; Moore et al., 2005). However, research by Diamond, Lewis, and Gordon (2007) found that although high-achieving African American students in a desegregated setting perceived their race as an important part of their identity and as potentially limiting their educational opportunities, they were no more likely than high-achieving White students to report disengagement from education, lack of striving for academic success, or negative peer pressure associated with high achievement. High-achieving African American students in this study linked achievement difficulties with a culture of low expectations from teachers and White peers rather than negative peer pressure from African American students. These and other contradictory findings related to the “acting White” phenomenon indicate that further research is needed across contexts and with more nuanced investigation of the multiple interacting factors affecting outcomes for minority students.

Selection of Sites and Participants

This study was conducted in three schools in the United States assigned the pseudonyms of Sunnydale High School, Flagstaff School, and Lionel Elementary School. A strategy of purposive sampling was used to gain maximum insight from cases that appeared to represent the criterion of success in talent development with students from the target population (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). The selection of three schools in different locations and serving different student populations was intended to facilitate the investigation of common patterns across diverse cases. Each of the three research sites was initially recommended to the principal investigator by veteran educators and university faculty with considerable experience and expertise working with schools serving students from minority, economically disadvantaged backgrounds. In the case of Sunnydale, the initial consideration for inclusion was also informed by the school’s involvement in the national Advancement via Individual Determination (AVID) program, which offers personal and academic support to middle and high school students—largely those from low socioeconomic and/or minority backgrounds—who possess the potential for achievement in advanced classes but who have been overlooked using conventional measures of achievement (see http://www.avid.org for more information). Based on these initial recommendations, the principal investigator researched each school’s student achievement record and demographic variables and then conducted a series of site visits to further explore the schools’ suitability for inclusion in the study. The unit of analysis in this study varied across sites based on the nature of the site and access to teachers and classrooms. In each instance, however, the focus was on teachers’ thinking, planning, and classroom practice in relation to talent development in minority, economically disadvantaged students.

Data Collection and Analysis

Data collection for the study took place over a period of 4 years, and the design allowed for data from each site to inform the framing of questions for subsequent sites. Data were collected and analyzed for Sunnydale during Years 1 and 2, for Flagstaff during Years 2 and 3, and for Lionel in Years 3 and 4. Researchers spent a total of approximately 80 hr at each site conducting observations, focus groups, and interviews. This prolonged time in the field, which enabled researchers to reach the point of data saturation, was a key factor in establishing the credibility of the findings.

The principal investigator was a university professor with extensive school and university teaching experience and a record of qualitative research related to the education of diverse students. Other on-site researchers were experienced educators holding advanced degrees in education and familiarity with qualitative methodology. Data collection at each site involved collaboration between at least two researchers, and the research team met regularly with the principal investigator to examine data, discuss emerging patterns, and refine questions and procedures for subsequent data collection. The credentials of the researchers and the collaboration between on-site researchers and the larger research team at different stages of data collection and analysis helped establish the credibility and confirmability of findings (Lincoln & Guba, 1985).

Data included observation guided by semistructured protocols, semistructured interviews with teachers and administrators, focus group interviews with students, and review of documents such as school publications, student achievement data, lesson plans, and student work samples. Teachers’ instructional approaches, interactions with students, efforts to establish a supportive classroom environment, references to the school mission and vision, communication of expectations for achievement, and efforts to acknowledge and address the needs of students who showed signs of high potential were among the specific areas of interest during the observations. Each researcher kept extensive observation notes and a reflexive journal, and these became part of each case record. All individual and focus group interviews were recorded and later transcribed. Again, semistructured interview protocols were initially based on significant factors suggested by the review of research literature, and these were expanded and refined as informed by ongoing data collection. The process of collecting data from multiple sources and in multiple forms allowed for triangulation to ensure the trustworthiness of findings.

During and after data collection, researchers constructed a case record by organizing, classifying, and editing raw data and developing initial categories and codes for analysis. Researchers not involved in data collection coded and recoded the data pertaining to each site, and identified meaningful patterns and themes. These researchers developed initial case study narratives reflecting key themes, for review by on-site researchers. The principal investigator also reviewed each case record and narrative, developed individual case reports, and wrote the cross-case analysis. This process of coding, recoding, and checking among the research team and the extensive case records that could serve as an audit trail were essential to establishing the trustworthiness of the findings.

Within the case studies, quotes and other data have been assigned codes according to whether the source is an observation (O), an interview (I), or a researcher note (N). Following the code are the initials of the participant’s assigned pseudonym. Some participants were interviewed on more than one occasion and an “O,” “I,” or “N” followed by a number indicates the interview from which the quote was sourced. This allows the case study narrative to flow while at the same time signaling that the quote comes directly from an interview, an observation, or reflective notes.

A Shared Vision for Student Success

A key factor in understanding the approach of each school related to its vision for student success. At Flagstaff most palpably, staff shared a coherent, articulated vision for student success, which was enacted through a schoolwide approach to every aspect of teaching and programming for the predominantly African American, economically disadvantaged student body. The vision incorporated both good character and high student achievement and was communicated through a common language, the nature of student–teacher interactions, school documents, and the banners and slogans displayed liberally around school buildings with messages such as, “I must learn to earn,” and “I am someone special” (OS1, p. 1). These slogans related to the school’s central character education program, which emphasized a conception of success that went beyond school achievement to embody good citizenship. As one teacher explained:

I tell students that we are all intelligent and we are all going somewhere. We have a goal. And I think it’s very important . . . that we’re all working towards something. And I’m not pushing [standardized] tests. I’m thinking long term, graduate high school, go to college, be a productive, responsible citizen . . . I even had that outside my room . . . I said, “I come down here so that I can help you be responsible, productive citizens. That’s why I’m here.” And I’m serious about that. (IT2, p. 161)

Others expressed a similar commitment to preparing students for lifelong citizenship, and the schoolwide focus on character education was borne out in students’ behavior and descriptions of the value of their schooling. Students indicated in focus groups that the few who do not behave well represent a distraction to others and that it would be “wise to check their behavior” (e.g., IS1, p. 139), whereas another advised that “teachers should keep up their good behavior. That way we can follow them and have good role models” (IS1, p. 138). Expectations for behavior and achievement were embedded in an education contract signed by all parents at enrollment, which stipulated that the student must maintain a C+ or higher average, stay drug and crime free, and not become pregnant or father a child. The contract also referred to appropriate attitudes and behaviors of parents, including “discuss what was learned at school each day” and “send my child to school on time each day (good attendance is crucial to my child’s success in school).”

Together with strong character development, expectations for high academic achievement were integral to the schoolwide vision and consistently reinforced. Rule 10 on the list posted in every classroom stated simply, “I will achieve” (OD12, p. 202). A language of achievement was spoken by teachers, students, and administrators. One researcher noted after a meeting with administrators:

[The principal] and [a foundation administrator] believe that the key to success is the appropriate belief system. They acknowledge that many people—Black and White—do not believe these children can learn. They feel that this commitment to achievement is necessary to weather the issues of a social nature at the school. (IA2, p. 185)

It was clear from interviews that the great majority of teachers, most of whom were African American, shared this belief in students’ capacity to achieve and were committed to the Flagstaff model; this was reinforced in daily classroom interactions. When one teacher was complimented on her dress by a student, she used the opportunity to share with the class that, as a child, her family was poor and could not afford nice things, but through her own hard work in school she was able to secure a well-paying job and earn money to spend on nice clothes. She went on to remind students that through their hard work they would be able to have nice things as adults (ON8, p. 221). There were many examples of teachers explicitly and implicitly sharing with students the belief that they could and were expected to succeed at school and beyond, and students themselves expressed the wish that all students would be studious and take their work seriously (IS2, p. 170).

At Sunnydale, high expectations and commitment to student success were also evident, but primarily in individual teachers’ approaches rather than as a shared, consistent, schoolwide vision fostered by strong leadership. The target AVID students recognized high expectations and belief in their capacity to achieve as exceptional to the three teachers who became the focus of the study. One student described her teacher in the following terms:

[Ms. Ladd] thinks above the realm for us. Like if we have one of her classes, like I have Bio, well I can’t say that I’ve done slum work, but if we were to do slum work, she would notice that and she would want more from us . . . we know not to do slum work and so we don’t do it. And that will help us in college. (IL2, p. 4)

This was typical of student references to teachers’ high standards and tendency to follow through if they produced poor-quality work. The AVID coordinator, Mr. Steiner, expected his students to achieve success in advanced coursework, but his vision for student success went beyond this; he was committed to helping students see themselves as successful, aspire to attend college, and navigate the college application process. His approach involved providing maximum support for students to develop the skills required to succeed, and then holding them accountable for their own efforts and outcomes:

I’m not going to tell the kids that they are doing a great job if they’re not doing a great job. And I think to some degree they appreciate that. They want to know when they are messing up or not messing up. And that goes into how you treat African Americans too. Some teachers . . . are so careful with it. They baby them or not grade them at the same standard and give them an easier grade and that’s just as destructive as failing everybody . . . Nobody should kid themselves that the kids don’t recognize it. They recognize it from the get go and they will tell me about it all the time. (IKS3, p. 16)

The AVID students perceived a link between their teachers’ high standards and their own drive to achieve. As one student simply stated, “It matters to do well in school because of Mr. Steiner’s expectations” (AI, p. 2).

At Sunnydale, the teachers’ sense of purpose and vision for talent development emerged as more personal than universal. Despite stated district-level commitment to supporting the academic success of economically disadvantaged and minority students—and to a lesser degree a school-level acknowledgment of the need—there was no chorus of intent to ensure support across the faculty. School structures such as static grouping of students based on perceived ability or potential (tracking) spoke of comfort with the status quo, and the three teachers who comprised the unit of study did not enjoy the collegial support system that was a hallmark of Flagstaff. The coordinator was something of an exception, in that he was part of a strong district-wide AVID team. In addressing the needs of economically disadvantaged minority students, Sunnydale could be considered a “loosely coupled” organization with individual examples of strong commitment to student success.

At Lionel, the school mission statement espoused that, “irrespective of cultural, economic, social, and learning differences, every child can learn” (N, p. 60). However, data from the period of transition between principals suggested a very general sense of caring for and wanting to support students rather than a shared, clearly articulated vision and plan for doing so in practice. Attempts to build coherent, schoolwide approaches, such as through a consistent reading program targeted toward students’ readiness, gradually lost momentum, and there was little evidence of a shared language and vision for developing academic success in minority students from economically disadvantaged backgrounds or any students with high potential. Instead, teachers tended to describe their commitment in very general positive terms with little reference to specific strategies or practices:

I believe so much in the fact that . . . we have so many children who have so much potential that is never tapped. And I do what I do because I love seeing children succeed. I love seeing them proud of themselves. I love to see them believe in themselves. (IT1, p. 55)

This was somewhat typical of the kind of generic sentiments or strategies referenced by staff, who often cited the very caring environment of the school. The contrast with Flagstaff especially and Sunnydale to a lesser extent was evident and reinforced the critical importance of a clear, common purpose toward which school leaders and teachers could direct and evaluate their specific efforts.

Genuine Efforts to Understand and Reach Students

Teachers who emerged as most effective in fostering academic growth in minority students with high potential spoke of genuine efforts to understand their students’ experiences and perspectives, including cultural and family experiences, and to use that knowledge to help students better connect with academic content and expectations. Throughout, the data were examples of teachers making efforts to find out about students’ lives outside of school, to make learning experiences more relevant to students’ experiences, to demonstrate respect for students’ cultural identities, and to help students recognize and navigate the “dual worlds” of their home and school cultures. Although some went further than others in achieving this understanding, the effort was acknowledged by students and appeared critical to students’ own commitment to engage and achieve.

At Flagstaff, staff communicated a deep sensitivity to the complexity of students’ home experiences in the way they developed programs, designed learning experiences, and established environments for learning. One teacher described how “Every day I have [students] write in their journals, simply because they need structure . . . it gives them a sense of security. Think about the environment they are living in” (ID2, p. 158). Another explained,

There’s no back-up plan for these kids. Either you use your brain and get ahead and get an education, or you succumb to the perils of your society, of your culture. I mean that’s it. There are no other options. (IT2, p. 162)

Teachers at Sunnydale also referred to their AVID students’ home backgrounds and made deliberate efforts to get to know their students as individuals. Ms. Merle described making a point to “be aware of the whole student, not just judging the person’s academic success. I mean, knowing other things that the kids like, what’s going on, extracurricular activities at the school, work, family” (IIM2, p. 13). She distributed an interest inventory early in the year to “find out what students are into” and encouraged students to “just come by” out of class time, both for academic support and to “[m]ake an effort so that we can have a relationship sooner rather than later” (IIM3, p. 19). Ms. Merle also described becoming gradually more conscious throughout the year of the challenges faced by some of the AVID students, such as lack of access to basic school materials, and the need for her male African American students in particular to negotiate an identity that would allow them to achieve in school without feeling pressure to “act White” (IIM3, p. 6). Ms. Ladd’s consciousness of her students’ cultural backgrounds appeared more developed than Ms. Merle’s, and a student referred to her as one of the “Blackest teachers in the school” (OBL1, p. 1). She made a point of regularly attending extracurricular activities with mostly minority students, which she felt were traditionally not well attended:

I am faithful about going to the Unity Dinners and [events] like that. If I can get to no other events, if the choice is the Sports Banquet or the Unity Dinner, I’ll go the dinner because I think it is really important for parents and kids to see that you are there and you are supporting them and you care. That’s a message, it’s a visual message, and that you had a good time. (IBL2, p. 14)

In explaining his philosophy, Mr. Steiner explained that, “The key to any teaching is knowing the kids” (IKS3, p. 7):

There are teachers who don’t know what kids play what sports or which kids are in drama and they don’t ask, “How was the game?” or “How was the play?” . . . If you don’t do that, you are never going to get anywhere with these kids. (IKS1, p. 10)

Steiner described his process at the beginning of the year for systematically memorizing information about each student, their families, parent names, siblings, occupations, and financial circumstances. This knowledge enabled him to follow up with families and to ensure individual students did not fall behind, and also empowered parents to support their children’s success. As one student explained,

Well, it was weird because when I first got into AVID, I didn’t like [Mr. Steiner] because he knew everything. And my mother, she was like, “How was your day?” and I’m like, “Fine.” She didn’t [not] know anything that went on. She knew everything so I couldn’t really get away from her . . . [Mr. Steiner] was pushing me to do it for myself. (IMI, p. 10)

Students shared stories of how Mr. Steiner would drop into their other classes to check on them “and to make sure you were paying attention, to make sure you had your homework done. He stayed in close contact with teachers” (IR2, p. 5). Mr. Steiner’s approach to student support was highly personalized:

A shotgun blast to the whole class about how you need to apply [for scholarships] isn’t the same thing as one-on-one saying, “You’ve got to do this and you’ve got to do that. And here’s your scholarship form, and you need to apply and bring it to me by Friday and I’ll look at the draft.” (IKS3, pp. 4–5)

At both Sunnydale and Flagstaff, there were multiple examples of teachers going beyond their teaching role to support students before and after class, to take time to get to know them and their families, to monitor their progress, and to attend extracurricular activities in which they were involved. In part, these efforts appeared to stem from a sense of urgency about ensuring that students were successful, given the odds that were stacked against them. The strong belief in students and high expectations for achievement, effort, and behavior discussed in the previous section were supported within classroom and school cultures of genuine caring. Mrs. Deronda, a Flagstaff teacher, expressed this sense of caring to her class one morning: “I [drive past] eight other elementary schools before I get here,” she said. “I want to be here with you. I want you to become educated, responsible, and productive students” (OD8, p. 221). In a kindergarten classroom at the same school, a student arrived late one morning and his teacher immediately asked whether he had had breakfast and arranged for him to get something to eat (OT47, p. 113).

Students at both schools expressed awareness that their teachers knew and cared about them as individuals and had their best interests at heart. A Flagstaff student explained that his teacher had “done a lot of things for me personally, and she’s kind. She has a good personality and she tries her best to help me with the things I need” (IS2, p. 172). The case of a particular third-grade student, Shimina, illustrated how both high expectations and nurturing worked hand-in-hand at Flagstaff. A researcher noted,

Shortly after winter break, the teacher received a private note from Shimina. The young girl thanked the teacher for “being tough” and for caring about her. She explained that she too wanted to be a teacher, just like Mrs. Deronda. (N5, p. 216)

Students noted that their teachers worked to create an atmosphere of respect and fairness in the classroom, fostering a sense of community and acceptance. A Sunnydale student explained that her teacher fostered trust and encouraged students to share their ideas with her policy of “anything that comes out, stays in the room” (IIM2, p. 13):

Like when we’re in the class, it’s like her class may be open to people. Like I was this kind of shy person, whatever. But now I can stand up, ask questions, and not be too shy. I mean, she just brings warmth to the classroom. She doesn’t make you feel bad in any kind of way. (IS, p. 11)

Ms. Ladd deliberately sought to encourage student sharing, noting that, “I think they like that they are accepted, that whatever they say—it may not be appropriate for the moment or right—but [they] have a right to say it” (IBL2, p. 15). Students appreciated this atmosphere of acceptance:

Well, the way I see it, [Ms. Ladd] doesn’t treat anybody differently, and sometimes at the school I see people treating others differently, like by their race or something like that . . . I think she sees everyone as an individual, not the color of his or her skin, not the height, the weight, or anything like that . . . and that really helps. (IIM2, p. 6)

Interestingly, some students felt that their teachers did treat minority students differently, but did so in subtle ways that were about ensuring they were participating and making progress in their advanced classes, which was reflected in one student’s comment that “I think [my teacher] kind of focuses on [the AVID students] so we don’t get distracted” (IS2, p. 12). Another said,

Like when we’re doing things in the classroom like where . . . everyone has to participate, if the minorities in the class are not participating, [the teacher] will get them involved . . . other teachers, they won’t do that. (IIM2, pp. 6-7)

At Lionel, teachers early in the study referred to their school as a “very caring place,” and this was somewhat apparent in the original principal’s approach to the morning routine; observers noted that she was consistently visible and engaged, greeting students in the hallway each morning, giving them “high fives” and promoting a welcoming atmosphere for students and visitors. Teachers were more likely to arrive to school early and engage with their students informally before classes. As the study continued, it became more difficult to find evidence of specific ways in which this focus on caring was deliberately fostered. For example, teachers spoke about the caring that underscored their classroom interactions with students, but observers noted a heavy focus on teacher-directed instruction, especially in the upper grades; this included little interaction with students and teachers often sat behind their desk throughout a lesson. Students’ comments referred generally to teachers being “helpful,” but were not as focused on the personal lives of students or as reflective of emotion as those from the other schools, and teachers did not describe their efforts to understand and reach minority students in the same detail as those from the other sites. It was evident through the data across sites that teachers’ success with minority and economically disadvantaged students was grounded in their efforts to genuinely understand and appreciate their students’ cultural experiences and perspectives; to get to know them as individuals; to foster open, respectful environments for learning; and to communicate a sense of caring. Even where some of these efforts lacked deep cultural understanding, students appeared to recognize and appreciate the effort and to feel motivated to engage, participate, and achieve.

The Nature of Curriculum, Instruction, and Assessment

There were discernible differences between the three sites in their approaches to curriculum, instruction, and assessment. In this realm, Sunnydale teachers demonstrated most evidence of rich, high-level, conceptually based curriculum of a kind most likely to engage and challenge students of high potential. Like other aspects of their practice, Flagstaff teachers demonstrated a highly consistent, coordinated approach across classrooms, but although expectations were high for student achievement, this tended to be defined in terms of performance on state-standardized tests, and the curriculum was heavily focused on minimum state benchmarks. At Lionel, there were some efforts to develop consistent approaches to planning and teaching across the school, but in practice these efforts became somewhat diffuse. Although all three schools showed room for improvement in some aspects of their curriculum, instruction, and assessment, there were elements of practice that appeared to be effective in engaging and encouraging high-level achievement in students from minority and economically disadvantaged backgrounds.

Teachers at both Flagstaff and Sunnydale explained how they tried to make the curriculum and instruction as relevant as possible to minority students’ own experiences, which was part of their effort to create an inclusive classroom community and to engage students with important content:

My teaching approach has changed since coming to Flagstaff, because I think in the beginning I wanted to cover content. And now I want to create understanding and relevance in what I teach . . . many times when I’m planning my lessons I say, “How can I relate this to something the kids can relate to in their own lives?” Because unfortunately these kids have limited background experiences. (IT2, p. 157)

At Sunnydale, Ms. Merle felt that “the material matters” and should have relevance for the students (IIM2, p. 13). She suggested that “African American literature is a powerful route” to engage students in key concepts (IIM2, p. 19). One of her students explained that English is her favorite class “because [my teacher] teaches about racism, sexism, drugs, alcohol. We read a lot” (IM, p. 3). Another explained that they read a lot of books, often controversial, but “it was good and I felt like, I mean a majority of it was like hatred, power hungry, sex, religion, so those were things . . . teenagers probably need to hear about to get engaged” (IS2, p. 13). Ms. Ladd similarly felt that choosing the right material was critical to engaging students, and she sought to offer topics of interest. However, she was adamant that African American issues and resources are important for all students to engage with:

I’ve always felt that when they first started having those discussions in the school system, my kids were still in the school system. They’d talk about how African American children need to have Black images, and I said, “And so do my children.” (IBL2, p. 11)

Mr. Steiner had a keen sense of how to capture students’ interest and make choices that would encourage students to think and work at high levels of engagement, and he was willing to take risks to achieve this aim:

All they say in AVID training is you need to get them interested in issues and have them learn how to talk about issues and things like that. So what better issue in a class that’s 50/50 [minority/White] than [race]? And it makes for some great talk and writing. By far, though, American History X is the best thing I’ve ever shown. But I don’t think in a lot of public schools you’d be able to show that. (IKS3, p. 2)

Students appreciated these efforts to engage them in interesting texts and issues. One noted that “We watched the movie, American History X, and we talked about issues from that. That movie was sad. I had a lot of emotions going about feelings we had. And that was good” (IR2, p. 7). Most of the target students at Sunnydale described how their teachers would engage them in interesting, relevant discussions about what they were studying, and felt that their teachers had strong content knowledge. A student explained how she felt in English classes:

One day we’ll do a project or something . . . it doesn’t have to do with the English book. Then she as a teacher will try to relate it to literature and things like that . . . You’re not aware that you are learning, but you are actually learning. Like something that you’ve done, she can convert it, literature and authors and things like that. I just feel like she knows what she’s doing. (IM2, p. 11)

Other students gave examples of how teachers used the content as a starting point for making connections or sharing related stories. There was also evidence of teachers attempting to create learning environments that they believed African American students would find comfortable. Mr. Steiner explained the way he had considered the learning environment in terms of the differences between predominantly Black and White churches:

I think that’s where my classroom is pretty successful with African American students, because there’s a lot of talking back and forth, whereas in a White church, you’re just supposed to sit. Nobody sings out of line. Nobody will say, “Jesus” out of line. But in a Black church, it’s different. And I think we make the parallel with some of the classrooms that kids have to sit in. For example, [another teacher] sits there and lectures for the entire 57 minutes with no feedback, no nothing. That’s bad teaching, but it’s especially bad teaching for African American students. And that’s a real difficult statement to make, because that can be construed as, “Well, African American students need a little jazz combo in the background to help them learn.” Some people will take it like that, but it’s not true. You have to get the kids going back and forth, and I think that’s probably the biggest choice I make that affects the classroom dynamic. (IKS3, pp. 3-4)

While considering cultural influences, teachers recognized that African American students were also individuals and varied in their needs, interests, and learning preferences. One teacher noted that although African American students often prefer to work collaboratively, this is not the case for every student. Ms. Ladd also described her shift toward more differentiated instruction, noting that, “I thought you could just treat all kids the same and they’d succeed, but that’s just not true” (IBL2, p. 18). It was evident that the AVID students were at the forefront of teachers’ thinking as they planned curriculum and selected resources.

On the instructional side, students consistently commented on the range of strategies their teachers used, and felt that this distinguished their AVID teachers from others in the school. Beyond guided class discussion, instructional strategies included small-group work and regular student choice in texts and project topics. Some students commented on the regular quizzes used by teachers to ensure that students kept pace. It was clear that students appreciated the chance to make choices and be exposed to different ways of working. One commented of Mr. Steiner, “He makes things interesting. We do no two things the same two days in a row. He teaches for understanding. In other classes, it’s like you are a factory worker in a daggone assembly line” (IA, p. 3). It was evident that all three target teachers were extraordinary in the eyes of the students. Interestingly, the observers consistently noted that the teachers were good and highly committed but did not appear exceptional or remarkable in their approaches. However, after the observers followed the AVID students through their school day, they became aware that these students were unaccustomed to good teaching. Few other teachers made an effort to engage them or to know them as individuals. Expectations were low and discussion, where it did occur, was pitched at a low level. There was little evidence of effective teaching beyond the classrooms of the AVID teachers.

At Flagstaff, the nature of curriculum and instruction was much more structured, with a heavy focus on drill and routine. Teachers used the language of state standards in their instruction and referred consistently to mandated state tests; many even had large copies of individual standards displayed in their classrooms, and daily objectives written on the board in each classroom also used the language of standards. There was an explicit focus on test-taking skills, and activities and assessments often emphasized factual recall of standards-based content (OT11, p. 41). The majority of instruction followed a “stand and deliver” model, particularly during the beginning of each lesson as the teacher directed the learning process from the front of the classroom (N2, p. 188). One observer noted that “the students are thoroughly versed in the routines of the classroom, and the designated helpers automatically perform their chores to keep things running smoothly” (OT51, p. 131). This almost military precision was deliberately calculated to provide students with a sense of structure and predictability, which several teachers noted was lacking in students’ home lives. Students themselves espoused the benefits of classroom routines for their learning:

Although classes typically began with whole-class instruction as teachers introduced a concept or skill, students would often then work independently through tasks while the teacher circulated to provide individual feedback. This was done quietly in a way that did not humiliate or draw attention to struggling students (OT8, p. 33). Most evidence of differentiated instruction at Flagstaff was of this kind; individual feedback and support provided both inside and outside the classroom rather than planned adjustments to specific tasks or materials. In this aspect, there appeared to be notable future scope for teachers to challenge students who showed signs of high potential through greater focus on high-level, conceptual connections and opportunities for in-class extension and enrichment. Targeted support and extension was provided on a structural level, because the longer school year allowed for “intersession” blocks in which students could revise specific content related to state standards or engage in enrichment. However, there was little evidence of proactive, systematically differentiated instruction in Flagstaff classrooms, including for students capable of advanced work.

At Lionel, differentiation was also understood predominantly at a structural level. During the original principal’s tenure, the reading specialist had been supported to collaboratively develop a schoolwide reading program that involved assessing students and then grouping them by readiness across grades and providing opportunities for groups of students to work with appropriately leveled texts. This had been going on for 7 years when the study began and was identified as a key way the school tried to increase achievement for its population of minority and economically disadvantaged students. However, the reading specialist explained that when the new principal arrived, “she gave staff the option of keeping on or bailing out [of the reading program]. Teachers in grades 4 through 6 bailed out. They now do their own thing and, quite candidly, it is a hodgepodge” (IF, p. 42). Observers noted very little evidence of differentiation in reading classes, especially in the upper grades, which were primarily characterized by “teacher talk and review of information” (N1, p. 24). Even in the lower grades where readiness-based grouping continued, there was little evidence of differentiated instruction within these groups based on ongoing assessment.

Lionel had a policy of “push-in” specialist support in classrooms, including for math, reading, ESOL, and gifted education. However, both specialists and teachers noted that collaboration was inconsistent and not always effective, and these programs appeared to lack clear, coherent objectives. One observer described a class led by the gifted specialist, during which the classroom teacher left the room. The observer noted,

[T]he teacher is not back and it appears that the [gifted specialist] expects to be done. She has seemed to be drawing things out for a bit to wait for him. He still is not back, so she has [students] read their texts while they wait. There is lots of [student] fidgeting, playing with erasers and pencils. The gifted specialist is clearly frustrated that the regular classroom teacher is not back . . . The teacher finally returns (after 12 minutes absence). [The gifted specialist] tells him what they did. [The teacher] says this was a good lesson—it “stretches their minds.” (OT1, p. 44)

This example proved somewhat indicative of Lionel’s surface-level attempts to develop and implement targeted programs and approaches for its diverse learners, including gifted students. Teachers asserted, “We have differentiated groups” (p. 25) and administrators emphasized that “awareness of differentiation is a goal and the entire faculty have done a course on Differentiated Instruction” (p. 34). However, it seemed that differentiation was interpreted as between-class readiness grouping and there was little evidence of differentiation once students were in groups or classes. Often, students in small groups did exactly the same thing regardless of readiness. There were some examples of in-class assessment and “spot checking” of student writing, and some teachers mentioned preassessing students prior to a unit of work, but in practice there was much greater emphasis on standardized testing than in-class assessment to inform differentiation. There were posters around classrooms presenting Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences (MI) but no evidence throughout the study of planning or teaching based on MI (N1, p. 4).