Any humanitarian or NGO who has affected change gets the respective community on board first and then, leans on their expertise.  If you’re trying to bring affordable eyewear to people in Burkina Faso, you train Burkinabé opticians. Bringing clean water to Guatemala?  Hire Guatemalans whose supplies are provided by locally-owned businesses.  If you want systemic change, start from the inside out.

Why haven’t we tried this with NYC public schools?  Starting from the outside hasn’t worked:  vouchers, charters, and policies have failed us for decades.  Yet we continue to cram the dense ideas through, hoping that this time, this one will fit.  NYC schools are the most segregated in the nation despite statesmen like Louis Niñé casting votes and voice against the problem in the 1970s; despite journalists like Nikole Hannah-Jones writing about the problem today; and despite districts like District 15 changing course.  If the form and substance of NYC public schools refuse to budge, then maybe we should just stop cramming.  Instead, get onto our tippy toes, grab the sill, squint inside the fluorescently-lit, high school classroom.  

There they are.

Sure, we aren’t bringing them eyewear or water, but truth be told, our goal has always been to help our students see and absorb, so why not tackle this humanitarian problem the way any skilled humanitarian would:  by getting the community on board and leaning on their expertise.  Scan the room for our students’ common denominator and simply, start there.

*

Teens text.  More than half of them text either a few times an hour or “almost constantly.”  In fact, they text more than they check social media.  Black and Hispanic teens prefer it to in-person communication, as do teens from lower- and middle-income households.

This information can launch NYC public education into the 21st century.

I wrote about the benefits of texting a while back in Youth Today.  I argued that texting can help us reset our relationships with young people and in turn, set them up for postsecondary success.  The Urban Assembly was one of the first organizations to use text messaging in this way.  In 2016 we launched a campaign that supported nearly 1,500 alumni from our then 18 public, unscreened NYC high schools.  That campaign continues to push out reminders and resources while creating an environment that encourages alumni to reach out for help when they need it.  We are figuring out how to increase student engagement while addressing systemic racism in ways that empower rather than victimize young people.  The “big ideas” referenced above try to acknowledge systemic racism in NYC public schools — how could they not? — but their persistent failure points to one explanation:  they can’t see the trees for the forest.  And like a worn-out adage whose message can only be roused if its objects are swapped, the NYC public school system — if it is to survive a pandemic-prone world — must change course.

Forget the forest.  It’s time to listen to the trees.

*

I taught college writing for ten years because I thought that if we helped young people to write better, they could find the agency required to change the world.  But by the time I was in my mid-30s, I wanted to make a greater impact.  I wanted to reach more than the 100 students I taught each semester.

In 2016 I found the Urban Assembly and within weeks was communicating with 1,000.

I don’t know what New York City public school kids need.  I was born and raised in the white suburbs of Cleveland, and even though my two young children attend NYC public schools, they are white and they are privileged which means that their experiences more closely align with those who create policy, rather than those who are affected by it.  But I do know at least three things:  1.) Black and Brown students make up the majority of New York City’s public school system; 2.) This system was not set up with Black and Brown students in mind; 3.) It might be a long time until Black and Brown adults gain access to stakeholding seats.

Logic dictates, then, that if we want to truly educate all students in New York City, we must peer into their minds.  Poke around until they get real with us and tell us what’s going on.  What they need.  How we can help.  

We can ask these questions and we will get the answers.  Those answer can lay the foundation for a system that enables students and teachers to communicate and eventually, we’ll find the information and guidance required to raze the old and fashion the new.  It begins inside a student’s head.

Texting can get it out.

And while their thumbs are busy pressing out thoughts to us, we can use that same technology to remind them about final essays and permission slips.  To motivate them to get to school or to study for an exam.  Maybe we add a quick fact, too, in the hopes that it’ll stick.  “Hey Jalen, don’t forget ur government exam on Friday. YOU GOT THIS. (qq: What are the three branches of the federal government?).”  Jalen doesn’t text back but he sees the question.  He doesn’t know the answer but tomorrow, when he studies on the train to school, he stumbles across a section about Congress.  His fingers move through the pages quicker than usual until he finds what he’s looking for.  He smiles.

The point I’m trying to make is that texting is not a message.  It’s a state of mind.

*

The cynics among us are asking, What in the world do you think we’re going to learn from a 15 year old?  I do not know.  And neither do you.  Which is exactly why we should take the time to ask.  Only 75% of NYC students who enter high school will graduate.  In the Bronx, only 66% will.  What’s more, only half of all graduates leave our buildings college-ready.  And let me just be really honest here:  these are not hard benchmarks to meet.  It is not hard to score a 480 on the SAT Verbal or a 70 on the Algebra Regents. My 13-year-old son takes Algebra and can likely pass that test.  I don’t say this with pride; I say this with outrage. Our young people have been trying their best to move through a system set up for their failure — a system that is not broken but rather, is functioning exactly as designed.  

What have we got to lose?  Texting campaigns don’t cost near the amount of money to run than other interventions. You can even fill roles with alumni from your high school.  After all, it’s how the city’s first public schools began back in the 1830’s. In The Great School Wars Diane Ravitch reminds us, “The teacher of the [NYC public] school was almost a silent bystander … the running of the school was parceled out to various monitors, who were the oldest students.  Monitors assigned new students to their class; taught reading and arithmetic lessons; took attendance; gave examinations; promoted deserving students; ruled the writing paper; took care of pens, paper, slates, and books.”  She finishes, “And there was a monitor who looked after all the other monitors” (13).  If it was good enough to get us going, maybe it’s good enough to get us back on track.  

*

A texting campaign for NYC students can enable young people to become participants in and advocates for their own education.  They will see that we are invested in them, and they will start to invest in each other.  If you want to improve public education in NYC, get the community on board first, and then, lean on their expertise.

I said earlier that I don’t know what we can learn from a 15-year-old.  But what’s more worrisome is I don’t think 15-year-olds are learning very much from us anymore.  Yet, they keep coming back.  Our kids rush through dysfunctional subway cars and crowded streets to get inside worn out buildings only to be greeted with metal detectors and security guards.  They nod at friends.  Check their phones.  Tuck them away because this first teacher has a strict no-phone policy.

The bell echoes.  Kids start to drift in.  The teacher is still not here.  Jamal looks towards the door and then feels his phone vibrate.  Maybe she’s coming in now?  He looks around.  Still nothing.  Meh.  Might as well.

He reads, “Hey Jamal, just checking in.  You get to class OK today?  I know you’ve been late a few times this month.”

He thumbs, “Yeah, all good.  She’s not here yet but she’s sometimes late”

“Got it.  What’s going on in class then?”

“Everyone’s just talking.”

“Sorry she’s not there yet.”

“Not your fault.”

“Yeah. Make sure you stop texting if she comes, though OK?”

“Hey” he texts, and peers throughout the classroom.  Two students rise to find a way to open one of the high-reaching windows. It’s stuffy inside.  “Hey I have a question for you” he texts.  “Been wondering about something”

“What’s on your mind?”