L’Education Act di Bush.
In USA, una nuova legge federale consente agli studenti motivati di
cambiare scuola, se quella che
frequentano ha una bassa valutazione, ovvero ha bassi punteggi negli standard
tests.
Ma servono allo scopo i trasferimenti di studenti in altra città, in altra scuola? E servono a
chi?
Agli studenti che saranno
catapultati in nuovi ambienti o alla scuola che, dovendo migliorare gli standard, si trova ad insegnare a
studenti, quelli che restano, tra i
meno motivati? Il dibattito è aperto e riguarda di riflesso il futuro
della scuola italiana. (S.C.)
NYT - February 13,
2002
CHICAGO
A NEW federal law allows
students in low-scoring schools to transfer out. I have little doubt that
students who are motivated to switch will benefit, partly because in their new
public schools they will befriend youths whose ambitions and enthusiasm for
learning are strong.
But advocates of school
choice, an approach already in place here and in other cities, have argued that
it is also a boon for those who remain in failing schools, because fear of
losing even more students will make principals and teachers try harder.
That argument probably does
not hold up, because peer influences work in both directions. In high-scoring
schools, where good students are often admired, others feel social pressure to
achieve. But in low-scoring schools, students feel pressure to dampen their
efforts, so they can blend in; this harmful peer pressure accelerates in
low-scoring schools as motivated students transfer out.
So choice may be a zero-sum
policy: those who leave low-scoring schools gain, but those who stay are
harmed.
In practice, the harm
frequently begins even before a freshman class is formed. Here in Chicago,
every eighth grader can apply to a specialized high school. Ambitious students
take exams for selective schools or attend those with academic themes. Students
who don't make choices go to neighborhood schools.
Paul Robeson High School is
a neighborhood school in the low-income and sometimes violent Englewood
community. The school is deemed failing, with only 12 percent of its 1,000
students reading at national norms. But this is no wonder: over half the eighth
graders in Englewood select other schools. Of those who remain, 30 percent are
in special education, and the rest are mostly failing students who create a
low-performance ethos that teachers have to fight.
James Breashears, the
principal, guesses that if he could enroll a representative group of
neighborhood students, 40 percent would enter at national norms. Mr.
Breashears, proud of his faculty, believes he could lift that number to 50
percent.
Mr. Breashears was once a
faculty trainer for a nationwide school improvement group, so his talent is not
in doubt. At Robeson, he tries to overcome an anti-academic culture by keeping
the school bright and orderly and recruiting highly qualified teachers. But the
fight is uphill.
Although most good students
in Englewood go elsewhere, not all do — at least not right away — and Mr.
Breashears struggles to keep his few stars from bailing out as well. He offers
such students a specialized environment, separating them from the rest in small
"academies." One focuses on math, science and technology, and another
on foreign languages; a third is a general "scholars" program.
With one-fifth of Robeson's
enrollment, these elite classes allow motivated students to pressure one
another to achieve. But because they are separated from the majority, the more
able ones cannot serve as constant role models for the rest.
Jessica Smith is a student
in the scholars group. When she missed the application deadline for competitive
high schools, her mother insisted that she get into a Robeson academy, where
she could associate with high achievers.
In the fall, a boy in the
scholars class taunted Jessica, saying he could beat her on a college entrance
exam. She reacted to the dare by working harder, she says, and scored above the
national average.
Another scholar, Cornelius
Reese, says his friends compete for academic "bragging rights."
Cornelius recently won a regional science prize for a project on the
variability of plant seeds. He admits having been inspired by wanting to show a
girl in class that he could do it.
Such peer pressure is more
common in suburban schools, but absent in Robeson's regular program. Even if
students like Jessica and Cornelius were spread though regular courses, there
are too few of them left at Robeson to create a schoolwide academic culture. It
is hard to see how a policy that encourages students like them to leave can
help the school raise its scores.
Choice programs like
Chicago's concentrate low scorers in neighborhood schools and then label those
schools failing when their students continue to get low scores. As advocates of
choice claim, fear of losing better students helped spur the creation of
academies at Robeson. But failing students, who caused the school's low rank,
are not helped by those efforts.
This doesn't make school
choice wrong. Better students, both those who transfer and those who remain
(with special programs), can benefit. But choice is no unmixed blessing. Its
costs can be counted in the two- thirds of Robeson's entering freshmen who fail
to graduate, having lost access to role models — not only the successful
neighborhood students who left, but those like Jessica and Cornelius who
stayed.