You click on a triangular button, initiating a YouTube video:
A young Caucasian man probes his fifth-grade classroom, weaving in and out of desks as his students, mostly children of color, stand erect and motionless, impeccably outfitted in khaki bottoms and navy collared long-sleeve pullovers. Their eyes track his every movement as they wait to be called on. The man’s pace is measured, his words concise.
“Three times four…Kiara.”
“TWELVE!” calls out a girl sporting braids and glasses, her tone bordering on shouting.
“Correct!” the man sharply replies before moving on to another times tables fact and student.
The intensity is palpable, the hierarchy undeniable.
When the Cold Call clip ends you have one of two visceral reactions. You’re either inspired by the teaching strategy and its execution or appalled by what you consider rigidity and power abuse. You see a heroic model of efficiency and productivity to aspire towards, or disdainful Carceral Pedagogy. Neither opinion is necessarily right or wrong, but both share a commonality: You might claim to be critiquing a pedagogical technique, but – consciously or subconsciously – you’re also judging a man you don’t know. The teacher and his methodology are so intertwined that you can’t disentangle the two. To love or hate one, is to love or hate the other.
Regardless of individual philosophies, preferences or conclusions, there are a few immutable aspects of education that unbiased critics can probably agree on:
The overwhelming majority of teachers are well-intentioned and thoughtful. Therefore, it can be assumed that their choices are intended to work towards a greater good.
Tight classroom structures in which students are held highly accountable for their behavior and academic performance are:
Designed to maximize student learning.
Not employed in all subjects at all times of the day.
Received differently by adults than they are students, and not all children feel positively or negatively towards them.
Characterizing a set of educational practices as Carceral Pedagogy vilifies the strategies and teacher delivering them.
At the beginning of the school year, the exemplary educator aspires for all of their students to enter the classroom relaxed, but purposeful. Within a month, they envision children talking quietly and/or giggling with friends, while walking directly to their desks. Their conversations or jokes will continue as they prepare their learning tools, but as soon as the lesson begins, their attention will be rapt. Throughout the class period, students will feel alert and mindful – equally prepared for rapid choral responses, robust partner discussions, or thoughtful written reflections. This idyllic tone and environment, however, is not possible without firm boundaries and lofty social expectations.
Understanding the importance of strong beginnings, the teacher spends the first day of school establishing the expectations they want to employ throughout the year. They are orderly, serious, and demanding, but not austere or condescending. They might also be kind, but expressing warmth is a low priority for them. The teacher understands that it is simpler to dial back intensity once tight structures are in place than generating focus after lax habits have been formed. Therefore, if presented with the choice, they side on strictness rather than ensuring each student feels comfortable. Children are resilient and initial uneasiness won’t last.
Throughout the first day of school, the teacher’s directives, procedures, and tone are highly demanding, but never militant. There is intentionality behind each of the routines, rules, and expectations that they teach. It is this purposefulness that maximizes each child’s learning, helping them become greater students. Requiring children to sit up straight, lock elbows when raising a hand, and pinch either side of a whiteboard when called on to show their work can seem rigid, but each has deep academic implications.
Sitting in an L-shape posture helps oxygen flow to the brain, keeping students alert and focused; raising an arm vertically towards the ceiling demonstrates that they know an answer, while a bent arm signals that they’re still processing a question; and, holding a whiteboard firmly makes it simpler for the teacher to read and informally assess their work. When students internalize these habits, the teacher can maximize instructional time and – over the course of the school year – cover far more content than if they weren’t so detail oriented.
In every school day there are ebbs and flows consisting of intensely focused work, relaxed study, and play. Of these, the first is by far and away the hardest for students to get used to, so it falls on the teacher to build their powers of concentration. Taken out of context, their persona can seem intense and controlling, but judging any person’s intentions and purpose based on truncated optics is unfair to the subject and unwise of the critic. To fairly analyze an event, one must see that which transpires before and after it. It’s foolish to describe an educator’s organizational structure as carceral, without ever seeing their teacher/student interactions at other times of the day.
Elementary teachers often maintain different tones, depending on which subject they’re teaching. During math class, they might stand for the entire hour, arrange the students in rows facing a board, and, because they want to deliver frequent informal assessments, require captive student participation. While teaching Social Studies, the same teacher delivers less direct instruction and facilitates more. They sit for much of the class period, position students in learning pods, and accept laxer posture and attitudes, so long as assignments are completed. Many teachers who have been cruelly labeled Carceral Pedagogs also buy fruit for children who come to school hungry, spend their lunch periods helping struggling learners, and attend students’ sporting events and musical recitals on weekends. As a result, they tend to be loved, even by those who are not fond of the way they teach.
Tight management structures are sometimes disparaged by educators who find them physically and mentally restrictive. When forming their opinions, these critics usually fail to recognize the difference between adult and child emotions. Grownups might feel suffocated when their movements and responses are monitored and corrected. The same directives, however, make many students feel safe because their environment is consistent and predictable. There are of course children who don’t like standard routines and protocols, but there is no classroom structure that will perfectly satisfy every individual. Teachers must make choices considering their class’ collective best interests. Sacrificing an entire management and pedagogical philosophy because a few students are uncomfortable is both ridiculous and unrealistic.
Attaching the label Carceral Pedagogy to a set of teaching strategies is as much an indictment of methodology as it is the person delivering it. This blistering invective implies the worst of a person’s character and intentions. Any fair analysis of a teacher’s work should begin with the assumption that they have their students’ best interests in mind.
After watching the Cold Call video, you can see a narcissist exerting dominance over a group of children, or you can see a man stretching his students to behave their best and work their hardest the best way he knows how. Regardless of your leanings, you’ll never know his intentions, character, and instructional quality unless you see him teach longer, interact more with students, and delve into the particulars of his work. If you choose to give him the benefit of doubts, you might conclude:
A teacher can be demanding without being militant. Requiring students to track them with their eyes and answer questions with alacrity is less to serve their power cravings, and more to develop academic habits that will help children learn more. Wanting compliance is not the same as requiring obedience; organizing students to cooperate and follow directions can but does not equate to abusing power; and, teaching academic posture is not an egotistical power grab, but instead helps maximize student learning. Their aim is efficiency not dominance; they want to develop great students not create little obedient soldiers.
They practice accountable, not carceral, pedagogy.