21/07/2021
Last week, we had our dreaded MYP Audit. Through two weeks’ worth of blood, sweat, and mostly, tears we did manage to put on a good enough show. But putting aside whether we get authorized or not, the main takeaway was the insight we got into the IB program from actual IB professionals.
One of the main points was that the auditors didn’t really see instances of student agency in classrooms. Now, student agency is a main IB principle. IB is all about empowering students- I mean learners (my bad), encouraging them to take charge of their own learning and blazing their own differentiated trails through the jungle of their academic careers.
Let’s be honest, generally the way we teach doesn’t leave a lot of room for students to take control. Because hey, they’re kids: they can’t control themselves, much alone a daunting curriculum and the delicate balance of ephemeral elements that make a class. Hence the obvious solution is to teach with an iron board-marker, the teacher ruling over their own micro fascist state.
But that’s not the IB way. We have to give into the chaos.
Fast-forward a week. Friday. Year 8, Language & Literature.
“Guys. We have to do the play.”
Cue the crescendo of anguished tweens wailing in absolute defiance in the face of utter tyranny. To be fair, their anguish isn’t entirely without cause. This cursed adaptation of Poe had been in the works for months with many an infuriating hiatus derailing any shred of momentum that we had been able to rally. But hey, when the boss says jump…
“SIR, NO.”
“We will protest.”
“I’ll burn the school down.”
“Do we have to do the play? We can do anything else please!”
“Guys let's sit-in on the basketball court.”
“But they’ll take away our field trip!”
“You got a match?”
You get the gist.
On this particular Friday, I wasn’t really vibing with this display of cutesy rebellion and angst. It was a stressful enough day with nihilistic highschoolers and painfully bureaucratic accountants. The cacophony was getting a bit too much and me, generally being a nice person, instead of making a memorable example of a poor soul in my righteous fury, simply said:
“Y’all let me know when you’re ready to do this, I’ll be outside.”
And I walked out, emailing yet another document to complete the ritual and satiate the Accounting demon’s thirst for paperwork.
Couple minutes pass, and someone does come to get me.
I return to a class of sullen faces, the air heavy with dejection. Chairs are dragged to the center of the room to begin rehearsals, their actions teetering on the edge of insolence and borderline insubordination. This is supposed to be a whole class thing but we are a divided lot. The “too-cool-for-you” crowd keeps on doing their thing, and the “please-don’t-notice-mes” still stick to their corner.
Rehearsal starts with many a bickering and monotonous delivery. And I’m just not having it today.
“You know what? Pick two people to be directors of this play. I’ll be outside.”
Second walkout in the same class? New personal best.
Five-ish minutes later I walked back in, having concluded my blood pact to get a cheque approved (don't even ask) and overall very much near tears over the multiple stabbing turns this Friday seemed to be taking.
But I am greeted with something honestly spectacular.
Two students, A (new girl, just joined, god bless her) and IM stand at the helm. A very obedient crew of actors perform their lines with as much rusty passion as they can muster. The rest of the class dutifully fulfill their role of extras, adding that perfectly timed oomph.
Picking my jaw up, I ninja-move to the back to observe this miracle: true student agency in action. Learners taking charge of their learning, assigning roles, actually working towards an objective. They said it couldn’t be done, a myth! And yet here I stood, recording on my phone to quell the naysayers.
