I started this blog as a class assignment. The class is about electronic resources available for teachers. But in prisons, the existence of the Internet is a closely-guarded secret, so many of the resources are not available for my day-to-day work.
Perhaps, though, that is why I enjoy classes like this so much. I would never normally have a reason to start a blog or develop a Web site.
In this class, I have subscribed for the first time to podcasts, netserv lists, rss feeds, and newsgroups. I have posted my first blog (this one) and I have posted a PBwiki. I have greatly improved my knowledge about my faithful companion, Microsoft Office. I have finally added other search engines to my one and only Google, like Alta Vista, and Lycos, and metasearch engines like Dog Pile. I have met Ms. Dewey, and I have stockpiled a whole bunch of valuable resources with del.icio.us that I can now access at the prison as well as at home.
I am not a digital native by any stretch of the imagination, but I am not afraid of new-fangled gadgets. I am, however, skeptical at first; I have to be convinced that they are worth the time and effort to learn and use. For that reason, I am not too sure yet about blogging and podcasting. It reminds me of the old adage that when everybody is talking, nobody is listening. Some of the educational podcasts we looked at in this class, like Grammargirl and Tech Tip Chicks are very useful, but finding more will take a lot of time. And I will probably wait for the rise and fall of the popular sites before I really get on board with things like Facebook. Already, with instant messaging, I have installed MSN, Yahoo, and AOL - and still I have no one to talk to! Where do you draw the line?
Now, one gadget that really impressed me was the electronic response device for students. These little remote controls just struck me as so very useful for teachers. They allow students to respond individually using a device that looks like a TV remote. Students can respond anonymously, but the teacher knows who's who. And the results can be shown on a screen for all to see, Family Feud-style. They are very cool, and relatively cheap at less than $100 per device. ("Relatively" compared to buying a computer per kid, anyway.) I can think of worse ways to try to get students to pay attention in class. I don't know if they would be acceptable in prison classrooms (our department supervisor was told today that answering machines are against prison rules, so his new phone has to go - and no, he can't have a secretary instead!) So probably e-clickers (from einstruction.com) have no chance, but I have to ask...
This class, and others like it that I have taken, keep me "with it." I can pass on news of developments in electronics to my students, even if they can't use it right now. I can explore new Web sites and find new items to download that can be taken to my classroom on good old-fashioned paper, or even on disks, if the files are small enough (we don't have CD burners!)
I can feel that I am on a par with my colleagues in the public schools, and I can talk it up to my colleagues in the prison. If I ever leave the prison, I believe my new knowledge will be directly relevant to any other teaching job I go to. But even if I don't, I already am reaping the benefits of this class. Hey, Shift Happens. Thank you Dr. S.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
The Things Inmates Say!
The other day, an inmate student looked up from his GED language book and sighed. "There are too many rules! You got pro nouns... reflective nouns.... obsessive nouns...too many to learn!"
I'd say that we both have a lot of work left to do.
I'd say that we both have a lot of work left to do.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Tested to the Limit
This week, inmates are being tested again. We had the TABE today (Test of Adult Basic Education). Those who "pass" with a grade equivalent of 9.0 or better will take the pre-GED on Wednesday. If they pass that test they can look forward to the actual GED next Monday. It is a gruelling schedule, especially since they know that those who don't qualify get to stay in bed. As good teachers, we all immediately start reciting the long-term benefits that will out-weigh this short term "reward" for not making the grade. It doesn't wash with inmates.
Teachers in public schools have the lofty goal of avoiding teaching to the test. They want their students to learn more than how best to tackle multiple-choice questions, and they want education to be more meaningful than a grade. Interestingly, however, the more tests students fail, the more they have to take. When students fall behind on the FCAT, they are immediately subjected to reading inventories, and math diagnostic tests. If they fail there, Title One and Special Education teachers step in with a whole new battery of tests to pinpoint deficiencies. Once the IEP is written, students have to prove their progress (or lack thereof) on tests as often as every three weeks -the government wants concrete proof that no child is being left behind.
In the prison system, academic testing reaches new heights. No one pretends that there are other goals than the acquisition of a certificate. An inmate with a GED and a vocational certificate or two is far more likely to stay out of prison than an inmate with no proof of education. Inmates are tested, retested and tested again. There is no room for art or music in the prison classroom. Teachers may lament that they are teaching to the test, but heck, what else can they do? The number one question from inmates at the beginning of each lesson: Will this be on the test?
About thirty percent of prison inmates are eligible for Special Education. They are used to being tested to death. Amazingly, most of them take it in stride and very few refuse to take tests. But how must it feel to take test after test, knowing that you are below average, not making adequate progress, and getting too old for school? That's gotta hurt.
Sometimes teachers throw up their hands when an inmate fails to show up for a test, or "Christmas trees" his answer sheet. "He was so close!" they say. But for the inmate, it was just another test point on a long continuum of failures. It's not important to him any more to try his best because the results can be just as bad whether he tries or not.
A psychologist once showed our staff members a test result of an inmate who had killed his mother. It showed that he was perfectly normal. "What does this tell us?" she asked. "That you gave him the wrong test!" someone replied. But really, did they need a test at all? Perhaps tests aren't that reliable after all, and perhaps we don't need a test for everything!
We do need tests to see what a student is capable of, and we need tests to provide statistics on how good a job we are doing. But do we need them to keep proving that a student cannot perform up to a certain standard? Why can't certificates have no minimum requirement? Why not simply state a level of achievement and leave it at that? Leaving no child behind should not mean that we will whip them on until they reach an arbitrarily set, one-size-fits-all standardized test. It should mean that we will adjust to their tested strengths and make a place for them in our society.
Teachers in public schools have the lofty goal of avoiding teaching to the test. They want their students to learn more than how best to tackle multiple-choice questions, and they want education to be more meaningful than a grade. Interestingly, however, the more tests students fail, the more they have to take. When students fall behind on the FCAT, they are immediately subjected to reading inventories, and math diagnostic tests. If they fail there, Title One and Special Education teachers step in with a whole new battery of tests to pinpoint deficiencies. Once the IEP is written, students have to prove their progress (or lack thereof) on tests as often as every three weeks -the government wants concrete proof that no child is being left behind.
In the prison system, academic testing reaches new heights. No one pretends that there are other goals than the acquisition of a certificate. An inmate with a GED and a vocational certificate or two is far more likely to stay out of prison than an inmate with no proof of education. Inmates are tested, retested and tested again. There is no room for art or music in the prison classroom. Teachers may lament that they are teaching to the test, but heck, what else can they do? The number one question from inmates at the beginning of each lesson: Will this be on the test?
About thirty percent of prison inmates are eligible for Special Education. They are used to being tested to death. Amazingly, most of them take it in stride and very few refuse to take tests. But how must it feel to take test after test, knowing that you are below average, not making adequate progress, and getting too old for school? That's gotta hurt.
Sometimes teachers throw up their hands when an inmate fails to show up for a test, or "Christmas trees" his answer sheet. "He was so close!" they say. But for the inmate, it was just another test point on a long continuum of failures. It's not important to him any more to try his best because the results can be just as bad whether he tries or not.
A psychologist once showed our staff members a test result of an inmate who had killed his mother. It showed that he was perfectly normal. "What does this tell us?" she asked. "That you gave him the wrong test!" someone replied. But really, did they need a test at all? Perhaps tests aren't that reliable after all, and perhaps we don't need a test for everything!
We do need tests to see what a student is capable of, and we need tests to provide statistics on how good a job we are doing. But do we need them to keep proving that a student cannot perform up to a certain standard? Why can't certificates have no minimum requirement? Why not simply state a level of achievement and leave it at that? Leaving no child behind should not mean that we will whip them on until they reach an arbitrarily set, one-size-fits-all standardized test. It should mean that we will adjust to their tested strengths and make a place for them in our society.
Friday, September 7, 2007
What Do Inmates Fear?
If you walked into the prison I teach in, you might think that it looks like a college campus, except for the razor wire. The brick buildings and the well maintained grounds are pleasant and clean. There is a chapel with qualified chaplains on staff, a food hall, administrative buildings, a large school staffed with fully qualified teachers, a medical and dental clinic staffed with fully qualified doctors, nurses and psychologists, a gym and playing fields with a coach on staff, a warehouse and even a small store.
The officers who work there go through rigorous training in which they are instructed on cultural awareness, use of force only as a last resort, and how to assist inmates in psychological distress. Inmates are fed, clothed, and cared for entirely at taxpayer expense. They pay $4 to see a doctor. Apparently, they want for nothing.
Yet I have never met a single inmate who thought he was well off. I have never met one who would think twice about giving up his place in an air-conditioned Electronics trade class for instant freedom. Why? What do they have to go back to?
Of course, there are no simple answers, but there are a few recurring themes in inmates' reasoning. First, they are in complete denial. This may be because of the trial/conviction process - If you say, "I'm innocent!" enough times, you start to believe it. Second, they forget how bad life was - the incompetent parents, the filthy crack houses, the violence, the anger, the broken hearts. And third, they believe in a future that has no basis in reality because they refuse to begin working towards it -
One time, an inmate told me that all fights in prison are over one issue: "respect." An inmate who cannot garner respect from other inmates can look forward to being a Jun-Jun (joon-joon). He will hand over his possessions and do anything he is told, or risk being beaten severely, perhaps even to death. I only know this because that is what I am told "may" happen. Every single inmate who has ever walked into my classroom with a bloody face or an arm in a sling has told me it was an "accident" during a basketball game. Being known as a snitch is a sure-fire way of losing all respect.
We lock our doors and look upon the police as our allies. We check on our loved ones and know they are OK when we are not around. What must it be like to have no such security?
Inmates only have to work six hours a day. Their work is what the rest of us do for ourselves after our work day is done: food preparation and clean up, dorm cleaning, yard work, laundry. If they are in school, other inmates are busy taking care of their needs. It seems such an easy life. Why do inmates keep rejecting the opportunity for self-improvement when it is handed to them for free? For years, I could not accept the excuse that inmates offered for not concentrating on their studies: "My mind ain't straight for this." What does that mean?
I think it means that what every teacher learns in training about Maslow's hierarchy of needs is true. Safety is the most basic of human needs. Without it, we live in fear, and nothing else matters. Inmates are not afraid of being locked up. They are not afraid of the officers who guard them or of anyone in charge of them. They are afraid of the future, and of losing control of situations outside the prison fence. But most of all, they are afraid for their own safety. Their fear is paralyzing and pervasive. And until they can learn to deal with it, nothing else that we provide will make a difference for them.
The officers who work there go through rigorous training in which they are instructed on cultural awareness, use of force only as a last resort, and how to assist inmates in psychological distress. Inmates are fed, clothed, and cared for entirely at taxpayer expense. They pay $4 to see a doctor. Apparently, they want for nothing.
Yet I have never met a single inmate who thought he was well off. I have never met one who would think twice about giving up his place in an air-conditioned Electronics trade class for instant freedom. Why? What do they have to go back to?
Of course, there are no simple answers, but there are a few recurring themes in inmates' reasoning. First, they are in complete denial. This may be because of the trial/conviction process - If you say, "I'm innocent!" enough times, you start to believe it. Second, they forget how bad life was - the incompetent parents, the filthy crack houses, the violence, the anger, the broken hearts. And third, they believe in a future that has no basis in reality because they refuse to begin working towards it -
- "I'll start night school when I get out, but I can't worry about school right now."
- "I don't need job skills because my uncle/father/old boss will give me a job as soon as I want to start."
- "I don't have custody, or even see my kids, but when I get out I'm going to be a real good father."
One time, an inmate told me that all fights in prison are over one issue: "respect." An inmate who cannot garner respect from other inmates can look forward to being a Jun-Jun (joon-joon). He will hand over his possessions and do anything he is told, or risk being beaten severely, perhaps even to death. I only know this because that is what I am told "may" happen. Every single inmate who has ever walked into my classroom with a bloody face or an arm in a sling has told me it was an "accident" during a basketball game. Being known as a snitch is a sure-fire way of losing all respect.
We lock our doors and look upon the police as our allies. We check on our loved ones and know they are OK when we are not around. What must it be like to have no such security?
Inmates only have to work six hours a day. Their work is what the rest of us do for ourselves after our work day is done: food preparation and clean up, dorm cleaning, yard work, laundry. If they are in school, other inmates are busy taking care of their needs. It seems such an easy life. Why do inmates keep rejecting the opportunity for self-improvement when it is handed to them for free? For years, I could not accept the excuse that inmates offered for not concentrating on their studies: "My mind ain't straight for this." What does that mean?
I think it means that what every teacher learns in training about Maslow's hierarchy of needs is true. Safety is the most basic of human needs. Without it, we live in fear, and nothing else matters. Inmates are not afraid of being locked up. They are not afraid of the officers who guard them or of anyone in charge of them. They are afraid of the future, and of losing control of situations outside the prison fence. But most of all, they are afraid for their own safety. Their fear is paralyzing and pervasive. And until they can learn to deal with it, nothing else that we provide will make a difference for them.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
In Stir
In stir, up the river, in the nick, down, locked up. So far, I have served just over 12 years behind bars, and it looks like I'll be doing life. I am a teacher in a state prison.
To protect the innocent, namely me, I can't give specific details such as names and locations, but I will say that I deal only with youthful male inmates who have mostly committed some fairly serious crimes for which the state determined that anything less than a year would not be enough.
I teach GED classes, which is to say, I teach. Everybody knows what teachers do, and anyone could do it, right? Most people have at least 12 years experience of observing teachers, so we all know what goes on. Is it different in prison? Not in the ways you might expect. First, let's expel Myth No. 1. There are no guards in the room. In fact, there are no guards anywhere in sight, most of the time. Considering there are always at least a couple of rapists and murderers in the room, that might seem a bit odd. Yet, the inmates are relatively well-behaved. They have had a fair number of classroom rules shoved down their throats over the years, so they know how to play the game. The difference when they get out of line in a prison school is that they will not be going to the dean's office; they will be going to a freezing, stinking, dark cell for an indeterminate number of days, with a cell-mate they don't know, who may be crazier than they are. Fear is a great motivator. More on that later.
As a state worker, I teach year-round, which is to say I do not get summers off. Really. I also get much lower pay than county teachers because there are no step increases, and the cost-of-living increases have ranged from 0 (yes, 0) to 3 percent, usually closer to 1 1/2 percent per year since I began. At this rate, I figure minimum wage will overtake my "salary" before I retire. So why do I do it? First, no parental contact. I have never had to speak to a parent. That's not to say that I couldn't, but they would have to ask to speak to me (prison policy), and in over 12 years, not one of them ever did that. I find that odd. Do you? Second, by state statute I am forbidden to take work home with me. And by prison policy, I am not allowed to do overtime. My day ends with the bell. Period. I know teachers in county schools who put in 100 hours a week. I do not envy them their summers off.
I started this blog for a class I am taking to do with educational technology. So let me finish up with a few words on that. Inmates are spoiled. I have six computers in my room. Inmates have the option of doing some or all of their studies on the computer. Of course, they do not have Internet access, you will be pleased to know. But they have a myriad of educational games available, and a full library of educational videos, School could not be any easier or attractive. Do they appreciate it? No. They complain that school is a punishment in itself and look upon computers as a supply box for tattoo guns (they steal the CD drive motors)! But I keep trying.
I have a few simulations that the inmates do periodically, and I try to work in the videos with the text readings. We have plenty to choose from, so that helps make lessons more interesting. Of course a ten-minute video followed by a mind-stretching writing exercise is not necessarily their idea of "fun," and there are many who will resist and complain every step of the way. So perhaps really I mean that it is interesting for me.
And then again, sometimes I feel as if I am pushing water uphill.
To protect the innocent, namely me, I can't give specific details such as names and locations, but I will say that I deal only with youthful male inmates who have mostly committed some fairly serious crimes for which the state determined that anything less than a year would not be enough.
I teach GED classes, which is to say, I teach. Everybody knows what teachers do, and anyone could do it, right? Most people have at least 12 years experience of observing teachers, so we all know what goes on. Is it different in prison? Not in the ways you might expect. First, let's expel Myth No. 1. There are no guards in the room. In fact, there are no guards anywhere in sight, most of the time. Considering there are always at least a couple of rapists and murderers in the room, that might seem a bit odd. Yet, the inmates are relatively well-behaved. They have had a fair number of classroom rules shoved down their throats over the years, so they know how to play the game. The difference when they get out of line in a prison school is that they will not be going to the dean's office; they will be going to a freezing, stinking, dark cell for an indeterminate number of days, with a cell-mate they don't know, who may be crazier than they are. Fear is a great motivator. More on that later.
As a state worker, I teach year-round, which is to say I do not get summers off. Really. I also get much lower pay than county teachers because there are no step increases, and the cost-of-living increases have ranged from 0 (yes, 0) to 3 percent, usually closer to 1 1/2 percent per year since I began. At this rate, I figure minimum wage will overtake my "salary" before I retire. So why do I do it? First, no parental contact. I have never had to speak to a parent. That's not to say that I couldn't, but they would have to ask to speak to me (prison policy), and in over 12 years, not one of them ever did that. I find that odd. Do you? Second, by state statute I am forbidden to take work home with me. And by prison policy, I am not allowed to do overtime. My day ends with the bell. Period. I know teachers in county schools who put in 100 hours a week. I do not envy them their summers off.
I started this blog for a class I am taking to do with educational technology. So let me finish up with a few words on that. Inmates are spoiled. I have six computers in my room. Inmates have the option of doing some or all of their studies on the computer. Of course, they do not have Internet access, you will be pleased to know. But they have a myriad of educational games available, and a full library of educational videos, School could not be any easier or attractive. Do they appreciate it? No. They complain that school is a punishment in itself and look upon computers as a supply box for tattoo guns (they steal the CD drive motors)! But I keep trying.
I have a few simulations that the inmates do periodically, and I try to work in the videos with the text readings. We have plenty to choose from, so that helps make lessons more interesting. Of course a ten-minute video followed by a mind-stretching writing exercise is not necessarily their idea of "fun," and there are many who will resist and complain every step of the way. So perhaps really I mean that it is interesting for me.
And then again, sometimes I feel as if I am pushing water uphill.
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