Sour Conversations
One of the defining characteristics of a professional learning team is a commitment to using data about student achievement to drive instruction. Together, teachers examine results and refine practices based on what they learn about students.
And few would argue that the work done to refocus our profession on results is essential and long overdue. As educators, we should not only accept accountability—we should embrace it. We should constantly seek out information about our students because to make decisions without data is inherently irresponsible and unprofessional.
But on an emotional level, data can intimidate us. Collecting and analyzing data seems too scientific—almost out of reach because we haven’t been trained as formal researchers. “Data analysis” is something done by experts behind computers working with spreadsheets and speaking a language that we don’t understand!
What makes data even more intimidating is that schools are almost drowning in it! Standardized test scores, formative assessments developed by teachers, attendance patterns, behavior referrals, informal classroom observations, and anecdotal records collected on each child surround us every day. Knowing where to begin is almost impossible.
For our learning team, the greatest barrier to using data was the initial fear of being judged. Working together to plan lessons and to analyze results required us to reveal our practices—and ourselves—to outsiders for the first time. “What if my scores are the lowest?” we wondered. “Are we willing to take that risk?”
Matters were made worse when a well-intentioned instructional support teacher tried to facilitate a conversation with our learning team before our first data day. “How will you feel if you’re the best teacher?” She asked. “What if you end up being the worst?”
Almost immediately, conversation dried up at our table, replaced by a sense of uneasy competition. “What if you end up being the worst,” I kept thinking. Those few words stalled us. No longer was working with data something that we were totally comfortable with. Our confidence—and our willingness to trust one another—dwindled and hesitance kicked in.
After a few days of nervous tension, we met again on our own. We decided to focus our conversations on instructional practices rather than people. For us, low scores weren’t evidence of “weak teachers.” Instead, they were evidence of instructional practices that need to be strengthened. Likewise, high scores weren’t evidence of the “best teachers.” They were evidence of instructional practices that were working and needed to be replicated. We eliminated judgmental terms like “best” and “worst” from our conversations about instruction—and we were relieved!
While it may seem like a small semantic distinction, focusing on practices rather than people made collaboration safe—allowing us to reveal information that we would have otherwise guarded closely—which was essential if we were ever going to risk opening doors to our instruction.
Are conversations about data and instruction “safe” for teachers on your team or in your building? What barriers stand in the way of a genuine commitment to focusing on results?
One of the defining characteristics of a professional learning team is a commitment to using data about student achievement to drive instruction. Together, teachers examine results and refine practices based on what they learn about students.
And few would argue that the work done to refocus our profession on results is essential and long overdue. As educators, we should not only accept accountability—we should embrace it. We should constantly seek out information about our students because to make decisions without data is inherently irresponsible and unprofessional.
But on an emotional level, data can intimidate us. Collecting and analyzing data seems too scientific—almost out of reach because we haven’t been trained as formal researchers. “Data analysis” is something done by experts behind computers working with spreadsheets and speaking a language that we don’t understand!
What makes data even more intimidating is that schools are almost drowning in it! Standardized test scores, formative assessments developed by teachers, attendance patterns, behavior referrals, informal classroom observations, and anecdotal records collected on each child surround us every day. Knowing where to begin is almost impossible.
For our learning team, the greatest barrier to using data was the initial fear of being judged. Working together to plan lessons and to analyze results required us to reveal our practices—and ourselves—to outsiders for the first time. “What if my scores are the lowest?” we wondered. “Are we willing to take that risk?”
Matters were made worse when a well-intentioned instructional support teacher tried to facilitate a conversation with our learning team before our first data day. “How will you feel if you’re the best teacher?” She asked. “What if you end up being the worst?”
Almost immediately, conversation dried up at our table, replaced by a sense of uneasy competition. “What if you end up being the worst,” I kept thinking. Those few words stalled us. No longer was working with data something that we were totally comfortable with. Our confidence—and our willingness to trust one another—dwindled and hesitance kicked in.
After a few days of nervous tension, we met again on our own. We decided to focus our conversations on instructional practices rather than people. For us, low scores weren’t evidence of “weak teachers.” Instead, they were evidence of instructional practices that need to be strengthened. Likewise, high scores weren’t evidence of the “best teachers.” They were evidence of instructional practices that were working and needed to be replicated. We eliminated judgmental terms like “best” and “worst” from our conversations about instruction—and we were relieved!
While it may seem like a small semantic distinction, focusing on practices rather than people made collaboration safe—allowing us to reveal information that we would have otherwise guarded closely—which was essential if we were ever going to risk opening doors to our instruction.
Are conversations about data and instruction “safe” for teachers on your team or in your building? What barriers stand in the way of a genuine commitment to focusing on results?
3 Comments:
“We decided to focus our conversations on instructional practices rather than people. ”
W. Edwards Deming always believed that the road to continuous improvement is always looking at systems rather than people. There is a premise that teachers aspire to be effective and have aspirations for improvement, yet lack the knowledge and skills for professional development.
Our district is investigating the use of Teacher Podcasts as a tool to promote collaboration and coaching on effective instruction. The focus is not on what is viewed but what reflection and discussion occurs after watching.
Take a look at the podcast blog at http://hrdpods.blogspot.com/
And our home page at http://www.broward.k12.fl.us/hrd/
I like Andy Hargreaves' term "data-informed" instruction, instead of "data-driven" instruction. It puts the emphasis on professional instructional decisions that are informed by data, rather than making it sound like the data themselves are in the driver's seat.
Asking questions that for me are ordinary such as "What about your students makes this an appropriate activity? What state learning targets are met by this project" has led to terrified looks or awkward silence at many grade level meetings. The idea of reshapping instruction and differentiating is very frightening for some. What is more, there is limited serious professional development about what this change means for veteran teachers, how it changes everything from classroom management to daily lesson plans. It is much harder then just saying, "Let's look at our test scores." However, that is usualy what happens with poor results. Most teachers with 5+ years in the classroom have never been taught that, and data analysis is still not required for most credentials.
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