Learning to School: An Interview with Author Jennifer Wallner

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Dr. Jennifer Wallner is assistant professor in the School of Political Studies at the University of Ottawa. She has published articles in many of the discipline’s leading journals, such as Publius: The Journal of Federalism, Comparative Political Studies, the Peabody Journal of Education, and Canadian Journal of Political Science. Her new book, Learning to School: Federalism and Public Schooling in Canada, was recently published by University of Toronto Press and explains how and why the Canadian provinces have achieved a remarkably coherent system of elementary and secondary education, without the intervention of the federal government.

Below is an interview I conducted with Dr. Wallner about her new book via email in 2014.
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Alcantara: Why did you decide to write a book on this topic?

Wallner: Well, as you know, one big practical motivator for writing a book is the fact that we need to publish to get tenure! But, more substantively, this book evolved from my PhD dissertation. A student of federalism and public policy, I wanted to understand the ways in which the constituent members of a federation manage to craft coherent yet differentiated policy systems despite institutional fragmentation and societal diversity. I picked the education sector because it is critical to the success of any state and one of the most important services it delivers. What is more, in federations, the responsibility for schooling falls to the substate governments – or provinces in the Canadian context. This institutional design creates, on the one hand, unique opportunities for policy experimentation but, on the other hand, also ushers in the potential for incoherent and unequal schooling systems to emerge as the provinces pursue different practices. As I PhD student, I wanted to understand the evolution and management of the provincial elementary and secondary schooling systems.

Alcantara: So how different or similar are educational policy systems across provinces and territories?

Wallner: Before answering that question, I have to clarify something. Because of major differences in the respective institutional and economic capacities of the provinces and territories – let alone their historical independence and autonomy from the federal government – I decided to focus on explaining and understanding the evolution of the provincial systems alone. So – if we look at the provinces, in the main, the core components of their respective education systems demonstrate far more similarity than difference. I show this in three ways. I track the relative investments that are made, the achievements realized, and the substantive content of the policies themselves. To unpack the content, I break the schooling sector into five dimensions (administration, finance, curriculum, assessment, and the teaching profession) and detail what each province is doing. This is not to suggest that the are exact replicas or copies of one another – obvious differences include separate Catholic school boards in Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Ontario and the unique transition years between secondary and post-secondary schooling in Quebec, known as CEGEP. But – taking a broad view, the schooling systems are remarkably similar across the federation.

Alcantara: That is really surprising! As you know, the old school federalism literature talks about how federal systems are advantageous because they permit policy experimentation and so it’s somewhat surprising to hear how similar the provincial education systems are. So is this a case where the systems have always been similar right from the beginning? Or did the systems evolve and converge through policy experimentation and learning?

 Wallner: I was definitely surprised by the results! Once it was clear that there was convergence, I wanted to see if provincial similarity was a more recent phenomenon driven by such things as globalization or US influence. So, I decided to take a long view and adopt an historical approach and went all the way back to the 1840s when then-colonial governments of British North America began to enact policies for public schooling. It turns out that at first some interesting differences appeared among the colonies – and what would later become the provinces – as officials in the different areas pursued different options. However, following Confederation, provincial officials were keenly aware of the fact that they needed to meet and exchange information on their different education arrangements and so formed the Dominion Education Association. Teachers and school board officials also got into the mix by the 1920s and created their own associations that brought together representatives from coast to coast. This activity set down a tradition of dedicated information exchanges that helped facilitate what public policy people like to call ‘policy oriented learning’. And so – by 1945, many of the differences that had originally marked the provinces were already disappearing thanks to experts and officials learning from one another and adapting practices to fit within their respective jurisdictions.

Alcantara: How did these policy learning processes and networking exchanges become so permanent and robust and resistant to differentiation and the forces of change (e.g. economic shocks, international and local/regional labour trends, and the like)? Were they institutionalized in some manner?

 Wallner: I should clarify something – it is not as if in 1945 all policy experimentation stopped and all the provinces looked alike with the education systems as we know them today. In some ways I wish it had been that simple. Instead, some provinces always continued to experiment often in response to many of those factors you mentioned above like economic shocks and labour trends. When new practices popped up in one province, the others could watch to see if they worked – like university-led teacher education programs, that started in Alberta and then spread across the rest of the country. So, what contributed to the permanence and robustness of the learning network? One of the major things that contributed to this was the creation of the Council for Ministers of Education, Canada (CMEC) in 1967. This is an organization for education ministers and their senior deputies alone. They have regularly scheduled meetings and a permanent secretariat based in Toronto that helps keep things going – even as governments change hands across the provinces after elections. I am not saying that everything is channeled through CMEC – but the Council helped to institutionalize the learning network and offers a focal point for information exchanges thus facilitating the necessary communication from coast to coast.

Alcantara: So what are the implications of your research findings in terms of a) what we should expect to see from provincial education policy in the future; and b) what policymakers might learn from your work?

 Wallner: Great questions! For many people, one issue that is already getting considerable coverage is the declining math scores in all provinces, except Quebec. I hope that officials are going to capitalize on Canada’s comparative advantage and draw lessons from Quebec to help improve things in the rest of the jurisdictions. Moving beyond what I covered in my book – another issue that receives considerably less attention but is one that needs to be addressed is the quality of schooling for Aboriginal children, and the new autonomy that the territories have over schooling in their respective regions and what that will mean for provincial and territorial cooperation in education.

On the lessons learned – I hope that three things come out from the book. First, and this is something we did not have a chance to get into here but schooling systems are in fact a collection of policies and practices that are often developed in isolation from one another. For example, some area of the bureaucracy will specialize in curriculum while another focuses on administration. Decisions in administration, however, can influence things in curriculum and so it is important to recognize the interconnections among the different dimensions of education policy. Second, interprovincial communication is critical and must happen regularly. It is only through actively exchanging ideas that we learn from one other and make overall improvements to our schooling systems. Third and most importantly is that provincial policy makers can build remarkably effective policy systems – like education – without the direct intervention of the federal government and without expecting each province to do exactly the same thing.

Alcantara: Now that this book is done, what are you hoping to write about next?

Wallner: I am turning my attention to other Anglo-American federations – Australia and the US – to unpack the different trajectories of the schooling systems in those two other countries. Both cases are fascinating in and of themselves and in comparison with Canada. Did you know, for example, that more than 30 percent of Australians attend private schools that are supported by public funds? Or that many US governors have little authority over schooling policy in their states? Both countries are also in the throws of considering some major changes to the way that schooling is managed, specifically with respect to the role that should be played by the Commonwealth and Washington respectively. Bottom line: this makes great fodder for political science and public policy research!

Gender Roles in the Classroom: Time for a Rethink?

Recently, in my first year seminar, I asked my students, all of whom were sitting in these new, rolling desks/chairs, to form groups of three.  Interesting, the groups were mostly aligned by gender (e.g. all male or female groups) and ethnicity.  Indeed, this groupings existed right from the beginning of the first class.

There are a lot of reasons why this may have happened and I’ll leave it to the critical theory scholars to tell us why.

But I wonder to what extent is some of this the result of the type of socialization that goes on in schools these days?

My oldest son is in grade 2 and over the last two years, I’ve asked him about what he does in school.  Every month or so, he describes how in math or science or gym, his class would play a game and frequently, the teacher structures the opposing teams in terms of gender (e.g. boys vs. girls).

I never understood why teachers divided teams along gender lines. And now, I worry and wonder about what kind of effect does this have on young people in terms of their in-group/out-group identity as they develop?

 

Trustees need greater role in strategic planning

Published July 5, 2014, in the Waterloo Region Record

When I first expressed my intent to run as a school board trustee, many people asked why I would want to take on a role that was essentially pointless.

I defended the board, believing the role of trustee to be far from pointless, but rather a platform from which I could improve the conditions for students in the classroom.

I did not expect all of my ideas to be acted upon, but I, perhaps naively, believed the board of trustees would operate similar to other boards I had served on in the past.

I assumed a strategic planning process would give me an opportunity to share my ideas and hear my fellow trustees thoughts. Then after discussion and deliberation, a plan would be approved that reflected the will of the board of trustees.

It did not take long for me to realize those cynics knew something I did not. At my first formal board meeting, the strategic direction was provided to us by the director of education. We did not even pass a motion to rubber stamp the direction.

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Merit Pay and Evaluating Teachers

Two days ago, the Globe and Mail opinion page called for performance based merit pay for elementary and high school teachers in Canada.

Yesterday, two current teachers wrote letters to the editor criticizing the editorial. Among the reasons they gave for why merit pay for teachers is bad, are:

1) “How do you determine who is a “better” teacher?” And “The mechanism for evaluating teacher performance … is fraught with problems”.

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No question that a perennial problem for any type of study or evaluation is measurement. But I find it troubling that these two teachers would dismiss the idea of merit pay so quickly simply on the basis of measurement difficulties. How do teachers, for instance, evaluate student performance in any given subject area? How do principals and vice-principals make determinations about which teacher to hire when they fill a position? Do these teachers and administrators just throw up their hands and say, darn, the measurement tools we have are imperfect so let’s just give everyone the same grade? And, let’s just hire everyone who has a teaching degree in the field?

I agree that there are significant challenges in finding the right measurement tool for evaluating teacher performance. But I don’t think it impossible. The solution is probably a battery of measurement tools that take into account different aspects of teacher performance.

But even if you accept this point, you might object by saying:

2) “School administrators are already overworked just keeping the school running and do not have the time needed to evaluate staff thoroughly.”

Again, this is true but: a) teachers already go through an evaluation process every five years and so it would be a matter of changing that to a yearly evaluation; b) yes it would be more resource intensive but there may be ways to get around this issue by creating, dare I say it, more bureaucracy dedicated to this task or farming it out to a private company; and c) if merit pay does create meaningful incentives to improve teacher performance, then the benefits stemming from the program may outweigh the administrative costs.

But wait! You might object by saying:

3) “Once teachers start to compete for whatever criteria are selected to determine merit …. the sharing of resources and lesson plans will be sabotaged.” Yet “Most teachers are motivated by far less tangible rewards. This is the nature of a profession that deals with the growth of young people.”

First, a merit pay system does not automatically lead to a cutthroat environment. In fact, the opposite can occur. I happen to be a slightly productive scholar and have been experimenting with a variety of teaching techniques, and so I actively seek co-authorship with other productive scholars and other professors interested in teaching innovation. And which is? Are teachers going to sabotage lesson plans for money? Or are they motivated by far less tangible rewards? The answer is teachers are motivated by both material and non-material goals. So why not create a system that maximizes both goals in hopes of generating increased teaching performance?

Dr. Alcantara Discusses “Flipped” Classrooms in The Globe and Mail

Published Oct. 22, 2013 in The Globe and Mail

“Flipping” classrooms is a new, innovative teaching method that many professors are finding to be effective in their classrooms. Dr. Alcantara, a user of this method, discusses how it has changed the dynamics of his teaching experience and enabled him to engage with students on a new level. Read more about what Dr. Alcantara has to say by clicking here.

Radical Teaching? Or Something Old, Something New?

Wired Magazine, just published a story about a “radical new teaching method” which is transforming learning and teaching in developing countries. It’s a neat, although really wordy, story.

The radical new teaching pedagogy comes from some cognitive psychology research, which found:

“that kids given no instruction were much more likely to come up with novel solutions to a problem. “The science is brand-new, but it’s not as if people didn’t have this intuition before,” says coauthor Alison Gopnik, a professor of psychology at UC Berkeley.”

Applied to teaching and learning:

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“Peter Gray, a research professor at Boston College who studies children’s natural ways of learning, argues that human cognitive machinery is fundamentally incompatible with conventional schooling. Gray points out that young children, motivated by curiosity and playfulness, teach themselves a tremendous amount about the world. And yet when they reach school age, we supplant that innate drive to learn with an imposed curriculum. “We’re teaching the child that his questions don’t matter, that what matters are the questions of the curriculum. That’s just not the way natural selection designed us to learn. It designed us to solve problems and figure things out that are part of our real lives.”

The story continues with a discussion about how a teacher in Mexico used these ideas to radically improve learning outcomes in his school.  Rather than teaching a formal lesson, he would do the following:

“One day Juárez Correa went to his whiteboard and wrote “1 = 1.00.” Normally, at this point, he would start explaining the concept of fractions and decimals. Instead he just wrote “½ = ?” and “¼ = ?”

“Think about that for a second,” he said, and walked out of the room.

While the kids murmured, Juárez Correa went to the school cafeteria, where children could buy breakfast and lunch for small change. He borrowed about 10 pesos in coins, worth about 75 cents, and walked back to his classroom, where he distributed a peso’s worth of coins to each table. He noticed that Paloma had already written .50 and .25 on a piece of paper.

“One peso is one peso,” he said. “What’s one-half?”

Juárez Correa felt a chill. He had never encountered a student with Paloma’s level of innate ability.

At first a number of kids divided the coins into clearly unequal piles. It sparked a debate among the students about what one-half meant. Juárez Correa’s training told him to intervene. But now he remembered Mitra’s research and resisted the urge. Instead, he watched as Alma Delia Juárez Flores explained to her tablemates that half means equal portions. She counted out 50 centavos. “So the answer is .50,” she said. The other kids nodded. It made sense.”

In one sense, yes, this pedagogy is radical.  On the other hand, a bunch of the new teaching innovations working their way through the university, high school, and primary school systems are already doing these things, but in different packaging: problem-based learning and flipped classroom follow the same logic, although the flipped classroom combines the traditional model and the problem-based learning model described in the Wired Magazine.

What we really need is some data, using experimental methods, to start sorting out empirically the effectiveness of these various (and “new”) methods.

Diversity and Disagreement

A popular question in Canada, among both scholars and pundits: cultural diversity and deep disagreement… good? bad? some of both? What to do in the face of deep disputes over big questions of religion, cultural practices, and moral values?

McGill’s Carlos Fraenkel took a stab at this over the weekend at the New York Times, in an opinion piece provocatively titled “In Praise of the Clash of Cultures.”

Here is the argument in a nutshell.

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People disagree over fundamental Truths about religion, morality, and metaphysics. Let’s call these capital-T truths. The philosopher John Rawls called them “comphrehensive doctrines”. Some philosophers (and more than a few scientists) would call them “mostly bullshit.” But you get the idea: these are the Gauguin, Kant, and Bladerunner questions.

We may be reasonably confident in our considered views about the Truth. Still, it’s plausible that we might have come to very different views if we’d been born and raised in a different time or place. At the very least we might admit, upon reflection, that these deep, subtle questions admit of several plausible answers. While I might be very certain about my answers, how could I justify imposing my truths on others, without at the very least some careful argument that tries to find shared evidence and some common terms of reference?

Frankel cites al-Ghazâlî on “taqlîd”, and suggests we need to recognize and interrogate conformity to received authority. Rawls would instead cite “the burdens of judgement” (the ideas are not really the same, but we’re roughly on the same page here).

Now, if you value the truth, but admit fallibility, then deep disagreements are good, Fraenkel suggests, because, in Millian fashion, they force us to argue our position against committed assaults on our core assumptions and inferences.

What we need, Frankel argues, is a culture that allows these kinds of encounters without them spiraling into mutual contempt and even violence. In high school, then, we should teach our children to respect other people and try to understand where they’re coming from, even as they hammer away at our cherished beliefs, and we at theirs.

To be sure, there’s mounting evidence that people don’t like these sorts of situations: most people don’t want to be forced to reflect critically on their most cherished convictions, and they don’t want to spend a lot of time and energy arguing with people who fundamentally disagree with them.

Still, you might think that it’s good for us to engage across deep divisions, at least in some important contexts: jury rooms, the ballot box, when thinking about what’s best for our children, our planet—that sort of thing. So why not teach our children, explicitly and carefully, how to engage with other assumptions and arguments in civil, respectful, and constructive ways?

In short, why not make a point of teaching citizens, early and often, how to seek the truth and argue their positions, but without being assholes?

As we watch the train wreck that is (post-Citizens United) presidential campaigning to the south of us, there’s certainly something to this idea: truthfulness instead of truthiness, high-minded and informed civility instead of angry evidence-free sanctimony.

So far so good, then. Unfortunately this is where things start to come off the rails. Here are two problems with the argument that strike me as serious.

First, on the feasibility of fostering “a culture of debate” Fraenkel writes:

“The high school curriculum already includes subjects such as evolution, which are much more controversial than the skills required for engaging difference and disagreement in a constructive way.”

 

I cannot make sense of this in a way that is positive for Fraenkel.

Is he saying that evolution is controversial (it isn’t), but that teaching critical thinking and the “virtues of debate” (“loving the truth more than winning an argument, and trying one’s best to understand the viewpoint of the opponent”) is less so? That seems just wrong to me, even if evolution were remotely controversial.

It is after all, really, really hard to teach people consistently to think like a philosopher when pondering the things that matter most to them, and yet to do so while maintaining high-minded virtues of truth-loving, paired with both civility and a deep desire to understand other viewpoints. It’s certainly tough going here at universities, and I cannot imagine the task would be any easier in our high schools. So, while this curriculum proposal isn’t necessarily controversial in the sense of fostering substantive disagreement (“No! don’t teach my child to think clearly and respect others!” … although on this possibility more shortly), it may well stir controversy in the same way as tax dollars spent on any other aspirational-but-unrealistic curriculum initiative.

Or, more likely, is Fraenkel saying that evolution isn’t especially controversial, and that teaching these skills and virtues is even less so? As much as I’d like to believe this, we have the same problem here: not only is it hard to teach critical reasoning and civic and philosophical virtues (let alone to encourage their consistent application to our most cherished beliefs) but I suspect that the kinds of parents who don’t want their kids learning about evolution are also not going to be especially keen on classes in philosophical analysis and associated virtues! They have, after all, complained about weirder things: who’d have thought that some fundamentalists might have strong views on mathematical set theory?

Second, Fraenkel makes a strange case for his core claim that, “when we can transform the disagreements arising from diversity into a culture of debate, they cease to be a threat to social peace.” That’s nice work if you can get it, but here is how he follows up on this statement of hope:

“I now live in Montréal, one of the world’s most multicultural cities. When a couple of years ago I had to see a doctor, the receptionist was from China, in the waiting room I sat between a Hasidic Jew and a secular Québécois couple, the doctor who attended me was from Iran, and the nurse from Haiti. This was an impressive example of how Canadians, despite their deep moral, religious, and philosophical differences, can work together to provide the basic goods and services that we all need irrespective of our way of life and worldview.”

Non sequitur, alas: the fact that major urban regions are often characterized by this sort of ethnic, cultural, and class mixing in public and commercial spaces doesn’t suggest that a culture of debate will somehow make this the norm!

Indeed, I’m assuming that Fraenkel thinks of Canada and the United States as not characterized by a widespread culture of debate, so the fact that major cities show us how to muddle along, in spite of deep differences, seems to suggest that we should be far more concerned with the civic and spatial forms of cities (a topic dear to my heart), not with getting people into more debates about their deepest convictions!

Rawls, it seems to me, was thinking along the right lines when he suggests that the point isn’t to get us arguing more about our deepest convictions, but to take from fallibility the lesson that capital-T Truth is a nonstarter for justifying political authority. However certain you are that my convictions are wrong-headed, you won’t convince me to support a constitution, or even a specific policy, if your argument in favour requires that I simply accept your beliefs as authoritative. Instead, and at the very least, you’ll need to give me reasons I can accept, from within my worldview.

Fraenkel is correct to dismiss two popular but philosophically suspect approaches to diversity and disagreement. Any superficial celebration of diversity for its own sake smacks of either effete cosmopolitan condescension (“I wouldn’t live anywhere without a good Moroccan restaurant! How can people stand it in the suburbs?or worse, the prairies!?”), or flirts with problematic moral relativism. The alternative approach, popular among some French commentators and legislators, but also evident in Quebec, tries to keep deep disagreements out of the public square. Fraenkel summarizes the approach nicely: “you are a citoyen in public and a Jew, Christian, or Muslim at home”. But this too seems problematic, or at best ridiculously hopeful: when did hiding disagreements ever resolve them?

Fraenkel’s solution seems to me to miss the mark, however, for the reasons I’ve given, but in a way that Rawls’s approach thankfully does not. Rawls’s appeal to public reason has the great virtue not of hiding disagreements, but of providing plausible criteria for inclusion of beliefs and claims in public debates. Further, unlike Fraenkel’s proposal, Rawls’s approach doesn’t make heroic assumptions about widespread abilities and inclinations to argue widely and rigorously about our most cherished beliefs. Instead, we frame our arguments as citizens, asking how we might justify our public claims on others when we disagree about so much.

A School of One’s Own

Yesterday Chris posted an example of rational responses to perverse incentives in relations between principals and supply teachers in Ontario schools. Let me add some further thoughts on similar themes, specifically, the rash of school closures and consolidations that are all the rage now at Mowat Block and Queens Park.

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I’ve been involved recently in one such closure process, in west Hamilton, where a committed and diverse group of concerned parents and residents fought in vain to keep a small neighbourhood school open, against a board that was hellbent on closure, in spite of lip service to a variety of possible options. And Hamilton is certainly not unique: across the province school boards have been shuttering schools and looking for others to close, citing declining enrolments and prohibitive maintenance and repair costs.

These boards aren’t making up the numbers (although they sometimes fudge them in silly ways). Enrolments are generally declining across the province, especially in rural areas and traditional urban centers. And the costs of maintaining ageing facilities are going nowhere but up.

What is troubling, however, is the uniform obsession with closures. There are a range of creative and cost-effective ways we might reconfigure and reimagine existing facilities: partial decommisions, mixed uses, or a range of potential public-private partnerships. Most boards take none of these seriously.

One problem, especially evident in Hamilton, is the alarming degree to which school boards and city governments are locked into administrative solitudes. The result is that the very people who could profitably work together often see themselves working at cross-purposes.

The structure of provincial funding to local boards is of no help here: while the funding formula is complex and multifaceted, the primary unit of allocation is students, not schools. Thus, while enrollments ebb and wane for any given school, the costs of facility maintenance are unrelenting. The ministry touts their generous capital investment initiatives (green schools! good places to learn!), but ministerial rhetoric is decidedly less sanguine: urban boards were recently accused of using the funding formula to maintain small and underutilized schools. The implication is clear: full utilization of existing and proposed new facilities is the order of the day. No wonder that closures and property sales are overwhelmingly attractive options for struggling school boards.

As irritating as I find simple-minded mantras of efficiency and full utilization, I readily accept that there are good arguments for some closures and consolidation. I also think that my argument below for walkable neighbourhood schools may find less purchase for middle and high schools. Here, students may well benefit from going afield from their home communities to attend bigger, newer, better-equipped facilities.

But for our youngest students? In my judgement, they should have a school of their own.

By this I mean that we should think about primary schools as vital anchor institutions in safe, walkable neighbourhoods.

This is hardly a new idea. Indeed, everyone, of every political stripe, seems to accept some variant of this idea, recognizing the importance of schools to healthy, vibrant, attractive communities. Yet few seem willing to follow through the political and financial implications of this commitment.

I think that, at least for the first years of our childrens’ education, we should be less concerned with flashy new facilities and technologies, or the latest pedagogical fad from trendy theorists at OISE, and far more concerned with ensuring that children enjoy safe, walkable neighbourhoods, anchored by small schools. If efficiency and consolidation measures suggest that this will be more costly than busing students to fewer, larger schools, then that is a cost worth bearing, for the greater good of secure neighbourhoods with walkable schools.

I don’t pretend that this will be a cheap endeavour, and indeed, I’m not proposing any specific strategies for meeting this moral ideal of safe, walkable neighbourhoods. I am a political theorist by training, so my inclination is to be clear on our values and interests before worrying about implementation and costs. Framing the matter in the way I’ve laid out here makes clear just what is involved in educating a child: a nurturing home life, safe streets, and early healthy habits – like daily walking – all matter at least as much as school facilities, teacher training, and curriculum design.

But in a political system that compartmentalizes the day-to-day business of urban life (policing, zoning, parks and recreation) and education into separate administrative silos – each answering upward to respective ministries, rather than talking together, on the ground – it is difficult to imagine primary education as bound up with so much else of local politics and everyday life in our communities.

Instead, we think of education largely in terms of bricks and mortar and taxpayer dollars, curriculum and standardized testing and full-day kindergarten. In such an environment, calls for efficiency, accountability, and full utilization are the inevitable terms of discourse, rather than a broader understanding of primary schools as an intimate part of the fabric of everyday life in our neighbourhoods.

This is why, for instance, in our efforts in Hamilton, we kept hearing from our school board staff the insistence that they weren’t urban planners, and so they couldn’t take into consideration the impact of closures on, say, the attractiveness of surrounding homes to young families. The result: board staff and trustees, in Hamilton and various other cities and localities across the province, end up making decisions, based on narrow economic considerations, that have profound and enduring consequences for the future social and economic vitality of their host communities.

That strikes me as perverse.