Space Design

As you drive down from the ridge, the sheer beauty of the three-sided cloister, enclosed by glass exterior walls, and the green carpet of roof grass galvanize your attention.

After parking, you walk toward the courtyard. You see students gathered around the dramatic and beautiful water pool. A freestanding glass-tapered cone rises near the pool. Then you enter the school building—immediately, you feel the atmosphere of peace, calm, and easy alertness that reminds you of an upscale office. Keeping with the concept of learning as a natural part of life, earth tones throughout the building extend the muted colors native to the local desert and mountain environments.

The principal, Ms. Ortega, greets you and begins the tour. You like her; she seems to have all the time in the world for you. She is young, attractive, and wears a very comfortable, tailored, light green pants suit. As she walks with you, she clearly and softly explains the architecture.

“The building is so eco-friendly and was, in fact, built as a Living Building.¹ We generate a surplus of energy and capture and treat our water before it returns to the system. As you can see, the courtyard's glass walls push natural light deep into the building, giving our learning spaces transparent walls—light penetrates throughout. And the natural light eliminates most electrical lighting. The natural green roof not only forms an insulation barrier but also reduces the heat sink effect of hard surfaces. And the green roof also offers organic gardening space for students: they learn to cultivate plants and value food sustainability. As you can see, our learning space extends out onto the campus.”

As you continue to walk, she points out other significant features: The building's main student circulation pattern runs through a corridor adjacent to the three glass walls of the courtyard. Positioning the corridor a sufficient distance from the glass walls allows space for an active multipurpose learning commons between the corridor and the glass wall. The two-story learning commons accommodates a variety of learning activities: students working in groups of various sizes (and ages), students working alone, teachers and students interacting in a variety of informal ways. The commons design also encourages students to work between classes, eat lunch, and collaborate with their peers in different ways.

The multifunctional space also consists of labs, smaller spaces where students can comfortably collaborate, and larger spaces for group purposes.

Respect

As you and Ms. Ortega walk the corridors, step into the learning spaces, and stroll across the campus, you notice the banners prominently posted throughout the school.

You ask Ms. Ortega about them.

“Yes, those values constitute our Humanity Code. We drew them from the research of Professor Martin Seligman.”

“I'm not familiar with him.”

“He is an author, professor—University of Pennsylvania, I think—who has done landmark work in the field of positive psychology. Others focus on what is wrong, but he studies what is right, what works. He studied a wide spectrum of cultures in order to codify some universal virtues. Using his list, we developed our own code.”

“So, that's why you see the banners. And we also post them as the back cover of our publications, on our website, and even as our screensavers. I make sure that our staff models each and every line of the code in our relationships with each other, and with all the students, their parents, and everyone within the larger community. And we do that every day. We live these messages more than we speak them.”

Curiosity

Explaining that she has an appointment to welcome a new student, Ms. Ortega invites you to explore the spaces, faces, and hearts of Humanity High. She asks if you're available for lunch. You agree to meet her in an hour.

You begin walking the corridors between glass walls. You see students and adults, presumably “teachers,” working together at group work surfaces. And the students, with wide-open and eager faces, are leaning into their work.

You notice that everyone listens when another person is speaking. As you watch, you remember what Ms. Ortega told you a few minutes ago, “Our students are free range; we have no cages, we inject no chemicals, and we reject conformity.” Gazing into the young faces beyond the glass walls, you begin to get it. This is what curiosity looks like. It explores, pokes, and snoops through the nooks and crannies of its environment. It knows no fear. Students freely walk out of their learning space, into the corridor, and down to the large flat-screen monitors. They punch information into a handheld device and a Khan Academy video comes to life.

As you continue walking, you notice the silence and peace of the atmosphere. Minutes later, some (but not all) students begin pouring from the learning spaces into the corridor. They walk into other spaces down the corridor. Some go to the commons to get a snack or drink.

You stop a young girl; she appears to be about 13. “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she smiles.

“I did not hear a bell, yet students are obviously changing class. How do you know when and where to go next?”

Her grin reveals that she hears this question a lot. “Well, this school is like an office. My mom's office doesn't have bells. Mom knows how to find the space and the people she needs for her projects. I do, too.”

Then, she turns to walk away, but stops.

“Did I answer your question?” she asks.

And then you see it. The administrators respect the students and give them the autonomy and freedom to take responsibility for their own learning pace and path. That kind of human respect is the gyroscope that keeps everything upright.

Now, you see, really see, The Code at work.

Encouragement

As you walk through the large, glass-walled learning commons (see Figure 17.2), you notice framed 11- by 14-inch photographs of students in caps and gowns. Each photo carries a name and a future date: 2019, 2020, 2017, 2018 . . .

You go to the desk and ask the lady wearing the “Concierge” nametag about the photos. She explains that they have computer-generated “maturing” portraits of each student (in fact, every K–12 student in the district). This way, every student can see evidence of Humanity High's encouragement toward, and full assumptions about, every student graduating. Every student.

You slowly stroll back to and down the corridor. You notice a class teacher—actually, a “guide”—standing at the side of the room as a student speaks. When the student sits down, another student begins addressing her class. All the while the guide remains at the side of the room; she does not speak or gesture. Although you cannot hear the words, another student speaks to the guide. You walk into the room as she steps over to the pod; you can hear her as she offers assistance. She reminds you more of a “genius” at an Apple store than a teacher. She is positive, empathetic, engaging, and helpful. No condescension, no eye-rolling, no impatience. Her voice and her entire demeanor are encouraging; you can see it in her eyes—she wants that kid to get it!

Community

In a few moments, as you walk on down the corridor, you see a room of 13-, maybe 14-year-old, students listening to an elderly, wheelchair-bound, African-American man talk. You step inside the room as a student raises his hand.

“Mr. Bowles, we watched a video about civil rights, but how did you and others actually start the movement?”

“Well, son,” the old man started, “We didn't start it; we never thought about it or referred to it as ‘civil rights.’ We didn't know them words. It wasn't like today, when TV cameras are everywhere. I don't think anyone ever, I sure never heard it, talked about bein' a movement. Less see, I was in my early 30s. Now I'm 91. We was fighting for our lives, for our neighborhoods, and the lives of those who would come later. We didn't know we was making history. Martin and the other leaders may have known; I sure didn't.”

You see Ms. Ortega in the hall. Realizing it's time for you to meet her, you step out into the hall. “Ready for lunch?” she asks.

Over lunch you ask her about the elderly gentleman speaking about his civil rights days.

“Yes, his name is Athol Bowles. He grew up in Selma, Alabama, but retired here 30 or more years ago for the drier climate. He's almost faculty; he talks about what he saw in Alabama in the '50s and '60s. I think he's addressed every class of students for the past 10, maybe 12 years. Students love him. When his wife died a couple of years ago, over 300 students attended her funeral.”

“Do you have other citizens who do that?”

“Oh, yes. We have a retired nuclear energy scientist, a Navy Admiral, former Governor, one of the first female airline pilots, and several others in the community who come in regularly and interact with students. We even bring some nursing home residents, like an elderly musician, a guy who played saxophone in recording sessions with Sinatra, here to talk to the kids. They bring views and voices that we, obviously, do not have on staff. They are essential to giving a good education to our students.”

“So, are you more like a community center than a school?”

“We are integrally related to our community. Like, a couple of our local banks take groups of students every month; they explain the idea and practice of banking, show them how it all works, explain the policies, how to get the most out of savings and checking; they talk about taxes. And other businesses and industries like the local police department regularly spend 1 or 2 hours a day offering tours, answering questions, and building relationships with Humanity High.”

“Incredible. They come to you and you go to them.”

“Absolutely. That is part of our Stakeholder Engagement Process. Everyone in town has an investment, a stake, in what happens with our staff and our students. We want their voices to be heard. And we continuously solicit feedback. We cannot effectively pursue our mission if we don't have strong ties with the community.”

“Ms. Ortega, I also . . .”

“Excuse me, let me just say that our community base is also why we have so many parents and other adults on our campus. Our learning center is open to anyone. So on any night of the week, you will see adults here. Some are working with their children or grandchildren on projects, others are doing their own research or working with others, like maybe a church group, on a project.”

Discipline

As you think about the community dimension, and while Ms. Ortega takes a few bites of food, you keep thinking about the faces of kids at Humanity High.

“I gotta ask you; I don't see any evidence of discipline problems, no behavior or attitude stuff. I grew up scared to death of our principal, Mr. Hammer. But that kept me in line. How do you manage this kind of, I guess, peace in the school?”

Ms. Ortega pauses and takes a bite of her salad. Then she speaks,

“When students are free to do what they do best and enjoy most, when they face other students rather than stare at the back of their heads, when they have influence and equity in their own learning, they don't act up. We honestly do not have discipline problems. We relate to the students as guides, not experts or cops. The atmosphere is, as you probably notice, positive. You wouldn't run into a heavy-handed, rigid attitude at a fine restaurant—the staff is there to make sure you get healthy and delicious food and within an atmosphere that supports your purpose for the meal. They are not there to control your arrival time, departure, or how fast or how slow you eat your food. We're the same way. We try to treat everyone as though they are our customers. Because they are!”

As you talk, you notice students walking across the courtyard or sitting on the wall of the pond. The atmosphere is casual, but as far you can see, no one abuses the freedom.

And the time with Ms. Ortega comes to an end. There were other questions to ask, like about technology, but they must wait for another time. She invites you to return; you will. But, for now, you bid her farewell and walk to your car.

What If?

What you have just read is “just a movie.” Of course, it presents the future-ready, kid-centered school of the future in its best possible light. But we present it here as a way of provoking and releasing your imagination about the possibilities where you live (see Figure 17.3).

So imagine . . . what if your school started over? What if the Education Machine were to disappear tomorrow and you and other stakeholders in your community took blank sheets of paper to design a new school. What if you had no funding problems, no battle with special interests, no legal issues, and a completely supportive community? What if you could begin again? What would you create? What would it look like?

We live in one of the most exciting times in human history, a time marked by the transformation of every issue, tradition, and challenge. They are all being sifted and reconsidered. All the pillars of civilization are under intense scrutiny. That certainly includes the way we prepare our children for the future.

We, as a society, seem to be stripping the modern artifice and mechanization of education away; we are questioning its core assumptions. Think about it: education's basic elements are very simple: students, wise teachers (or facilitators, guides, etc.), and a place to facilitate that. In other times and places, a school might be people sitting on a hillside, in conversation with a teacher. So what are the possible new relationships, shapes, symmetries, colors, and meanings?

Will school buildings become obsolete?

Will they disappear?

Will the Carnegie Unit² survive a world of continuous learning?

Do grades have relevance in a shift toward mastery?

How long will students be grouped by common age?

Will standardized tests be seen as dangerous, like smoking or fast food?

Clay Shirky said, “You can call social change a revolution when the members of the relevant society demand things that can't be provided by the existing institutions.”³

You Don't Need Permission

The idea that learning is the elite province of experts is one of the single biggest deterrents to innovation in education. Generations have been trained to “get away and stay away from our silo!” Our busy schedules and our often-bad memories of our school experiences tend to distract us from the new realities inside the walls of the Education Machine. And schools don't make it easy, either. They do not engage their own stakeholders. Schools, like other social institutions, have become defensive in the face of change. The more radical the change, the more defensive and protective they become. That makes the shades go down tight!

As you saw in “the movie,” education needs every voice. An open relationship with the community may end certain patterns of preference for interest and advocacy groups. Such a relationship will also expose obsolete practices and activities. But the openness would also revitalize community energy and support.

In Chapter 3, I explained that our K–12 MindShift never sought permission. We just walked in like we owned the place and knew what we were doing. And you don't need permission, either.

Finally . . . Remember the Collaborative Hum

Most authors have one phrase that captures what they intend to convey to the reader. “The Collaborative Hum” may be my phrase for this book. That is because humanizing the Education Machine begins with a group of kids completely absorbed in learning. The buzz, the hum that rises from that collaboration, is distinctive and haunting. It is the sound of curiosity bubbling from a group of kids in full pursuit of knowledge. It's the joy, the laughter of discovery, the mumbling of “hey, cool!” or “wow; look at this!”

The collaborative hum resonated deeply within each member in our K–12 MindShift group. When we toured schools our team members immediately spotted those kids who were lost in the play of curiosity and learning. We all gravitated to them. And after our tours, as we debriefed in the school library or back at the hotel, those were the stories that energized us. We asked one another: “Did you see those kids . . . ?” “Did you feel the energy in the room?”

As the group leader, I must confess something. When I started the journey I didn't know what to look for. I had been so distracted by battles with the Education Machine in my own home that I had fallen into the trap of just reacting to its agendas and assumptions. I accepted that the standards, the goals, were test scores, completed homework and good teacher reports. If I had known what to really look for—“the collaborative hum—I think Lisa and I could have steered a much different course.

Unfortunately, too many teachers and administrators are also distracted by their own battles with the Education Machine; they have either given up or forgotten what the collaborative hum looks and sounds like. We love teachers and administrators. Every day they do the heavy lifting of training and preparing kids for a presently undefined future.

To all of them, I would say, as Mufasa says to Simba in The Lion King, “Remember who you are.” Remember why you first yearned for the high calling of teaching. Whatever compelled you in that direction still exists! You have just been caught in the crunch of historical shifts of the societal tectonic plates. But those buried under the weight of the collapse will soon see a shaft of light, a tunnel that leads to a new landscape. Our story and journey met many teachers who rediscovered the signal of engaged learning. They heard the sonar ping that first called them to education. Some found a way to shut out the noise of the Education Machine. The future possibilities are very exciting for those who can see and hear them coming.

I will never forget that the thing that flipped me was when we toured our first classroom. I was frankly stunned; it was an emotional moment. I saw firsthand what engaged learning looked like. And I saw what it did to my team of tough, even cynical, veteran teachers, professors, and consultants. They turned into kids. They got down on their knees to join in the joy of discovery. They walked through classes mesmerized by the sights and sounds of kids digging for knowledge. They lingered when it was time to move on. And the kids? They didn't even notice 35 grownups invading their room. No one looked up.

Anyone could see that the kids were enjoying the class. Getting kids to experience the kind of flow, described by Dr. Hamilton in an earlier chapter, is not the product of hard work or talent, but rather of design! My team was fascinated by the grace and fluidity of the kids and teachers worked together searching and creating.

I will never forget one of our intense working sessions in Columbus, when a long-time teacher just broke down and began to cry. She wept openly in front of all of us. Her emotions overflowed the banks because she saw the dawn of possibilities for children everywhere. In that moment, she reconnected with her original dream for childhood learning; it was still pulsating under the rubble of discouragement.

The collaborative hum became my compass, my signal, for recognizing those being schooled versus those absorbed in learning. The first time you see it will change your life. That hum could become your compass, too.

Where Do We Go from Here?

I hope we've reminded you—teachers, parents, administrators, and citizens—of the pure core of learning. That and remembering who you are will help you to pick up the signal again.

One of our team members, a principal, returned home from a summit determined to expand the walls of his high school into the community; he was excited to ignite the previously unrecognized knowledge, interests, and resources in his own backyard. He said, “I can see it! We are going to learn to think differently; we will expand our vision of learning!”

To you parents, teachers, administrators, community leaders, or other stakeholders, I hope this book will be a manifesto and a manual to bring a new vision and help your community to find new traction in humanizing the machine. I hope this book will take all of us, including you, down a new path. May we all learn to reimagine the dream of what learning can be.