Is Pay-for-Performance Contributing to the Wage Gap?

Is the gender wage gap impacted by the partisan reform movement? 

Accoding to The Washington Post, women today still "earn 91 cents for every dollar, as compared to men, due to factors that have nothing to do with life choices" (Khimm "Women Earn 91 Cents for Every Dollar Men Earn--If You Control for Life Choices," 2012), which means that the wage gap actually increases when the educational profession is included in the data. In a country where over 85% of primary educators and more than 62% of secondary educators are women, the gender wage gap really matters since "employers in female-dominated industries may be able to get away with paying less than they would otherwise" (Khimm).

The percentage of women in the classroom is much higher than the percentage of women in administration. Under a highly subjective "pay-for-performance" structure pushed by the "reformers," administrators have the ultimate authority to oversee financial increases to salary from year to year.  The old-boys' network of promoting the golfing buddy is further exacerbated by the rise of hand-selected administrators put into place by the political machine of the reformers. 

Would a male-dominated industry tolerate such subjective shenanigans in pay structures? The public doesn't debate the pay structures of tax-supported professions dominated by men like firefighters, air-traffic contollers, police officers, or postal employees. Why is it acceptable in our communities to denigrate professional, degree-holding educators and to hold their salaries at ransom to the whims of political favoritism? 

Are we looking the other way while yet another generation of mothers, sisters, and daughters are victimized by gender politics?

Responsibility's Tightrope Walk

When I look out across my classroom every day, I see doctors, lawyers, rocket scientists, Nobel Peace Prize winners, NBA stars. I see nurturing caregivers, firefighters, professors, and librarians. Every day.

I am sometimes acutely aware--and sometimes only vaguely--of this massive responsibility I hold in my hands. The random words that I speak or the message I fail to convey has the potential to build up or tear down the lives in front of me. The comment that I write tonight on a student's paper may be one he remembers this week when he revises his essay, or--more importantly-- may be one he remembers when he is 95 and looking back over his life.

What are the turning points in their lives going to be? What will be the moments that punctuate the decisions and spark a chain reaction of life events for good or bad? Sometimes it is the everyday, incidental, minutiae--the expression made without a thought, the comment spoken in routine, the body language created out of sheer exhaustion--that strikes an individual profoundly, rocking her to the core and moving her to think about something in a different way.

Like so many teachers, I wrestle with this responsibility regularly. I'm both haunted and motivated by it. The thought of succeeding in inspiring a new generation rockets me into each new day, and the thought of failure wrenches me from the depths of sleep at night. 

While walking this tightrope of responsibility for two decades, I have lost countless hours of sleep, but I have also grown as a professional educator. I teach because the future matters. I'm careful because my actions matter. 

I wish the "reformers" on our school board took the weight of their responsibility for the future equally as seriously, and, instead of negating the hard work of thousands of professionals, carefully chose the words to build up the future for students and for the educators who have developed a fine-tuned balance in order to best lead this new generation. Every day. --SJ

Creating an Urban Legend

So you're an organization hoping to privatize public schools so you can profit from them? What steps do you take to ensure you get your way?

Step 1: Create an urban legend. According to Wikipedia (my students would gasp at a reference to this site), an urban legend "is a form of modern folklore consisting of stories that may or may not have been believed by their tellers to be true, and often possess horror implications that are believable to their audience." Be sure to ignore or edit out the facts based on years of research.

Here's a sample script: Public schools are bad and are failing the next generation. Look at how hard it is for businesses to find qualified workers in the United States. Look at how many students can't read or perform math skills at grade level. Look how behind we are compared to other nations. The horror is that we dump millions of hard-earned dollars stolen from our working middle class and waste the time of our precious children in a system filled with incompetent, entitled, liberal teachers who are only concerned with protecting their own jobs because they could never survive in any other industry. It is almost impossible to get rid of bad teachers due to their corrupt unions and a tenure system that rewards mediocrity. If you have a child in public school today, be prepared to have that kid living in your basement well into their 40s.

Step 2: Repeat the urban legend over and over again in every means possible until it seems like fact, and get national figures and media to cover it as the "truth."

Step 3: Install charter schools and online programs into the system. They're not going to be successful, but it will make it look like you're sympathetic to choice and will drain money from the mainstream public schools, which will lead to step 4.

Step 4: Don't panic when people don't rush away from their neighborhood public schools to charter, online, and private schools. Instead, install policies to make the schools fail and prove your point. Examples:

• Adopt standardized testing that intentionally demonstrate mediocrity and then tie teacher evaluations to these tests without consideration for diverse learning needs or concepts that can't be tested. 
• Refuse to properly fund the schools. Keep cash in reserves. Don't support mill levy and school bond issues during elections. Don't worry about maintenance on the brick-and-mortar buildings.
• Create standards for teacher evaluations that aren't connected to strong classroom practices and that can be manipulated to prove the failure rates of the schools. 
• Increase class sizes. Insist class size doesn't matter.
• Attack quality programs like Advanced Placement and after-school care, then reduce these programs.
• Diminish collaboration among teachers, including taking away work days and increasing student contact days (parents don't want to find babysitters--they're more expensive than teachers).
• Punish schools for the number of referrals, suspensions, and dropouts, so difficult students are kept in class to make a more disruptive learning environment. 
• Then, have students evaluate their teachers and tie this to performance (even at the elementary levels), so that those students irritated with the disruptions in their packed classrooms will put it in their evaluations.
• Publish the poor test and evaluation results for your districts. Give schools a report card with skewed statistics. Note: This is the same as step 2.

Step 5: Bust the pesky teachers' "unions," so those who understand what is really happening won't have a collective voice.
Step 6: Have the State take over the "failing" schools and convert them to charters. When those fail, institute a voucher program in which tax dollars follow the student to private schools.
Step 7: Allow your buddies to open for-profit private schools that are subsidized with public tax-dollars but--unlike public schools--can segregate, can eliminate high-needs and disadvantaged students, and can bolster the agenda of the elite. There's also money to be had in curriculum, testing, food services, uniforms, and much more. You can negotiate contracts without dealing with government red tape.

Congratulations! You've gutted the great equalizer of America's free education system and created a power structure that leaves out 99% of America's population. And, it wasn't even that hard. --SJ

Out to Sea

The demands of public school educators and the work of their students are impacted by the political waters in which both are surrounded. The constant bullhorn to lower taxes and the siren of increased responsibilities and accountability compete with the silent focus on the everyday endeavors of teaching and learning.

As a secondary teacher with a career spanning two decades, I know--looking back--that my career has never been easy and has often been lonely. I've stuck with it because I have something to offer and have no desire to abandon my students. But the events of the past few years under the dictatorship of a "reform" board make me feel adrift in new and profound ways.

You see, my school is like a cruise ship. The staff members are the shipboard employees. We spend the summer months mapping the route and destination for the journey that will set sail in late August. We pay for and attend classes to hone our skills and help us prepare for the unique needs of the passengers who will soon be embarking on our craft. We brush up on and expand upon ideas and techniques that have been successful in past journeys, and we analyze the activities and actions that may have led to discomfort in some of our previous travels and figure out new alternatives that promise more success.

When we arrive to board the ship in the weeks prior to the departure date, we are surprised at the deterioration that has happened to the hull, to the decks, to the cockpit. Our engineers and deckhands are highly capable, but we learn that they don't have the tools or money to maintain the aging ship as they see fit. We do our best to cover the cracks in the walls with bright posters, to organize the decrepit furniture neatly, and to make the space comfortable for those who will be arriving soon. We meet together to make additional plans in case of emergencies that could arise simply because of the condition of our vessel.

Our passengers arrive. Though there are fewer shipboard employees that have been hired this season, there are far more passengers than in past years. This will create some new challenges, but we like challenges, so we smile and greet each individual as he crosses the gangplank. Many of these passengers hand us legal documents with a list of specific accommodations required for them to enjoy the trip. We've managed these in the past, but the number is larger and the differences between them are greater. However, there was not enough money to hire as many specialists that give assistance in handling these differences, so we take the forms, say we'll figure it out, and continue to smile and greet passengers.

In the opening weeks of the cruise, we are aware of how many of our passengers have come aboard malnourished and without financial means to buy additional food from the galley. Others brought no luggage and are in great need of sunblock, hats, and comfortable shoes. They, too, don't have money to make purchases at the ship's store. We borrow against the paychecks we won't receive for several more weeks (a monthly system of pay--stretched over the course of an entire year--has allowed the cruise ship to earn greater interest on the funds used to pay us, and we've always agreed to this because it helps keep the boat afloat). We then buy extra food, sunblock, and clothing for these passengers.

Despite the challenges, our new season of cruising is interesting and engaging. The passengers seem satisfied and comfortable. Everyone gets along well, for the most part. Friendships are forged--as happens every season--and the joy of being at sea is contagious. We do what we do, despite the challenges, because we know how these journeys open up a world of possibilities for our passengers--even the reluctant ones. It is worth it in the end.

Somewhere in the middle of the ocean, the cruise company is bought-out by a huge corporation with a different vision for the company. The ship's captain is ordered to halt forward progress until the new CEOs review travel plans, personnel, activity schedules, and the vessel itself. We're stuck for a few hours--adrift under the November sun--and feeling hopeful. Maybe the safety issues of the vessel will be addressed. Maybe additional personnel will be hired. Maybe funds for food and sailing supplies will be forthcoming. We send notes ashore inviting the CEOs to come spend some time aboard. We share the experiences we've had over the years of sailing and offer our knowledge of what works with the passengers and what doesn't. We don't receive a reply. Despite this, we happily go about our routines through this temporary stall, finding ways to keep the passengers' eyes on the promises of the destination and to help them prepare for the things they'll need to know when they disembark in this new land.

At dinnertime, employees are called into an emergency meeting. The new CEOs have ordered additional staff cuts. Some people will be sent home. We will be waiting, adrift, for them to be picked up by helicopter. In the meantime, we are to regroup to accommodate the passengers who no longer have staff assigned to them and to learn the roles the dismissed staff members had so we can pick up their work. We also learn that more passengers are being flown in. We immediately think about the crowded conditions of the ship and the increased responsibilities we now have. We begin figuring out how to best make everyone comfortable. We will make this work.

After days of waiting, the helicopters arrive. Staff members leave and new passengers join us. Finally, we begin moving forward toward the destination once again.  As we're working on activities to incorporate these new passengers and their specific accommodations, the power suddenly goes off. Our aging vessel doesn't run very efficiently. Updating the wiring is an investment the cruise company has not been willing to make, so--we learn later--the CEOs have ordered the power off for the remainder of the cruise. We've been assured that passengers on ships for centuries traveled without power. The electric light bulb is a technologic extravagance they feel we can do without. Candles are handed out. Unfortunately, no one carries matches anymore, so we will have to wait for the next shipment of supplies--sometime next month.

We move the passengers out to the decks and enjoy the sunshine. It was too hot, anyway, without any air conditioning in the main activity rooms. We squeeze the bottles of sunblock tighter to help our passengers get the most coverage from what is left. We look forward to the arrival of those supply shipments.

Unfortunately, the supply shipments are few and far between. By March, we have made significant progress toward our destination, but we've only had two new shipments of supplies. We are out of sunscreen--makeshift tents have been erected across the decks. We're out of all fresh food and are stretching the non-perishables in the event that no supplies are shipped again before we disembark. We run out of matches, but that doesn't matter much because we haven't had candles for months. We've tried contacting the CEOs with our maydays, but we haven't had a direct response since they took over.

The following month the passengers are each asked one question administered by an executive from a competing travel company to determine whether they are ready to disembark. Though we don't know what kind of question will be asked, we know our passengers have made excellent connections and overcome significant trials in order to be prepared for arrival at the destination. They will acclimate well in their new environments when they leave the ship. We're proud of how far along they've come since our departure.

On the morning of the questioning session, the weather takes an unusual turn for the worst. The waves are choppy, the rain is falling heavily, forcing everyone indoors into the dark. The questioning executive arrives via helicopter and immediately delivers news from home for a small group of passengers who came on board together: a dear friend of theirs has passed away. He gives these individuals no time to grieve or take in this terrible news, but rushes all of the passengers,one-by-one, into a testing room they've never been in before, sits them down in the dark, and hurriedly asks them their one question--in a different language. Those who fear the dark, new places, strangers, come away from testing shaking. Those who didn't recognize the language of the question are dejected. A few, confident passengers who happened to have grown up speaking the language the questioner uses, feel relieved--they've passed. They are the only ones who will be allowed to disembark. Everyone else will return home via the vessel that has brought them this far. It is a discouraging few months left on board.

When we arrive at the port of our destination, we finally receive our first word from the CEOs. They don't mention our invitation to visit the ship nor the dire circumstance under which we've been operating this season. They don't explain their long silence or thank us for keeping the passengers safe and happy during these months at sea. They have only one thing to tell us: they don't want us to return home with the remaining passengers because we are "ineffective, entitled, and lazy--just look how few passengers are able to disembark," they reason. We can stay here at the destination and pay our own way home (though our final pay check is stretched over the summer and won't be enough to cover the full cost) or we can return to the broken ship for the journey home and continue working to receive the remainder of our annual pay but at a significantly reduced wage. If we don't return, a new crew will be hired--they will begin right away, with only two weeks of training and no experience.

The passengers left on board are concerned about the return passage and the proposed new crew. They beg us to return home with them. They know us and trust us to do our best for them. They've had glimpses at the shortcomings we've adapted to, and they know the sacrifices we've made during this past year. Likewise, we can't imagine turning these passengers over to a new crew. We care about the well-being of these passengers and have honed a number of strategies that minimize the shortcomings of the craft to make the journey more comfortable. It will be a challenge, but we like challenges. Though we are tired and ragged, we look these familiar passengers in the eyes, smile, and reembark on the journey together. It will be worth it in the end.

Afterword:
After our return, we learn that the cruise corporation has been stockpiling millions of dollars from the passengers for decades but are refusing to use it to improve conditions so they can prove how inadequate the staff is and force a merger with another corporation that can fire everyone and profit from the acquisition. There is no consideration made for the thousands upon thousands of passengers or shipboard employees these actions have irrevocably damaged. --SJ