engagement with life. To choose Gruenwald’s “re- inhabitation”, I must choose engagement with my neighbor over virtual worlds, and local issues over absorption with Hollywood drama. Similarly, the idea of localism serves as an
appropriate conceptual model for education. Like our own lives, our schools are fragmented, dis- jointed and oriented towards mobility and external worlds. My children’s experience of schooling is a fragmented experience. Every 45 minutes, they move to a new topic or subject, a new teacher and new ideas. Often these ideas are disconnected and lack relevance and meaning for their lives. In math they learn fractions. In science they learn about mytosis and in environment class they learn about the deforestation of Brazil. A discussion of what it means to be alive and engaged in their own com- munity is missing from the pedagogy and daily experience of education. The traditional lesson planning structure of “objectives → materials → process → evaluation” frames their day and their work. I wonder about my children’s experience of school and how a more localized model could shape their lives as more thoughtful citizens of the world. In thinking on the authors from different disciplines
who have called for re-inhabitation of our worlds – environ- mentalist Edward Abbey, farmer Wendell Berry, theologian Thomas Merton, and architect Christopher Alexander – I am struck by the common themes in their work. While their call to localism looks different, each advocates the importance of home and place, reflection and dialogue and finally action and politicization of our hearts and minds. Each calls for a radical transformation of our selfhood that happens through active engagement with our communities and lives. In this transforming of self, we come to be the sustainable and compassionate citizens of our world, so desperately needed in modern times. As an educator and a parent I have dreams for my chil-
dren. I dream of them being sound citizens of the world and of schools that support these dreams. I have dreams of them moving from a fragmented bell-based system of schooling to an integrative, exploratory approach to curriculum and learning. I imagine my children going to school each morning
and exploring their world. Instead of studying the flooding of the Nile River Delta, they would study the flooding patterns of our local river which swells each spring, often flooding homes and fields. They would come to understand the impact of houses sliding into rivers, farmer’s topsoil which is washed away and the impact of a newly expanded dike around small outlying communities. Instead of studying the Rain Forest in Brazil, they would study the effect of diminishing river bottom forests. They might take a field trip to the local forest and catalogue the unique frogs and plants growing there. Perhaps they would walk through the suburban sprawl neighboring the river bottom forest eco- system and determine that pleasant homes for people are more important than this ecosystem. In any case, they would come to know their own issues, people and communities. Abstract ideas of ecosystems, ecologies, community needs and scientific concepts would be made concrete. Simplified
ideas of right and wrong, agriculture and environment, and business and people would be made complex. From deep, rich local explorations, my children would be able to better understand the experience of those living on the recently flooded Yangzi River in China or the Rainforests of Brazil. I imagine my children engaged in authentic reflection and
dialogue. Instead of focusing on the memorization of facts, my children would ask “What facts are important? What things do we need to know? What facts are true and what facts are false?” Instead of focusing on achieving standardized curric- ulum outcomes, my children would co-construct with the teacher and classmates, the knowledge that is relevant for their lives. Perhaps they would explore the impact of flooding on the Cree Nation in Northern Manitoba or explore the impact of pesticides dumped into the local river. Directive curriculum frameworks would be replaced with curriculum frameworks directed by student inquiry, reflection and dialogue. Finally, I would imagine the school as a site for the
evolution of growing hearts and as a site for the transformation of hardened hearts and minds. I imagine my children moving from local explorations, reflection and dialogue towards action and politicization. Instead of “closing the book” on a topic such as environmental degradation or riverbed flooding after a class or semester is over, my children would be moved to action. Perhaps they would advocate for the school lunch lady to use pesticide free tomatoes in salads, so that fewer agricul- tural pesticides would enter the local river. Perhaps they would draw a picture or write a poem to advocate for the plight of Indigenous peoples affected by deforestation. Perhaps they would invite another school to join them in creating a docu- mentary on the impact of flooding on the local community. The criteria for assessment would become the transformation of minds and spirits towards empathy and kindness, rather than factual memorization of how rivers expand. In our schools, we look to worlds far away as our
source. We rely heavily on curriculum frameworks to guide “what’s important”. We give the power for knowing what we should know to Central Offices and curriculum writers in state capitals and government offices. As an add-on to
GREEN TEACHER 89 Page 15
John Sherk
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