In “Straight Talk with Rick and Jal,” Harvard University’s Jal Mehta and I examine the reforms and enthusiasms that permeate education. In a field full of buzzwords, our goal is simple: Tell the truth, in plain English, about what’s being proposed and what it means for students, teachers, and parents. We may be wrong, and we will frequently disagree, but we’ll try to be candid and ensure that you don’t need a Ph.D. in eduspeak to understand us. Today’s topic is “educational change.”
—Rick
Jal: A few years ago, I was teaching a course on deeper learning. Drawing on my mentor, David Cohen, I’d frequently say, “Change is a generational proposition.” Shallow, teacher-centered learning is a product of many forces: State tests and accountability structure reinforce it, teachers teach the way they were taught, there is little demand among parents or students for change, and college admissions reinforce the conservatism of the existing structures. Things might change, I would say, but it would take 30 years or more as we move across these various institutions—schools, districts, college admissions, teacher-preparation institutions—that need to all gradually transform.
Enter Alice Tucker. She was a former 4th grade teacher in my class. For her final class project, she went back to the school where she worked to deepen the learning there. Her first idea was to introduce project-based learning. However, when she interviewed the teachers, they said they had little interest in project-based learning but that they were being pressed to ask higher-order questions and didn’t know how. Alice had some credibility with these teachers: She had taught at the school and was regarded as a good teacher. Over several lunch periods, she showed them how to move from more directed to more open-ended questions. She collected data before and after these meetings and found that teachers’ use of higher-order questioning had increased from 10% to 40% between October and December. Three months, not a generation. Student 1, professor 0.
I’m slow, but I’m not that slow. As I watched Alice and others like her—students, but also real-world changemakers whose work I respected—I noticed some patterns. Like Alice, people started with some goal, a North Star that they held onto and guided their work. But then they engaged in conversation with the people who would be involved—what the design thinking process would call “empathy interviews”—and they developed or co-developed strategies that met local needs. And they worked in places where they had relationships, trust, and credibility, which caused people to want to move with them. Another way to put it is that they started with what they had—who they knew, what time was available, what skills or knowledge they could offer—rather than with some huge Platonic ideal of what a different system might look like.
Rick, what do you think? When you’ve seen actual change happen, what does it look like?
Rick: As you know, I’ve spent a lot of years asking why “reform” so rarely yields actual change. Heck, my first book, , took off mostly because—in an era of calls to “shake up” urban systems—I showed that districts were actually launching a barrage of reform. And I’ve spent years trying to explain why billions spent on the School Improvement Grant program and teacher-evaluation reform didn’t deliver.
But I’ll skip the history lesson and offer a simple example of change. A charter school leader reached out a couple years ago because she was dealing with all manner of headaches in the aftermath of the pandemic. Students were disengaged. Misbehavior was up. And phones contributed to a huge hit in school culture. Kids were distracted in class and always on their phones between them. Her response was to adopt a no-phones policy for the school day. There were clear rules and strict enforcement. Phones stayed in lockers, even during lunch. A year later, she reports dramatic changes in culture, with many fewer interruptions and much more student interaction.
This isn’t really about a change to teaching or learning. This is about adopting a policy and sticking to it. The thing about policies is they can provide a clarity that’s missing from more subtle behavioral change.
All of this raises a couple of thoughts. First, while policy can be a powerful lever, it has stark limits. Its impact depends on how it’s employed. Second, the permanence of change is a big deal when judging whether it’s meaningful. In your example, will Tucker’s shift deepen with time or fade away by year’s end? With the phone ban, will the new policy become part of the school’s DNA, or will it gradually lose force due to student pushback or relaxed enforcement?
You’ve raised big questions about the scale of change and how you get new habits to stick. I fear that I’m short on grand insights. How about you?
Jal: A few years ago, I took in managing complexity, and one of the distinctions that stuck with me was the difference between “solving problems” and “changing patterns.” It is often really hard to solve problems because each “solution” generates a new set of unintended consequences. What you described with the phone story is more about changing patterns than solving problems: By restricting access to electronic devices, students began to form new patterns of interaction which, on the whole, were healthier than what they replaced. What I like about that example is that the school didn’t try to micromanage each individual problem they were facing. Instead, they made a significant change in the overall ecosystem.
I tend to think this is also how large-scale change happens. Something changes with the overall rules of the game, which creates new and different opportunities for reform closer to the ground. Sometimes, these changes come from social norms—schools are highly permeable institutions that are quite susceptible to the social and cultural changes occurring in the broader world. Many schools today have clubs that support LGBTQ+ rights, whereas when I was in high school 30 years ago, there was not one student who was openly out on campus. Other times, changes come from shifts in the policy environment. For example, British Columbia moved from the kind of broad but shallow content standards that are common in many places to standards that emphasized fewer competencies and gave teachers more time to realize them. Teachers, closer to the ground, work in concert with each other, their districts, and their professional associations to translate those new standards into different lessons.
How does the British Columbia example differ from the kinds of policy overreach that we have both critiqued? I think the difference is that it was less a policy that attempted to micromanage many people toward a particular change and more that it was changing the expectations while giving teachers a lot of room to figure out how to achieve them. There were no unrealistic timelines or standardized tests that were the only measure of outcomes. Rather, it was more leadership by persuasion—the province was indicating to districts and teachers a different set of more humanistic priorities and inviting teachers to think about how to best achieve them.
Some districts we’ve partnered with in our project have used a balance of coherence and emergence. They work with stakeholders to develop some shared ends to aspire to (more student-centered learning) and then let that emerge as it will in different settings (stations in elementary school, Socratic seminars in high school English). A key part of this “coherence plus emergence” view is building networks that connect bottom-up changemakers, such as teachers experimenting with more inquiry-oriented pedagogy. By linking these innovators and galvanizing them around a shared direction, you can accelerate learning and generate local momentum for change.
Rick: This stuff is crucial, but it can also get convoluted. So let me close by bringing it back to a few core intuitions.
The first is that there’s no such thing as an “implementation problem.” We’re always hearing about promising ideas that were undone by “implementation” missteps, but that’s mostly a way for policymakers, advocates, funders, and academics to pass the blame. Nothing ever works as designed. If a model of change is so delicate or specific that it doesn’t work in real schools, then it doesn’t work. Period. When seeking a change strategy, this means it’s good to focus less on how the change could conceivably work if everything goes right and more on how it’ll actually work in practice.
The second is that, when it comes to change, there’s a chasm between Ķvlog and policymakers. Educational change is ultimately about what students and teachers actually do all day. This is the case with testing, teacher evaluation, standards, professional development, reading instruction, cellphone policies, and so on. But that simple truth can get lost. Because they’re in classrooms, Ķvlog tend to have maximum visibility into how change happens. That proximity, though, can make it tough to see the big picture. Meanwhile, those writing laws and giving directives have limited visibility into how change is going. The result is a big disconnect between those making changes and those experiencing them.
And a third is that changes in policy don’t necessarily lead to changes in practice. An instructive example is Obama-era teacher evaluation. A , highlighting that more than 99 percent of teachers were routinely rated “satisfactory,” even in poor-performing schools, helped spark a national push for change. Well, eight years later, in 2017, researchers Matt Kraft and Allison Gilmour examined the results in 24 states that had changed evaluation and that 97 percent of teachers were rated effective. A lot of time, energy, and money yielded very little change. Why? Principals weren’t sure what poor teaching looked like, didn’t want to upset their staff, and didn’t think giving a negative evaluation was worth the hassle.
Educational change is ultimately about getting students, Ķvlog, or parents to embrace a new way of doing things. That’s a complicated proposition. But it requires setting a clear direction, showing what’s possible, shifting cultural norms, and institutionalizing new incentives. All of that, of course, is much easier said than done. Hence, our frustrations.