Middle school exams, excited looks from boys and girls cross the classroom, they sit down, they observe us with shaking hands and intimidated expressions. If you step outside the institutional role of teachers, or in my case, principals, even for a moment, and stop to observe how they speak, how they move, how they interact, it’s clear that they’re putting themselves on the line, everyone, even the seemingly most arrogant ones. The exam, after all, is a thousand things: the end of the first year, the first separations from classmates, perhaps from their first crushes, the first real choice of a future path, the first test they’re alone in… they have to do it alone. They know full well that the written and oral “exams” themselves are merely an institutional certification tool, they know full well that there’s much more behind them, which is why they feel it, they “experience” it in such a wonderfully absolute way. I envy them for this; they manage to be so terribly “inside” with all their feelings in a way we adults often no longer manage. For the oral exam, they had to start with a short essay, open their laptop in presentation mode, and set off on their journey, like butterflies landing among the flowers of the subjects, connecting emotions, thoughts, content… sometimes even very personal experiences. There were no interrogations; the exam was their narrative, which they tried to draw us into. I don’t know if I’m particularly lucky, but I’ve seen teachers who were very attentive, inclusive, always listening, even to the most struggling students. Sure, we’re still in compulsory education, but why should it be any different? I read in the newspapers that this year some Italian students refused the oral exam of the final exam as a form of protest. I understand them, boy, do I understand them! I’ve seen the final exams turn into a frustration for students a thousand times, reduced to measuring performance on the content of subject programs without any leaps and bounds, any opportunity for personal research, any space for expression. We talk so much about formative assessment, and then we let the invasive weed of measurement, with its ferocious logic, invade the best years of our youth.
“We don’t want to be reduced to just numbers!” say the “rebel” students. They’re absolutely right. I won’t go into the merits of the institutional response to these students, which we’ve all read about in the newspapers, but I wonder why we can’t listen to them? Why don’t we try to understand what they’re telling us? Why can’t we discuss a problem if it’s raised?
We’ve led them to believe they can be butterflies, and just as we prepare them to enter the adult world, we clip their wings. Fortunately, not everyone is fooled; fortunately, some still rebel. So tonight, I want to enjoy the sight of the young butterflies at my school, whom I watched fly away at the end of eighth grade, and hope that perhaps one day they’ll still find their way.
Sara Lazzaro
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