Another KIPP Teacher, Fatima Sader-Aleshaiker, Shares Her Story

Fatima Sader-Aleshaiker spent two years and four months (2014-2016) as a KIPP teacher in New Orleans at KIPP Central City Primary.  Beginning as a special education teacher without preparation or experience, at the beginning of her third year she became the sole adult in charge of a kindergarten class with 25-plus children.  When she pointed out the unethical, illegal, and miseducative nature of this arrangement, she was marginalized and fired within weeks. 

Her voice now joins the growing chorus of former KIPP Model teachers who are stepping free from the shadow of shame that KIPP so efficiently instills in both students and teachers whom the KIPP organization ejects.  If you are a former KIPP or KIPP Model charter school teacher with a story that needs to be shared, please contact me at james.horn@cambridgecollege.edu

Fatima Aleshaiker grew up in a middle-class family in Irvine, California, and she was like many other cooperative and compliant students who do their homework, get good grades, and remain under the radar.  By the time she graduated, Fatima had achieved a kind of invisibility that helped conceal what she was good at and what she was interested in. 

After graduating from Irvine High School in 2004, she attended a state college and worked in an after-school art program, where she discovered she had a knack for working with young children.  In 2005, Fatima transferred to college in London, where she started to really enjoy learning. Even though she was drawn to the arts, her immigrant parents wanted her to be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer.

She graduated with 1^st Class Honors at the University of West London in 2009, with a double major in Sociology and Psychology.  Two years later, she earned an MA in Cultural Studies, again with 1^st Class Honors, from Goldsmiths, University of London.

In 2011, she took a job in Bucharest as a kindergarten English teacher for a year, where she fell in love with kindergarteners.  She returned home to Irvine in late 2013 and worked with children with autism as a teaching assistant at a middle school, while doing private tutoring on the side.  She was not certified, and she knew she would need teaching credentials to be a career teacher.

Fatima was attracted to the cultural life of New Orleans.  When she looked into teacher certification programs there, she discovered something called Teach NOLA, which is a local branch of The New Teacher Project (TNTP).  Teach NOLA offers an expedited route to teacher certification.

Students in the program begin their teacher preparation program in May and, after 5 weeks of training, they find placement as teachers among the dozens of charter schools that have replaced public schools in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.  (The charter conversion is 90 percent complete, and the last public public high school, McDonogh 35, will become a charter school in August 2019.)

With 4 out of 10 teachers each year leaving the stressful “no excuses” NOLA charters, high turnover means ample openings, as well as regular understaffing of schools.  Since Hurricane Katrina in 2005, research shows that the constant churn of school personnel and higher turnover have been accompanied by declines in teacher experience level, quality of credentials, teacher satisfaction, and a decreasing number of African-American teachers.  

Having left the U. S. just before Katrina to attend college, Fatima describes herself as having been “very naïve” about teaching in the “no excuses” charter school environment of New Orleans.  She signed up for Teach NOLA and began looking for an apartment.

Teach NOLA’s $4,400 tuition payment entitles enrollees to continue to take courses during their first year of teaching, so that by the end of the school year, most are ready to apply for state certification.

As is common among Teach NOLA students, Fatima found employment with KIPP a few weeks after she enrolled. KIPP Central City Primary (KCCP) hired her in July 2014 as a special needs teacher for third grade, even though the extent of her experience and preparation for special education was limited to working as a middle school teaching assistant with children with autism the year before in California.

Just days after being hired, Fatima got her first exposure to KIPP culture at KIPP’s 20^th Anniversary Summit held in Houston.  The KIPP Summit, held annually in July for all of KIPP’s teachers, includes promotional videos, vendor exhibits, testimonials, skits, music, recorded messages of support from celebrities, and professional development meetings. She described the Summit as “a whole week of KIPP everything.” 

Even though KIPP administrators regularly complain to their faculties that funds are not available for substitute teachers when they are sick, each year KIPP spends millions of dollars on the Summit:

Summits are often held in popular tourist destinations such as Orlando, Miami, or Las Vegas. In 2011, for example, the KIPP Foundation’s 990 nonprofit federal tax return showed that $1,008,633 was paid to Opryland Hotel in Nashville for hotel and hospitality during one Summit, while almost $4 million was spent on travel that year. Most Summit expenses are paid by the KIPP Foundation, but then KIPP recoups some of that money from each KIPP franchise, which must pay up to $30,000 each year to use the KIPP brand name. In 2011, KIPP, Inc., collected a total of $2,050,256 from individual schools in these licensing fees.

During a general session at the KIPP Summit, Fatima remembers several thousand teachers being asked to self-identify their years of teaching experience.  She estimated that “more than half the stadium” stood when asked which teachers had zero to one year of teaching experience. As the number of years of experience got higher, however, fewer and fewer teachers stood, so that just a handful acknowledged ten or more years in teaching.  She would soon come to understand in very painful ways why the average KIPP teacher has only two years of experience.

Fatima describes her KIPP summit experience as the “beginning of me getting KIPP-notized,” an immersion into an intense acclimatizing process that indoctrinates new teachers in the core beliefs and attitudes of KIPP.  She returned from Houston at the end of July with the other New Orleans KIPP teachers to begin “Culture Week,” a time at the beginning of the new school year that initiates the students’ own KIPP-notizing process.

During Culture Week, Fatima learned that every student movement has to be regulated with maximum efficiency, which means that hand signals come to replace language whenever possible.  She learned to write down her routines so that students come to “know exactly how to maneuver their bodies” and to position their feet and hands” with “hands by sides, walking feet, eyes forward.” Controlling their voice was a central goal, too. Older children at the K-4 KCCP were told, “voices off, eyes forward.”

Fatima learned about the student “lines” that are strictly monitored in the hallways, and she learned that KIPP teachers judge other teacher’s effectiveness by the degree of perfection in the “lines.” If the prescribed distance between single-file students falters, or if students waver from the tape guide on the floor, more practice is required until all errors are erased:

I remember I was spending such a long amount of time working on my lines.  I would do line practice back and forth.  Back and forth, back and forth and it’s like I know how I’m supposed to see it.  I know how it’s supposed to look, but it doesn’t look like that. . . .when you walked through the hallways other teachers can see your class and they can gauge how effective you are as a teacher based on your line.  And if your line is really noisy, sometimes you’ll have teachers saying, you better get your line in order. 

During “Culture Week,” Fatima also learned that every non-compliant student behavior must be corrected immediately, and that failing to do provides another indicator of ineffective teaching.  KIPP supervisors with their clipboards often enter classrooms without speaking and record head counts of students who are complying with teacher commands, such as “eyes on me.” The percentage of non-compliant students is recorded, and teachers are later provided with follow-up reports on the need for corrective action. 

DougLemov’s Teach Like a Champion, which serves as the No Excuses “school Bible,” includes Lemov’s zero tolerance Technique #36, 100 Percent: “There’s one acceptable percentage of students following a direction: 100%. Less and your authority is subject to interpretation, situation, and motivation.” 

The KIPP Model aims for total compliance among students and teachers, alike, and questioning rules and methods cannot be tolerated.  Fatima’s experiences at KIPP Central City Primary (KCCP) substantiate this reality.

Often referred to as “performance character,” student attitudes and behavior are a higher priority at KIPP schools than academics.   As KIPP co-founder, Mike Feinberg, once told an audience at Tulane University, “KIPP teachers believe their job is 49 percent academics and 51 percent character.

Fatima noted that it’s as if KIPP is “presuming that these kids come in with no character, come in with no discipline and no work ethic, and that we have to instill this in them and teach them that only a good work ethic is going to give you success.”

Even though leaders of KCCP said they valued “truth over harmony,” Fatima found that questioning KIPP practices and value was risky behavior.  Not only was Fatima eventually fired for insisting that adequate resources be provided to her students so they would not fall further behind, but she had experiences, too, of being ostracized for speaking out against excessive control.  When second grade teachers, whose pupils were ending recess just after kindergarten recess began, came up with a plan to restore order by blowing a whistle and yelling “freeze,” Fatima’s resistance earned her a growing mistrust among other planning team members:

All the kindergarten teachers were resistant to this practice because it was kindergarten recess, and our students needed this time to run around.  Try making 100+ 5-year olds freeze while outside on the playground in the middle of playing.  This was also extra (unnecessary) work for teachers. Even though we were on duty supervising students, this was essentially our only other break aside from a hasty 30-minute lunch.  

Whistle-blowing and yelling “freeze” at KCCP are not the only practices that are reminiscent of police practices.  Children are required to put their hands on top of their heads when receiving directions:

. . .we’d say put your hands up top to kind of show we can trust you now.  I can’t talk to you because your hands aren’t on your head.  Because if your hands aren’t on your head, I don’t know what you are doing with your hands.  I can’t trust those hands.  We would have to know where their hands were.  So your hands are on your head if I’m going to give you direction.

Marching children in single file lines and the constant focusing on maintaining silence led Fatima to view KIPP’s student control methods as “punitive, constant micromanaging of . . . voice, movement, and body.  Those were the three things we had to make sure we controlled.  Their voice, their movement and their body.”  

The KIPP Model’s zero tolerance student discipline policies are inspired by Chester Finn’s appropriation of “broken windows theory,” which is spelled out in Finn and Kanstoroom’s foreword for a 2008 book, Sweating the Small Stuff: Inner City Schools and the New Paternalism:

The [No Excuses] schools are preoccupied with fighting disorder; they fix the proverbial broken windows quickly to deter further unruliness. Students are shown exactly how they are expected to behave—how to sit in a chair without slumping, how to track the teacher with their eyes, how to walk silently down the hall, how to greet visitors with a firm handshake, and how to keep track of daily assignments. Their behavior is closely monitored at all times and the schools mete out real rewards for excellence and real punishments for rule-breaking. (p. x) 

At KIPP, “broken windows” schooling is not just some arcane theory. During Fatima’s two years and four months at KIPP, she heard the “broken windows” term come up repeatedly in meetings:

I remember it would come up a lot in meetings.  They talk about the broken windows theory, and I remember writing it down because I didn’t know what it was, so I looked it up later and then I was able to see what they meant by that, what the parallels between the broken windows theory and “the small stuff.” 

So we’re supposed to sweat the small stuff.  So if a kid is meant to be seated and their hands folded and they’re not, that’s like a broken window.  We say, oh that kid, his legs are thrown about— I have to address that before it trickles, and all the other kids are sitting like that.  So we had to constantly stop instruction to fix the visible non-compliant behaviors . . . .You can’t let one kid do something that they’re not supposed to be doing because then all the other kids are going to start doing it. 

Fatima found that KIPP’s laser focus on compliance and punishment did not match the progressive rhetoric that she heard during professional development sessions and staff meetings. During her first month at KIPP, for instance, she remembers a professor from San Francisco, Dr. Jeff Duncan-Andrade, who came to share ideas about social justice:

. . . he said the right things.  He talked about issues of race and inequality.  He was very real, and I thought, OK, that must mean that the school sees things in the real light, and that’s good.  I like that.  But we never heard from him again.  We never saw him again.  I would always ask myself, I wish he would come here.  I wish he would come in the classroom just to see it.

When I last interviewed Fatima in August 2017, she was very skeptical of organizations like KIPP with pre-packaged, top-down solutions to educational problems complicated by “generational poverty and institutional racism”—problems whose long, complex histories that are brushed aside as if historical realities are simply offered as excuses:

I know that our school was trying to give us cultural sensitivity training and teach us about the impact of institutionalized racism. . . And we had some great speakers come.  They talked about just the importance of having different role models, so having African-American role models for our students in the classroom.  The importance of that and the importance of who they’re surrounded by and who they see as authority figures…. I thought that that was what made my school very different was that ours had invested time into at least [to] talk about that intellectually.  Have conversations about it.

Fatima provided examples of how those conversations were never translated to actions that would seriously challenge the inherent institutional racism of the KIPP Model.  One example focused on the school leadership practices. When I asked Fatima what image came to mind when she unexpectedly thought about KIPP, her response was immediate, and it points to the paternalistic social control ideology that undergirds KIPP:

I get this image of my principal, who was a white man, not from New Orleans, standing up on stage in front of all of these children, 98% black African-American, standing up there and him basically pumping the kids up with the KIPP chants and all. . . . That image in my mind is very unsettling, because it just shows me that as much as we are showing these kids are pumped and everything [about going to college], you look at the image and there’s this white man overseeing a crowd of young black kids telling them what to do. . .

As much as we have talked about these things and are so aware in our practice, we still have the White man leading the kids and leading everything.  And he is, at the end of the day he’s the owner.  He’s the top.  He is the head honcho. . . .I always thought, well why couldn’t the Dean of Culture?  She’s African-American.  She can do it.  Put a woman in charge. . .

So, when I think of KIPP, I think of that:  it sounds great, it feels great, it looks great, but then actually it’s the same thing.  It’s the same old hierarchy and the same old boys’ club. . .So that’s the kind of image I get.  It’s just completely a contradiction, a complete contradiction.  And that breaks my heart because I don’t want people to fall for that.

Another example of KIPP’s rhetoric not matching up with its oppressive school practices centers on the school curriculum at Fatima’s school, which offers a monocultural model mirroring the realities of two white middle class children, Jack and Annie, “a white suburban brother and sister duo:”

Our curriculum was based around the Magic Tree House Series, [which features] two super white kids travelling the world, and I think that is an insidious way of reinforcing racial roles . . . We’re teaching these kids to see through the eyes of super white kids. . . . I don’t think that that’s empowering. 

Even though KIPP presents itself as educational organization concerned with challenging inequity and inequality, KIPP compounds the problem of school segregation, by both race and class.  For instance, middle class KIPP administrators who are disproportionately white and middle classs would never consider sending their children to their own schools, which are poor, black, and brown. Only Fatima’s vice-principal at her school had enrolled a child in KIPP’s kindergarten and first grade—but then moved the child to a private school. She pointed to this hypocrisy as another example of KIPP’s policies not matching its rhetoric:

Why aren’t the children of the administration at the school?  Why don’t you see white kids at the school?  Why only African-American students and students from Honduras and lower income?  Why is that?  Why are we segregating the students that way?  How are we dismantling any sorts of ideas [about inequality] in these kids’ mind when we’re essentially recreating it in front of their eyes? 

That’s why I was happy to see the other kindergarten teachers were black and two of them were from New Orleans, and I thought that was great.  The [students] see somebody like them, from their city teaching them.  Not like me, a light-skinned person not from the city.  But the majority of the teachers are like that [white].  That really needs to be addressed. 

I mean there were hundreds of teachers before the RSD [Recovery School District] came in who were laid off.  Teachers that were from New Orleans, people of color who had been teaching here.  And then they were laid off and then you got this influx of young college kids from TFA, with even less experience and very little cultural relevance and understanding.  It never made sense to me and, I never figured out why these kids [recent college graduates] are better than teachers who’ve been teaching for many years.  They say some of them have their certifications, but all of these young teachers just got certified over the summer.  Over the summer like in one month.

That’s negligence in my opinion.  When you’re giving these students very inexperienced teachers, that’s negligence.  That’s not being naive—you’re being negligent, because you wouldn’t do that to your own kids.  You’d do better.  So that’s the institutionalized racism just recreating itself.  They’re [KIPP’s] not actually changing anything.  They might talk about it. 

During Fatima’s first year, she co-taught with a third-grade teacher.  At the same time that Teach NOLA was supposedly teaching her how to work with special education students, she was assigned to be the case manager/special education teacher for 12-15 third grade pupils. 

Part of her caseload included a very high needs child who had been kicked out of his alternative school and who was known as one of the most difficult pupils. She was behind academically and had experienced a great deal of trauma in his short life. She told Fatima, “I want to kill myself.”

“Poor child, he deserved so much better,” Fatima said.

The child made repeated suicide threats by hanging over the railing of the stairs and and saying she was going to jump, which Fatima reported to the school administration. They never took her reports seriously and never intervened: “Eventually the next year they realized that our school didn’t have the resources for him, and he was sent to another school.”

During Fatima’s second year with KIPP, her school was under-enrolled, and she co-taught with another teacher.  She and her co-teacher had 20 students in their classroom, and this allowed Fatima the latitude to work closely to address the needs of children requiring extra help.  More importantly for the school administration, it allowed Fatima and her co-teacher to maintain total compliance and, thus, avoid the chaos that broken windows theorists predict when any rule infraction goes unpunished.

During Fatima’s second year, which was also a low-enrollment time, she co-taught in a kindergarten classroom:

So we had about 20 kids for two teachers, which was actually a very positive . . . because we were able to really like home in on which kids needed extra work on their sounds, what kids needed extra work on their numbers, on their handwriting, and we could hold small groups, and we could really like manage their behavior, because there was two of us in the classroom.  It was a very smooth year. 

Fatima’s students demonstrated strong growth in both language skills and math skills, and she finished her second year feeling entirely confident and energized.  

It wasn’t until Fatima’s third year that things changed for the worse.  She got her own kindergarten classroom that she had dreamed about, but the number of children and the ironclad demands of the KIPP administration created a pressure cooker atmosphere that created big problems and false impressions.

Fatima found that KIPP’s unrealistic expectations led to exaggerated claims among administrators that, in the end, produced self-defeating results:

Something that always stands out to me is that in my second year, when I first started on the kindergarten team, I’d been transitioned from third grade to kindergarten.  I had been doing SPED and so my principal was like, Ms. Aleshaiker is going to be in charge of doing all the RTI meetings for kindergarten.  And I did not have the experience or level of education or preparation to do that kind of thing.

But the way he would talk to the other teachers was like, Ms. Aleshaiker is a specialist.  She’s an expert in the field of SPED.  And I’d been doing SPED for one year, like legit teaching SPED, one year. . . .I think that that gave me an insight into so how. . .these teachers that have no experience [are being hailed as] expert in the field and the best teacher[s] in New Orleans! 

Really?  A lot of these teachers don’t have a lot of experience.  We are here doing our best, don’t get me wrong, we have really great intentions, but that’s a lie.  That was a flat out lie. 

With a single teacher in each of the four kindergarten classes, and no one to share responsilities for behavioral needs or emotional meltdowns, or children who simply needed to use the bathroom, instruction was constantly interrupted and always behind schedule:

. . . a common problem I had was—I would get a portion of the class with me and as soon as I get this side of the class with me, something happens on the other side.  And then I have to come and fix that side and it was literally, I’m playing whack-a-mole.  And I just remembered there being all this stuff in my head constantly—I had so many things that I knew I needed to do.  I just felt like a machine that was overworked and that this steam was coming out.

All four of the kindergarten teachers had special needs children with IEPs among their 25 or more pupils, and yet a single staff person served as case manager for all four kindergarten classes, as well as three first grade classes.

Even though Louisiana’s state statute establishes a maximum of 20 children per teacher in kindergarten, all of KCCP’s four kindergarten classrooms had one teacher in each room during the 2016-2017 school year. They all had more than 20 children and sometimes more than 25:

. . . across all four classes, they all had about 25 plus with one teacher, and I think all of us were new teachers.  None of us had taught kindergarten [alone].  So we were all like first year kindergarten teachers on our own for 25-plus kids.  And 25-plus kids, a few in each class with a lot of behavior and learning disabilities and severe behavioral problems.

Some of Fatima’s kindergarteners had been to pre-K, but some had not.  These children were unaccustomed to the structure and boundaries of the classroom, and KIPP kindergarteners have a school day that lasts almost 9 hours, from 7:15 to 4:00:

So a very long day. . . . I remember how afraid I was for the safety of my . . . kids and how I felt like I cannot be a good teacher in a classroom where my kids are physically unsafe, where I cannot manage every single child in that classroom.  I still had kids who were pooping on themselves, who would poop on the rug, and I’m expected to make sure that they are cleaned up and taken care of, but also managing 24 other kids, and teaching, and prepping.  But all of that other stuff.  So it was almost like, I was stretched so thin.  It was extremely exhausting.  It was extremely exhausting.

During the four months that she was teaching alone, Fatima was carefully preparing her lessons without benefit of a plan period, but she rarely got very far into her plan.  She couldn’t teach for managing the many issues of 25+ kindergartners, and she felt inadequate, overwhelmed, and scared something bad was going to happen that she couldn’t avoid.

She had very little latitude to make her own teaching decisions, but the frequent chaos in her room demanded constant weighing of options and decision making, which, in turn, created more stress:

There was very little room for me to make my own decisions really.  I had a schedule I had to stay on it, and my coach would tell me I should be able to walk into your classroom at any point in the day and you should be teaching that lesson: ‘if I walk in at 11:00 you should be teaching math workshop.’

A lot of times just to stay on schedule I’d have to skip lessons because I’m constantly just trying to keep those kids from chaos—I felt like there was a lot of that balancing.  So, should I make sure that the kids are safe, but OK, maybe not teach the lesson, but staying on schedule so that when my coach comes in, she can make sure that I’m on it, I’m doing reading right now. 

I just remember my heart always feeling heavy and like it was about to burst because I just felt so much pressure constantly.  I think that was probably anxiety, but I had it constantly.  From the minute I’d wake up, because I don’t know how the kids are going to be today.  I don’t know what’s going to happen today, literally until the end of the day and even until after the kids because I kept getting pulled into meeting after meeting after meeting, and it was always like how poorly you’ve been doing.  So it was like I was being run over by a steamroller almost every day. 

After a particularly chaotic incident where a child kicked another child so hard that all the other children fell silent, Fatima reported to her principal that she felt as though her classroom was not safe and that she needed help.  Her principal responded by telling her to imagine being in a burning building and calling the fire department, only to find out the fire truck was stuck in traffic.  He was making an analogy that he was driving the truck and she could not count on him to put out her fire.  Nor could he send any other relief.  She would have to put out the fire, herself.

And she would have to do so without a co-teacher to help, because KIPP had no plan to hire more teachers. When she suggested that a smaller class be established for children with special needs so that they would be able to receive the instruction and attention they needed, the principal balked.

Fatima’s school did have two behavioral interventionists who floated between classes, and after Fatima asked for more help, one of them tried to check in more regularly.  But the interventionist grew resentful of being asked to help, and she created a scene when Fatima one day asked her to remove one of the students, who was having an aggressive and noisy outburst during a math lesson:

. . . she came in, and she confronted me in front of the class and said, that’s your job.  You’re supposed to take care of her.  You take care of her.  You go and stand by the door and hold her. This, while in the middle of a math lesson with 24 other students on the rug.

Fatima’s mother came for a visit in October, and she was alarmed at how unwell her daughter was Her mother worried openly about her health. Fatima said,

I was working like crazy hours, like I would be there from like seven to seven and coming in on weekends, too.  And prepping my week’s worth of lessons, and I would get through barely any of it.  And I was just putting in so much energy and effort, I’d come home, and I was so exhausted all the time.

Usually buoyant and optimistic, Fatima said that, by October, she “was really losing it, just feeling like I had given up on the school helping me.”  Fatima’s anxiety grew, and she was often nauseous before school.  She “really felt unwell all the time.” 

During the Fall 2016, Fatima was seeing the same therapist that some other KIPP teachers at her school were seeing, and she was taking two anti-depressants.  She had called a suicide hotline becaused she felt SO low: “the counselor flat out told me that I needed to reconsider my job because of the amount of distress it was causing me.”

One of her colleagues had other recommendations:

This is a really exhausting, tough job and whatever you need to do at home to make you get through the next day, that’s what you’re going to have to do, whether it’s rolling up joints, smoking this, drinking that, whatever you need to do to self-medicate. 

Fatima began to share her frustrations with her coach and the principal.  She stopped pulling punches:

I would say look, if this class can be run by one teacher and it can be done, then I'm not that teacher.  Because I'm struggling, and if I'm not a good teacher then you need to get rid of me and put a teacher who can actually teach because you’re wasting your time.  Don’t bring these kids to school and put an ineffective teacher in front of them.  And they’re like, no!  You’re not an ineffective teacher.  You’re a great teacher.  We’re going to help you to be able to get there. 

The other three kindergarten teachers were suffering, too, even though they did not admit as much to Fatima when she had a rare opportunity to chat with them.

. . .they would admit how tough it was for them, too. We would talk as often as possible. Although in hindsight it was deliberate that the teachers would be never alone be with each other without the presence of a coach, or supervisor.  So one of the kindergarten teachers and I would talk on the phone after work and share our grievances. But they all expressed how they knew the school wasn’t going to help them, and that they better not say anything.

In front of supervisors or coaches, the other kindergarten teachers would say, “yeah, my class is great,” but Fatima could hear them regularly screaming, and she could hear their kids screaming, too. Fatima admitted that she started screaming as well:

I had to start screaming, too.  And that’s what I hated about it.  I started hating it.  The only thing I can do – well, not I can do – but the only thing that I would start reverting to is just I would have to scream, because it would get so loud in my class or sometimes I would have to just go there . . . .It was not the type of teaching that I ever imagined myself getting into.  That’s not the type of teacher I am at all.  And I'm not that type of person. . . . I felt like I was jammed into the corner and sometimes that was the only thing that I could do. . .

Fatima continued to seek help in managing her class so that she could teach.  She had two children, a boy and a girl, who were particularly disruptive— running, yelling, getting on top of furniture, marking on walls.  Fatima’s time was absorbed in dealing with the disruptions.  Once she sought suggestions from a curriculum specialist who worked for the company whose curriculum the school used.  The specialist suggested having the students sing more and to meditate. 

After the meeting with the principal when she was reminded that the fire truck was stuck in traffic, Fatima’s coach began to observe her more, take more notes, and offer less feedback than she had before.

My coach had asked me in the beginning of the year how I wanted my feedback and I had maintained that I always wanted it to be as immediate as possible. My thinking was that if I’m doing something wrong tell me immediately, interrupt me if you have to. By this time, however, my coach was observing in the back of the classroom and writing feedback on her computer and then emailing it to me at the end of the week. So sometimes I’m getting feedback on Friday on a lesson I taught the previous Monday.

She urged Fatima to videotape the students so they could see she and the principal could see what was going on.

In October, Fatima had another meeting with the principal and her coach.  Fatima was eager to share the video evidence that neither the coach or the principal had ever seen, but when she got to the meeting, she found the agenda changed.  The principal and coach had a list of three management strategies that they wanted Fatima to focus on with her students.  As with other suggestions she had received, none of the strategies was new to Fatima.  Frustrated, she announced that she had researched the state statutes, and that Louisiana state law is clear that kindergarten classes with one teacher may not have more 20 children.  She said:

I was just really frustrated, and I do remember getting very emotional in that meeting.  I shed a few tears, because I felt like I wasn’t being heard.  I felt like my kids were being disrespected by the school.  I took it so personally, because this was offensive to me that they were treating the kids that way.  Do you see what I mean?  To treat the kids in a way you wouldn’t even treat your own kids.  And I remember I brought that up.  The principal was like, OK, maybe you need to calm down.  We’ll meet about this later.

 

The following day Fatima felt “stressed out” and “depleted.”  She did something very rare; she took the day off.  Because her KIPP school does not hire substitute teachers, it means that one of the two interventionists, has to step in to substitute.  This means, in turn, that other classes have no one to turn to when an interventionist is needed.  The decision to take the day off was accompanied by “a lot of guilt that some kids weren’t going to get intervention that day.”

Fatima’s school had two interventionists for math and reading who circulated among the four kindergarten classes to teach basic skills to students, such as “writing their names.” These interventionists were former kindergarten teachers, who had been promoted and given “offices upstairs” away from the classrooms.  Whether or not this physical distance made it easier for the interventionists to sometimes not show up for students, the result was that children who were behind often remained behind because they were not receiving the one-to-one instruction from interventionists whose primary task was to get these childen up to speed.

Two weeks later Fatima had another meeting with her coach and principal, and she once again asked that another adult teacher or aide be assigned to co-teach her class.  She distinctly remembers the “principal kind of scoffing at me, like don’t we all wish we had two teachers in every classroom.”  From that point forward, Fatima remembers visits by her coach coming irregularly and without feedback, except for emails that criticized her and that came days after the visit. More importantly, the help from the interventionist became more unpredictable, so that pupils who needed extra help were not getting it. 

Just before the second interim assessment in early November, Fatima was assigned a new student who did not speak English.  Even though the previous year Fatima had administered a math assessment in Spanish to a new boy from Honduras, she was instructed to administer the math assessment in English.

She said the new student simply stared at her during the entire assessment.  Predictably, she failed.  Fatima’s other students, too, did poorly, even though they had performed very well on the first interim assessment in September.

On the Friday of the same week Donald Trump was elected President, Fatima was fired. The principal presented to Fatima the results of her second interim assessment, followed by a list of shortcomings, which included the inability to use feedback positively and appearing quiet and withdrawn during faculty meetings.  The principal did not mention Fatima’s insistence on quality instruction for the KIPP kindergarten students or her research into Louisiana state statutes regarding kindergarten class size.

Getting fired concluded a very bad week that included a breakup with her partner of two years and a friend fighting for his life in the ICU after being the victim of a shooting.

The principal told her to leave and to clean out her classroom the following day on Saturday.  Fatima had bought so many things to make her classroom what she had always wanted it to be that other teachers had come in to admire how beautiful her class looked and to ask for help in decorating their classrooms. 

It took Fatima and four other people to get her things removed in the time that KIPP allotted.  Before she left, she wrote on the board in large letters, “Ms. Aleshaiker loves all of you.:”

. . . if there’s any message I can get across to my kids before I go, the last thing I can tell them is I love them.  And I love you and I'll always love you and it’s not to do with you.  It had nothing to do with you.  I didn’t want them to think I left because of them, because that was the one thing I told myself.  I vowed as hard as this gets, I will not leave my kids.  I will not leave in the middle of the year.  I will not do that to them. 

In the end, Ms. Aleshaiker had no choice in the matter. Days after she was fired, a father of one of her students called her up in tears trying to figure out what had happened to his child’s teacher.  When she met with the parent,

. . . he wanted to know why.  I tried to tell him when I met up with him why, but without blaming the school.  Because his kid still goes there, two of his kids go there, and I don’t want to talk bad about the school.  I don’t want to talk bad about the principal, but I just said it didn’t work out and I had to leave.  I did try and make it apparent that it wasn’t my choice, because it wasn’t my choice. 

I asked Fatima what she would now tell a friend who was considering going to work at KIPP.  Her response was unhesitating and emphatic.  She said KIPP is not what it appears to be with its high gloss media image and its beautiful promotional materials. Beneath the surface is a structural reality that implicitly claims that the neediest students should accomplish more than other students, with less resources. 

She would tell a friend who asked that the “least experienced teachers” with little preparation are given classes of unmanageable size and then told they can succeed if they work hard enough and are nice enough:

I know you know the phrase ‘work hard, be nice,’ and I really feel like I see the dirty side of it is—we’re going to throw a lot of work at you and you’re going to work hard, but you’re not going to question it.

Fatima keenly felt the irony of being fired for doing what the KIPP narrative demands, which is to “advocate for our kids.”  She said that even though she fell short in other areas, her advocacy for her pupils could not be challenged:

“If there’s one thing that I'm doing right it’s advocating for my kids that this [was] not a safe classroom, and it’s legally not OK to do this.  There’s a reason why it’s written in the law, especially for the kids in there with IEPs and with needs that weren’t met.”

The other three KIPP kindergarten teachers kept their jobs, Fatima believes, because they kept their suffering and their students’ suffering to themselves: “. . . they said, ‘I don’t want to lose my job.’  And I said, well if I lose my job—I can’t do this and keep my mouth shut and be like everything’s OK.  I couldn’t.”

Had the school leaders decided to utilize the numerous teachers and other adults in the school who were not assigned to any classroom, the misery among the kindergarten teachers and pupils could have been mitigated and, perhaps, Fatima’s traumatic exposure to KIPP’s more obvious displays of ruthlessness avoided. 

Fatima Aleshaiker’s KIPP experiences fit a pattern that is all too familiar: an energetic, idealistic young teacher joins a publicly-funded corporate enterprise that will go to any length to enforce non-negotiable performance demands that she finds either unreachable to achieve or unsustainable to maintain. She finds that she is useful to the enterprise as long as she does not threaten its organizational structures or policies and as long as she maintains production standards. When she falls short on either count, she is seen as an obstruction to organizational efficiency or cohesion and, thus, quickly discarded, with neither malice nor consideration.

NOTE: At the time of Fatima’s firing in 2016, both the principal and coach who made the executive decision were scheduled to leave the school the following year: “The principal was planning to leave KCCP to open a KIPP high school, and my coach was going to law school the next year with plans to become a lawyer.”

-->

The Jessica Marks Story: “Getting fired from KIPP was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”

by Jim Horn

On February 19, 2014, former KIPP teacher, Jessica Marks, wrote to me after searching the web for any kind of confirmation that she might not be alone in her misery.  She had been fired by KIPP just before Christmas, after 5 months as an 8^th grade English teacher for KIPP Austin. In her search for solace and understanding, she came across my blog, Schools Matter, which includes many posts about teachers’ experiences at KIPP.

This is Jessica’s letter to me:

Hi, James—

I was wondering if you were still doing a study about KIPP - I got your email [address] from a blog that was posted more than a year ago, so I understand that you might be finished with your work.

In case you need more stories, I have time to talk and I would like to discuss what happened to me. I moved to Austin to teach English at KIPP Academy of Arts & Letters in July and I was fired in December. I am not bitter or angry about getting fired - please understand. I don't have a vendetta against the organization, and I hold everyone who is still at the school in high regard. I still believe in their mission of sending all students to and through college. However, KIPP misled me, and I think it is harmful for students and teachers to go there.

I had been teaching at an early college high school in Prescott Valley, Arizona. I'd become a kind of teacher celebrity (if there is such a thing) in the town over the four years that I taught there. In fact, I was even named one of three finalists for First Year Teacher of the Year by the Yavapai County Education Foundation. I was experienced—more so than any other core content teacher at KIPP Academy of Arts & Letter—but I left Arizona because I thought I could do more good.

Over the course of the six months that I worked at KIPP, I was harassed, ridiculed, and intimidated by administrators so much that I eventually suffered a nervous breakdown.

I'm on the mend, but KIPP squashed my spirit and my confidence and it did so without cause. I worked 90 hours a week and was told that "effort doesn't equate results" and then told to take better care of myself because "how did that look to the children to have someone so stressed out be their leader?".

If you would like to discuss further, I would be absolutely willing to talk or email more, if it would help you with your research. As a teacher (and as being a reporter before I was a teacher!) I can appreciate someone trying to find evidence for a study and I'd like to help.

I apologize if this email was too long or not what you were looking for. If your study is over, please accept my thanks for doing good work. The interviews I read online already have been validating and completely accurate.

All the best,

Jessica Marks

When I first talked with Jessica the following week on February 27, 2014, she asked to remain anonymous, as did all but one of over two dozen teachers that I interviewed for my book, Work Hard, Be Hard: Journeys through ‘No Excuses’ Teaching.  Just weeks after being fired and in the throes of despondency, Jessica feared what her KIPP principal, or the KIPP Foundation, might do or what influence KIPP supporters might exert as retribution against her speaking out.  Jessica, too, suffered a deep sense of shame that is typical among former KIPP teachers for failing at a job that she had put her heart and soul into and had so obviously failed to meet the expectations of KIPP administrators. 

Jessica began work at as a KIPP teacher July 2013, and she was fired just before Christmas the same year. When I talked with her just two months later in February, she was still living in Austin, Texas and seeing a therapist for what she described as a nervous breakdown, which was clearly in full flower at the time she was fired in December.  Jessica’s principal at KIPP Academy of Arts and Letters had recommended a particular therapist, who he knew by way of at least one other KIPP teacher who, too, had suffered a mental and emotional breakdown while teaching at KIPP.  Following extensive treatment, that teacher had eventually returned to her job at KIPP. 

Even though Jessica’s treatment was extensive, too, her future would be quite different.  After some deliberation, Jessica would return to public school teaching the following school year.  And as I was to find out in 2017 when she contacted me once more, she would come to thrive anew.  

Today, Jessica no longer fears what KIPP Austin or the KIPP Foundation might do, or try to do, for sharing the truth about her experiences at KIPP.  Her documented accomplishments since leaving KIPP reach far beyond the fearful behavioral vice and unsustainable job expectations of KIPP’s corporate creed, where individual creativity quickly wilts within an organizational pressure cooker based on total compliance and unsustainable performance requirements.

With time, a good therapist, and a new job where she is valued, trusted, and rewarded,

Jessica has regained her confidence and tapped into those deep wells of care and empathic understanding that made her a great teacher to begin with.  In fact, on April 27, 2018, Jessica Marks (her real name) will offer an address to the Yavapai County Education Foundation in Prescott Valley, Arizona. Her speech will be her last official act as Teacher of the Year for Yavapai County, Arizona will focus on the critical need to value teachers and teaching.

So based on our written communication and interviews, this is Jessica Marks’s story of what happened before and after her short stint as a KIPP teacher.  Spoiler alert: it is a story of how personal tragedy was disrupted by personal triumph and redemption. 

  The Jessica Marks Story:“Getting fired from KIPP was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.” by ontogenyx on Scribd

  

In July 2013, Jessica left family and friends in Prescott Valley, Arizona for a new middle school teaching job at the KIPP Academy of Arts and Letter in Austin, Texas.  Her mother and boyfriend were not fully onboard with Jessica’s decision to leave a tenured teaching position with a Prescott Valley public school, especially when it meant moving to Texas for a charter school job with no job security or defined benefit retirement plan. 

Besides, Jessica had established herself as a true community asset over four years of teaching in Prescott Valley, and she had made a name for herself as Teacher of the Year at her school. She was even selected as one of three finalists for First Year Teacher of the Year by the Yavapai County Education Foundation.  As her family and friends saw it, accepting a position at an out-of-state charter school was taking a big risk.

Jessica, however, knew something about taking risks to pursue her dreams. A few years earlier, in fact, she had left a promising career as a young reporter near Los Angeles in order to go back to school to become a teacher.  After finishing her journalism degree at Cal State Northridge, she got a job covering the education beat for the Santa Clarita Valley Signal, where she learned about the many challenges and rewards of teaching. 

Jessica decided that she “didn’t want to just write about” teaching anymore, so she quit her job as a reporter in 2007 and moved back home to Arizona, where she enrolled in a Master of Arts program in English Education at Northern Arizona University (NAU). She finished in 2009 with a 4.0 GPA, Honors with Distinction.

Jessica’s interest in KIPP began in graduate school at NAU in 2008, where one of her “just amazing” professors had shared a short promotional video for the “no excuses” Knowledge Is Power Program (KIPP) charter schools.  Most of KIPP’s students are economically disadvantaged children from high-poverty neighborhoods, and the video hammered home KIPP’s mission to get all of its students to and through college. 

The intensity of the KIPP mission and the commitment of KIPP teachers to that mission as depicted in the video left a deep impression.  Even after Jessica earned her MA at NAU and landed her first job in 2009 at Liberty Traditional School (LTS), and even after Jessica was honored as Liberty’s “Teacher of the Year”at the end of her first teaching year as a 7^th grade English teacher, Jessica did not forget about KIPP. 

“In the back of my mind,” she said, “I really just wanted to be a KIPP teacher.” Jessica felt that KIPP would provide an opportunity where she could “do more good.”

During the student teaching semester at Liberty in 2008, her students were the first in the history of the district to have a 100 percent passing rate on both the reading and writing sections of the state standardized tests.  Jessica got the same results the following year when she was hired as a 7^th Grade English teacher at LTS.  Her success was instrumental in the Teacher of the Year award for her school in 2010 from the local education foundation. She understood that her contribution was significant.  She said, “the kids really liked me—I was used to working long hours—I was creative—I was energized.”

After a year at LTS, Jessica taught three years at an early college high school in Prescott Valley, which prepares students who feel college bound but not college ready.  Her success there, Jessica said, led to her becoming “a kind of teacher celebrity (if there is such a thing)” in her small town.

While teaching at ECHS, a friend who had moved to Texas emailed Jessica in 2011 with a job notice for a KIPP middle school English teaching position in Austin.  She thought this could be her chance, perhaps, to be one of those amazing, committed KIPP teachers that she had seen in that video during grad school.  Why not, she thought, this would be a new challenge with the kind of focused mission to make a difference in the lives of underserved children who need the best teachers.  She knew she was a good teacher, and she “still had a KIPP dream.”

Jessica also felt prepared for KIPP, especially from her experience at Liberty Traditional School (LTS), a K-8 “public choice school” in Prescott Valley. Parents who chose Liberty were looking for a strict discipline system, school uniforms, teacher-centered instruction, plenty of homework,high expectations, and measurable achievement results.

Jessica applied for the position, and KIPP responded by paying her way to Austin for a two-day job interview.  After visiting classrooms on the first day and sitting for a principal interview that she felt she “nailed,” Jessica received an email from the school at 7 PM that evening with the curriculum standard that she was to teach the following day.  It was to be a lesson that built upon what the students had recently been taught. 

The principal gave Jessica another very specific instruction the next day before her lesson that she felt was a bit odd.  The principal was very clear that he wanted to see Jessica “catch students misbehaving” and to “redirect them” when it happened. 

It was only some time after she was hired that Jessica learned that the class she had taught on that second day of her interview had had two English teachers resign during the year, and that an administrator had filled the gap each time a teacher had left. In effect, the students that she taught that day had experienced four interruptions to their English instruction during that one school year.

Jessica found that the students did not have the information or understanding that she was told to expect from them, and teaching the class did not go well at all, with parts of the lesson plan remaining untaught as a result.

Following the lesson in a classroom with students to capacity plus KIPP observers, Jessica debriefed with the five KIPP employees who had observed her teaching.  After some particularly “ruthless” criticism from one of KIPP’s employees, the principal suggested that Jessica go back home to Arizona and videotape one of her classes there as a sample lesson to submit.  Jessica returned to Arizona, taped her lesson, and sent it off to the KIPP principal in Austin.

In the follow-up interview that confirmed she was to be hired, the principal told Jessica that he thought she was a great teacher—but not “necessarily a KIPP teacher.”  Nonetheless, he said he felt Jessica was a “hard worker,” and so he wanted to give her a “try.” He did not elaborate.

Even though the KIPP principal showed little enthusiasm for his own hiring decision, Jessica believed that her first year teaching at the highly-structured Liberty Traditional School (LTS) back in Arizona had prepped her for teaching at a KIPP school.  Both LTS and KIPP used strict discipline systems, and they both advertise high expectations for both students and teachers.  At that point, she felt more eager than anxious.

Jessica soon learned, however, that high expectations at KIPP mean something quite different than what they meant at Liberty Traditional School.  In retrospect, Jessica came to see her acceptance of the KIPP principal’s unenthused hiring decision as a missed opportunity “to have saved myself a lot of heartache.”  

Leaving behind family,  friends, a boyfriend, and her big cat named Fatso Catso, Jessica packed one box of clothes and many boxes of teaching materials into her Jeep Patriot in the summer of 2013 to drive the 16 hours it took to get to Austin, she was much more eager than anxious. Jessica began work on July 22 during KIPP’s intensive ten days of enculturation and professional development before students arrived August 7, which then began seven days of the students’ own intensive indoctrination, which is often referred to as “KIPP-notizing” by both teachers and students.

During those first two weeks at KIPP Austin, Jessica learned that total effort and total compliance define the KIPP culture and the KIPP “family.”  She learned that children are to follow rules and procedures without fail, that errors are always corrected, and that infractions are always punished.  Jessica learned that she was to use hand signals that would pare down the need for teachers and students to speak, and she learned chants to build motivation and commitment and to assist student recall. 

Jessica watched KIPP promotional videos that predicted dire consequences for students who fail to take advantage of a KIPP education, and she learned that teachers are expected to make any effort and to go to any length to achieve the KIPP mission that she would embody as a KIPP teacher. 

Jessica learned that the urgency of her task could never allow any excuse to get in the way of the student success, and that success was to be her responsibility, and hers alone.  KIPP administrators told Jessica and the other new teachers that a level of militancy was required to achieve the KIPP mission of college entrance for every KIPPster.  This, she was told, requires toughness, resiliency, grit, persistence, gratitude, self-control. 

She felt as if she was leading her students (whom KIPP had rescued from public schools) into a battle that could have deadly consequences if she and her students failed.  Her objective was to overcome any obstacle that stood in the way of their successful performance on the state achievement tests, the interim assessments (IA’s), and the daily learning exercises aimed toward the testing objective. Jessica was to get them focused and moving toward the objective, while closely monitoring their progress and finding ways to overcome any barrier.

She learned that KIPPsters are to “track” their teachers with their eyes at all times, and she learned that students earn their desks and their uniforms by demonstrations of compliance and expressions of gratitude.  Jessica learned the importance of “the line,” a term used to describe the silent precision single-file movement from class to class during students’ 9-hour school days.  She learned that there is a KIPP way for riding the bus, entering the building, going to the bathroom, and eating breakfast and lunch.

Jessica learned the importance of the student paycheck to reward compliance and hard work, and she learned that paycheck deductions result from non-compliant behaviors and rule infractions that would affect her own remuneration.  She learned that no infraction can go unpunished.  Success demanded an orderliness that reserves no place for sentimentality or other signs of weakness. Success required that she demonstrate “joy” at all times; any observable negativity might lead to sub-par test achievement and a diminished level of social-emotional skills (or performance character, as it is known at KIPP). 

Most importantly, perhaps, Jessica learned that KIPPsters should be taught to calmly accept punishment from adults for student infractions of the rules or failure to live up to expectations.  She was to communicate to students that punishment is a necessary outcome that results from a students’ unwillingness to perform.  Jessica was told that success is always within any student’s grasp who works hard enough to overcome willful failure, and she learned that lack of success, for herself and her students, can be attributed only to an unwillingness to do what is required to succeed. Just as success can be attributed to hard work and character performance skills, failure can only be attributed to the absence of these attributes.

Jessica was struck by an entire day of the first week devoted to time management, which seemed odd, given the fact that KIPP student school days are 25 percent longer than public schools. She came to understand, however, that time would be a commodity always in short supply for herself and the other teachers. And even though Jessica’s time with her KIPP 8^th graders began at 7:05 and ended at 4:30, her work days would begin hours before and last hours beyond.  Still there was never enough time to do all that was expected.

Jessica’s two weeks of KIPP enculturation was capped off by the KIPP Summit.  In most years, the Summit is a national event, an annual 3-day celebration and revivalist-style professional development meeting.  In 2010, however, KIPP Austin chose to host its own staff and faculty two-day summit at the four-star Lost Pines Resort and Spa.  There, Jessica and the staffs of the other eight KIPP Austin schools planned, watched more videos, ate and drank well. 

In the week before students arrived for the new year, Jessica finally got to see the Curriculum Guide, which included a detailed outline of state testing requirements, KIPP’s schedule of interim assessments (IAs), and topics that would be tested and, therefore, taught during the school year.  The “activist” KIPP videos left Jessica with the clear impression that teachers who failed were leaving students with nothing of educational value in their lives.  The message was “if we let them down, they have nothing.” 

KIPP teachers, Jessica was later told, stood in the breach between children’s success and their assured suffering, which would occur if a KIPPster’s awful fate landed them back the AISD (Austin Independent School District).

Jessica learned from an English teacher at another of the Austin KIPP schools that her principal had a reputation for being particularly unflinching in his assessments, even for KIPP, and his expectations for the student results on the state tests and the interim assessments was non-negotiable: “He is going to fire you if you’re not doing a good job,” the teacher confided.  This was the beginning of Jessica’s anxiety, which eventually evolved into an ongoing panic.

Jessica was to learn firsthand that the advice that her colleague offered had been deadly accurate, despite the superhuman efforts that she tried to muster to meet expectations, and despite the substantial growth she could measure in students’ writing and speaking abilities.  “Effort does not equate results,” she would hear at the end, and “just because we know you are working hard, that doesn’t mean it’s good enough.”

Jessica taught 8^th grade English to non-native speakers.  All of her students were Hispanic, except for two African-Americans.  Most of her students had been held back at least once, and the average age was 15. Jessica had two students who were sixteen, one of whom turned 17 during the first semester.  Even though most of Jessica’s students were not new to KIPP, the first two weeks were spent on teaching obedience and compliance, while learning nothing else. Any group task, whether putting away books or turning in papers or lining up for lunch required total silence: “If they talked, we had to do it again.”

Most of Jessica’s students were the same kids that she had taught for her less-than-stellar teaching demo during her initial KIPP interview.  They had had three English teachers during their 7^th grade year, and they saw Jessica as another teacher who wouldn’t last long.

By the end of the first two weeks, Jessica could clearly see student anger and resistance to another year of KIPP-notizing.  One student lay silently on the floor at the back of the room one day, and another tore the curtains down.  Jessica and the other teachers, most of whom were beginners, were told to use a stronger voice in response to these occurrences.  This soon devolved into yelling at students, which became the norm.

Feeling the pressure, Jessica soon asked for help.  She was told to text the assistant principal for help and to keep any offending students in the classroom.  When the assistant principal came to her assistance, Jessica got the sense that she was the offender, rather than the misbehaving students. 

Administrative drop-ins became frequent, but the administration told Jessica during her first evaluation in October that she was doing much better than some of the other teachers.  Soon thereafter, the administrative visits slowed.  She came to accept an element of chaos as the new reality.

One of Jessica’s students reminded her that she was not the only one feeling the stress, anxiety, and anger.  He said, “You know what, Miss Marks, you know how when you started this school and you were so sweet and nice, you were so nice, and look at you now. You yell and you're mad and stressed out. Think about what it’s like for us having been here for three years.”

Jessica’s work day typically ran 14 to 16 hours and sometimes longer.  It started when she arrived at school at 5:15 AM, and it lasted until 9 PM, when she would leave school for the 30-minute drive home.  Even with these hours, Jessica was never the first in the school parking lot in the morning, and she was never the last to leave at night.  Jessica usually spent one day of her weekends at school with the week’s remaining unfinished work, or planning the next week.

Other teachers at her school had already learned what Jessica did not know about the unsustainability of this kind of schedule.  During the previous year, for instance, KIPP Academy of Arts and Sciences lost 9 of its 20 teachers at semester break.  One was fired, and nine quit.

Jessica was at the door of her classroom each morning to receive her 8^th grade English students at 7:05.  The next 15 minutes was known as student advisory, even though little advice was offered or received, other than to sit silently and read.  Jessica checked her students for dress code violations, and by 7:20 she had her students in line, ready to enter the hallway, where they walked in a straight single file line to the cafeteria.  Teachers received emails or texts from the office at 7:21 if they were late getting students into the hallway.

Students returned from the cafeteria with their trays in the same silent fashion at 7:30.  Students ate their breakfasts silently in the classroom and then were instructed to read silently until 8:25, at which time Jessica once more prepared the students to enter the hallway in single file for transition.

Periods one, two, and three followed, which were scheduled for 70 minutes each.  Jessica had the first five minutes of each class to get students concentrated on “do first” warm-up tasks, which were based on the previous day’s lesson.  She checked attendance, while checking and signing each student’s “agenda,” which is a planner issued by the school, in which students wrote down homework assignments posted on the board.

Students whose parents did not sign their agendas from the previous day had deductions made to their KIPP paychecks that were used by students to “pay” for end-of-year trips with the “money” accumulated throughout the year. 

The school issued colored bracelets (purple, gold, silver, bronze) to indicate student pay and privilege status.  While students with purple bracelets enjoyed the luxury of sitting outside at lunchtime and wearing jeans or untucked shirts, students in the bronze bracelet category were not even provided actual bracelets and were allowed no privileges at all.

Each lesson was to follow the same instructional pattern:

·      five minutes to check attendance, verify “do firsts,” and check and sign agendas

·      five minutes for an opening “hook” to the lesson task

·      ten minutes of explanation of the learning task and modeled learning

·      ten minutes of silent independent student practice

·      ten minutes of guided practice

·      ten more minutes of silent independent practice

·      five minute lesson closure

·      5-10 minutes to collect exit tickets from each student and record data (exit tickets offered physical evidence for the level of students’ ability to meet lesson objectives)

·      5 minutes to prepare for silent transition to next class

Each day Jessica had either lunch duty or lunch detention duty.  Students were assigned lunch seats in the cafeteria, and if the rule for quiet talk was violated, silent lunches were enforced. Students in isolation for rule infractions ate separately in lunch detention, where they always had silent lunch. 

Following lunch, students went to 55 minute art, PE, or music “electives,” which students, by the way, did not pick for themselves but were selected for them by the school adminstration.

One more regular afternoon class followed, at which time Jessica’s “advisory” students returned to her.  She lined up her advisory students at 4:10, and at 4:20 she marched them silently to the waiting buses some quarter-mile away.  Each day Jessica got onto the bus to make sure students were in their seats working or at least silent before the bus pulled out.  She and the other KIPP teachers were instructed to “wave to the kids until they could not see us anymore.”

On Wednesdays after school, Jessica attended mandatory staff development sessions that lasted from two to three hours.  On Monday, Tuesday, and sometimes Thursday, Jessica had tutoring from 4:40 to 5:30.  Only then did Jessica return to her classroom, where she compiled data from exit tickets, organized her classroom, and worked on lesson plans or her pacing guide.  Before she left school at 8:30 or 9 PM each evening, she always tried to have at least a rough draft of lesson plans for the following day.

After a half-hour drive home, Jessica would “make the documents the kids would be using the next day,” so that she would be ready to photocopy them when she got to school the next morning. If her roommate had left some dinner for her in the fridge, Jessica would eat around 10 PM while grading papers. Although not always successful, Jessica tried to be in bed by midnight.

For the first few weeks of school, Jessica was up each day at 4:17 AM and out the door by 4:30.  By October, however, she was catching an extra 20 minutes of sleep by rising at 4:37 and getting to work at 5:15.  On many days, meals were skipped, and on some days when rest became the only priority, there was no time or energy to even shower.

With the time-consuming repetition of student tasks that were done improperly and with the mandate by KIPP to micromanage behavior, Jessica began to fall behind the written schedule of learning tasks, or the “scope and sequence.” The principal, who maintained his own copy of Jessica’s agenda, could easily tell, by looking in and checking her board, where Jessica was in terms of the instructional schedule. 

Jessica felt extra pressure when administrators would come by and “point video cameras” into her classroom.  When she asked the purpose of the unannounced video surveillance, she was told that the administrators were “watching the kids and trying to pick up on their bad behaviors,” and that the administration wanted to make her a better teacher.  During the only video debriefing, which Jessica described as “humiliating,” she was criticized for not correcting students’ “micro-behaviors” and for not pointing to the board. 

When the results of the October interim assessment (IA) for the state test landed on the principal’s desk, new levels of stress arrived for Jessica and her colleagues. When the numbers were crunched, Jessica’s students had a 55 percent pass rate, which the principal “did not like,” even though the projections for her students predicted a 70 percent pass rate by the Spring test date.  Others had scores that were even less impressive.

A second IA was scheduled just 29 days after the first one, and each day Jessica felt control of the situation slipping away.  With no time for anything but work, she felt isolated; when she asked a teacher on her team, “what do you do outside of work?” the teacher answered without hesitation, “what outside of work?”

Jessica missed her family, friends, and her boyfriend, and she had no time to make new friends. She began to wonder if her mom had been right about moving to Austin.  Her anxiety and sense of dread grew, and she regularly experienced a nauseating panic as she waited for her students to arrive.  Even today when asked about KIPP, she says that she re-lives some of that awful anxiety and dread each time.

Following her October interim evaluation, Jessica met with her grade-level chairperson and told her that she was “really falling apart.”  She shared that she felt the need to see a therapist and that she had no time to find one.  The chairperson recommended that Jessica talk with the school administration. 

During her next weekly one-on-one meeting with the assistant principal, Jessica noted on her required written agenda form that she submitted the night before that, in terms of “self-care,” she wanted to have time to take more showers and to see a therapist.  The assistant principal told Jessica that she would “talk to the principal.”

Rather than scheduling a meeting, the principal came to observe one of Jessica’s lesson.  After the lesson, he told Jessica that he had heard that she had “no joy,” and that he was really worried about her.  Jessica began to cry and, through her tears, she told the principal that she did not know how much longer she could “take this.”  The principal seemed sympathetic and offered the name of a therapist who had treated another of his teachers who previously had a “nervous breakdown,” and who was able to return to KIPP the following year.

In order to reduce Jessica’s workload, the principal offered to plan and teach her first period class each day except on Wednesdays, when Jessica would be fully in charge.  The principal’s daily plans she could use throughout the rest of the day, thus relieving her of the time-consuming process of writing behavioral objectives and constructing plans from them.

For ten days the principal taught The Illiad, a unit that he had previously taught to most of Jessica’s students the year before when he had filled in for one of the English teachers who had quit.  The principal announced just before Thanksgiving that it was time to administer a test that he had constructed. 

To Jessica’s dismay, the test to be used in all her classes was based closely on recall of words that the principal had actually used during his first period lessons. And even though Jessica had used his plans, she had not used his exact phrasing or terminology, as she sought to lead her non-native students to an understanding of Greek mythology.

As a result, a quarter of Jessica’s students failed to score the 70 percent needed for a passing score, and Jessica’s principal asks for an evaluation conference with her the next day.  On December 3, she met with her principal and was given a teacher evaluation rubric that Jessica had not seen before, even though she had been evaluated in October. The rubric included a rating scale of 1 to 4, with 10 categories that ranged from “planning” to “providing a safe environment.” 

The principal had marked up the rubric and concluded that Jessica’s average score was 1.5.  The principal made it clear that he was unhappy with the wordy way Jessica wrote objectives, and  he did not like how she failed to point to the board enough.  Jessica also got low scores on “providing a safe environment,” and when she protested, the principal told her that he had witnessed students whispering.  Confused, she asked how whispering could constitute and unsafe environment, and the principal told her that whispering could mean students were bullying each other, even though he admitted to Jessica that he did not hear what they were saying.

The principal gave Jessica until December 19 to move her performance from 1.5 to a 3.0 on the evaluation rubric.  The following day, the principal announced that “somebody would come and observe” her teaching during the coming days.  The next day Jessica learned the “somebody” was at her school interviewing for her job:

Wednesday, he says he’s going to have somebody come in and observe me. And someone did. Somebody did come and observe me. It was a candidate for my job. She was interviewing. That was the only person that had observed me that day.

The following day the principal brought a video camera to observe Jessica’s first period.  In a brief follow-up conference, the principal told Jessica that she, again, was not pointing to the board enough and that she was not holding students accountable when she called on them to answer a question.  Later in the day, two other job candidates showed up to observe.  On another day the assistant principal brought a video camera on a stand, pointed it at Jessica, and recorded the entire day’s lessons. Another job candidate showed up the same day.

With just a few days to rise from a 1.5 to a 3.0, Jessica remained hopeful that she could pull it together by December 19.  But then on December 16, the principal sent Jessica and email saying he wanted to see her the next day.  Jessica was fired on December 17, two days before her deadline to become a 3.0.

As I noted earlier, I first talked with Jessica a few weeks later on February 27, 2014, when she was still living in Austin, drawing unemployment and seeing her therapist—who had come to know a great deal about KIPP from treating other former KIPP teachers in Austin. 

Jessica had been reluctant to return to her small hometown in Arizona after she was fired, where everyone knew her and everyone would know that she had failed to live up to her big plans to become a successful KIPP teacher in Austin, Texas. She said during a later interview, “Even though I got fired in December, I stuck around in Texas for months and I made a lot of people very upset with me.  I just wasn't ready to come home . . .”

We stopped the recording several times during that first interview, as Jessica was overcome with emotion—“still raw,” as she said, from her ordeal at KIPP. Even so, she spoke with a strong, eloquent voice, and it was clear that she had come to understand that leaving KIPP had become a much significant event in her life than ever having gone there in the first place:

JESSICA: Getting fired was—I expected it. You know, they’d been really clear that they didn’t want me. They had the people, the candidates coming through. It wasn’t a surprise, but it was still crushing. And I’m still dealing with how crushed I felt. But you know what? It’s been a total blessing. It has been—getting fired from KIPP was probably the best thing that has ever happened to me in my life. And I don’t say that lightly. . . .

Being fired collapsed my spirit. I didn’t realize how far I’d come. I isolated myself from my friends to do this great job. I isolated from my family. I moved across the country. And all I did was work. I made no new friends and I wore myself out to the point where I was unhealthy and sad and completely isolated. And I got fired. And then I had nothing. I didn’t even know anybody. I had nothing. I hadn't made one friend.

. . . . I would say that working at KIPP was the most horrible experience of my life. I would tell people that, I would tell a friend especially that the message is good with KIPP, that you want to send all kids to and through college. But it is at such great personal sacrifice that it’s—it crushed me.

I would encourage anyone else to just stop. It wasn’t even getting fired that was the worst thing for me. It was knowing that I was told that if the kids didn’t go to college, that it was my fault. I just think that anybody else who wants to do good could do better good at their own school rather than destroy themselves by working at KIPP.

Jessica returned home to Prescott Vally, Arizona, in early summer 2014.  I did not hear from her again until May 2017, when I received another email with some news that was really worth sharing.  This is her letter dated May 8, 2017:

I don't know if you remember me, but you spent several hours interviewing me via telephone after I was fired from KIPP Austin: Academy of Arts & Letters back in 2013. I was a big mess -- I wasn't sure if I could ever be a teacher ever again. 

I did go back to teaching, and upon your recommendation, I told the truth about being fired. You said that . . . [the] truth will set me free -- so, I should be honest about my experience. A good employer will understand and give me a chance. Likewise, if they are rigid and don't consider the circumstances, well, then I don't want to work for an environment like that anyway. I took your advice to heart. It was good advice. 

I've been very successful here. This last week, I was named the overall best teacher all of Yavapai County. . . .I'm attaching the link here: 

https://www.dcourier.com/news/2017/apr/30/glassford-hill-middle-school-teacher-earns-top-hon/

You were so nice to me when we talked, I thought that I would share. I'm doing just fine. I wasn't a good KIPP teacher, but it was not like I was not a good teacher AT ALL. I'm an excellent teacher. And rather than fostering my love for reaching out to kids, KIPP used up every bit of my self worth and then discarded me. But I was not disposable. I was nearly crushed, but I came through. I wonder how many leave KIPP and then leave the profession altogether. What a shame. 

I wanted you to know, though. You helped me get through those dark days. 

All the best, 

Jessica

I wrote back to Jessica to offer my congratulations on her recovery and triumphant return to teaching.  I asked her if she would be interested in doing a follow-up interview and sharing her story with the world, this time with her name attached.  She agreed, and I talked with her later in May 2017.

My first question: Why do you feel it's important to step forward and to share your story under your name?

Jessica: Because I'm not ashamed.  I was, I was for a very long time.  You know what?  I don't want to seem overly dramatic and I'm not saying this as an exaggeration or hyperbole or anything like that—I thought about killing myself. 

I did not want to come back to Arizona and tell all my friends I had failed. . . .I had no money.  I had the unemployment, but they had this huge delay to get it to me.  I was borrowing money and it was completely humiliating.  I felt like my whole worth was being a teacher.  That was my whole identity.  I had nothing else.  I had these visions that I was going to be great, and I wasn't.  I was not a good KIPP teacher and I felt like I needed to hide that.  I couldn't let people know. 

Then, I don't know, I started, it's all that therapy.  I still see the same therapist.  We go through Skype now because I'm out here [in Arizona] and she's in Texas.  It was devastating, but I feel like when we don't talk about what happened, we let our secrets control us.  I did not have to kill myself.  I did not have to be so frightened.  I am a survivor, and I should be proud of that.

This award that I won, Yavapai County Overall Teacher of the Year, they flew a flag over the nation's capital in my honor.  They read this declaration of my contribution to education on the floor of Congress.  They hang a banner above my school and people come to come look at it.  I feel like I should not be in the shadows.  I should be able to tell people, and I feel like, here I am, this decorated teacher, I don't know if that's the right word, but four years ago I was told I was disposable and trash and worthless.

People should know that.  They could call me and I feel like an advocate now.  I don't know how many more years of teaching I've got left in me.  I think that my next step is I would really like to be a college professor and teach people how to be teachers, and I want to tell them, beware of KIPP.

. . .I don't think that I should be ashamed.  I remember when I left KIPP, I was afraid of reprisal also.  I was very nervous that Kevin would find out that I had mean things to say. . . .  At the time, thought that I would be ostracized or he would make it worse for me or he would get in the way of me getting unemployment, that he would make it so that I couldn't teach again.  I thought he would make it so that they wouldn't find my loan forgiveness papers for my student loans, and I was very scared, but I'm not scared anymore.  I feel like he was wrong, and it's OK for him to know that he was wrong. 

Today Jessica continues to teach at a public school and to point out to anyone who will listen the critical need to value teachers.  In 2017, she considered working toward a PhD in curriculum development, but in a recent email, Jessica said  that “now I'm thinking that I can't, in good conscience, encourage more people to go into this profession.”

Like many teachers, Jessica has added a weekend job so that she might have enough money to buy her own home.  With a Masters degree, 10 years teaching experience, and recognition as the Teacher of the Year for Yavapai County, AZ, Jessica’s income from teaching is around $600 per week.  At the new part-time bartending job at a local golf club, she earns $500 per weekend.

Jessica “still feel[s] passionately about taking care of teachers and providing meaningful, creative instruction to students,” but she is uncertain of her career course moving forward.  On April 27 when a new Yavapai County Teacher of the Year is named, she will be giving a speech on what that recogntion has been like for her over the past year.

Jessica says that even though she knows people don’t want to hear a long speech on April 27, she “feels an obligation to tell people the critical need to value teachers, especially with mounting stress and underfunded classrooms.” 

She added, “I have a lot to say!” 

_________________________________

Jim Horn, PhD, is Professor of Educational Leadership at Cambridge College.  In addition to Work Hard, Be Hard: Journeys through ‘No Excuses’ Teaching, he co-authored The Mismeasure of Education with S. D. Wilburn in 2013.  In addition to dozens of scholarly articles and presentations, he has published many popular pieces and too many blog posts to count.

  

Teachers who want to share their past experiences at KIPP or other “no excuses” charter schools may contact Jim at james.horn@cambridgecollege.edu or ontogenyx@gmail.com.