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diverse applications of contextual behavioral science, particularly in underserved settings. As an early contributor to the development of relational frame theory and acceptance and commitment therapy at the University of Mississippi Center for Contextual Psychology, Jonathan studied behavioral analysis and its applications for behavior therapy, social categorization, and education. Jonathan’s publications appear in Behavior and Social Issues, The Psychological Record, and Salud y Drogas. He has presented on these and related topics at national and international conferences including those of the Association for Contextual Behavioral Science, the Association for Behavior Analysis International, the Association for Behavioral and Cognitive Therapies, Learning and the Brain, and the Progressive Education Network.

      Jonathan received a bachelor’s degree in history from Vassar College, a master’s degree in public administration from New York University, and a doctoral degree in clinical psychology from the University of Mississippi.

      To learn more about Jonathan’s work, visit EMPOWER Forwards (http://empowerforwards.com).

      To book Lauren Porosoff or Jonathan Weinstein for professional development, contact [email protected].

      EMPOWER

      Introduction

      • • • • •

       EMPOWERING STUDENTS TO TRANSFORM WHAT SCHOOL MEANS

      When our daughter Allison gets to high school, what will her experience be like? Will it be like her mother’s? Will she be mostly invisible in her classes, well-behaved enough that her teachers don’t notice that she isn’t doing homework or paying attention? Will she read none of the books in her English class but use her preexisting writing skills to get As anyway? Will she be so silent in the rest of her classes that her teachers won’t miss her on the days when she skips? What will happen on the days she does come to class? Will she sometimes pretend to take notes but actually write stories and poems in her notebooks? Will she sometimes have no writing ideas and instead draw little caterpillars with the same number of segments as minutes left in the period, filling in a segment for every minute that goes by, using the caterpillar as a measure of hope that eventually she’ll be set free?

      When our son Jason gets to middle school, what will his experience be like? Will it be like his father’s? Will he be too much of a behavior problem to place into the “smart class,” even though he’s bright? Will he be condemned to sink to the low expectations of teachers who have given up on him? Will he read ahead in his history book but find no one with whom he can share his discoveries? And if he makes his way into regular education, or even an advanced class, will he talk too much in an effort to prove he belongs? Maybe he’ll turn out to be good at cello, and music will be the one period in his schedule that lets him interact with the bright students. Or maybe he’ll get into so many fights that his principal will invite him to come to school early for extra recess to get his energy out. Maybe at morning recess he’ll bond with a deviant peer group who will comprise the heart and soul of his high school’s wrestling team. And even if he goes on to succeed in high school and get into a great college, what will become of those friends he left behind?

      These are only partial stories of what school was like for us. The other side is that when we were in school, we both read books that made us think and wonder. We learned about issues that held our attention long after the unit was over and did work we felt personally invested in. We both had teachers who made us feel like we mattered. Our school experiences were mostly good. They must have been, because we both chose to continue attending school far beyond when it was mandatory. By the time we were getting advanced degrees, we’d stopped seeing school as something done to us—as if it were an assembly line and we were the products—and started seeing school as something we were actively doing, as if it were a workshop and we were artisans crafting our own lives, guided by our own values. Do our students have to wait until after graduation to see school that way, or is it possible for us to empower them to actively participate in school right now?

      Our students might not feel particularly empowered. They don’t design the curriculum. They don’t decide which teachers they get; how they’re taught and assessed; which peers are in their classes; how much homework they have; how many hours, days, and years school lasts; or what graduation entails. But while students can’t determine what happens at school, they can choose how they want to approach school. What if they could learn to approach school as a set of opportunities to serve their values?

      This book shows middle and high school teachers how to help students do just that. All tools are for grades 6–12 and teachers can adapt them based on their students’ characteristics. Part I suggests a variety of activities that help students discover and develop their own values, imagine assignments and interactions as opportunities to serve their values, and overcome barriers to enacting their values at school. Part II offers strategies teachers can use to turn each part of their own work into a context for empowering students. The ultimate goal in both parts is for students to transform what school means—from a set of demands placed upon them into opportunities to make their lives meaningful. But first, let’s see how students respond when school means complying with someone else’s demands, how they might instead decide for themselves what school means, the role values play in transforming what school means, and how transforming school’s meaning is empowering.

      We give our students a wide variety of tasks to perform. Have a seat. Read chapter 17 and take notes. Build the highest possible tower out of toothpicks and marshmallows. Calculate the molarity of this solution. Draw this vase. Circle all the direct objects. Fill in the bubble next to the best answer. How many tasks are students given in a school day? A year? A K–12 career?

      Let’s look at how students respond to such demands. Imagine that in a seventh-grade history class, students have been given a physical map of North America and are asked to write a two-page analysis of how physical geography impacts a region’s economy. Riley cares about thinking deeply, but she also has trouble expressing her thoughts in writing, and she quickly gets stuck. She looks around the room and notices all of her classmates typing away. “I hate essays,” she thinks. She starts coloring in the lakes and rivers on her map, wears down the point of her pencil, and gets up to sharpen it. The noise gets the attention of her teacher, who chin-points her back to her seat. Riley says she isn’t feeling well and needs to go to the nurse.

      Riley is avoiding the task. Putting heads on desks, looking at the clock, texting, whispering, skipping assignments, skipping class, sighing, groaning, complaining, doing the minimum amount of work, staring out the window, doodling—the list of behaviors that students use to avoid doing their schoolwork is depressingly long.

      But even when students look engaged, they might be avoiding learning. Sitting next to Riley is Andre. Andre is very bright and cares about expressing his ideas. In fact, he writes lyrically complex songs in his spare time (and sometimes during class), and he’s a fairly regular contributor to the school newspaper. But when he gets the history essay assignment, he doesn’t feel inspired like when he’s working on a song or opinion piece. He decides to write about the Appalachian region because his teacher talked about it a lot. He types up what he remembers her saying, knowing his teachers usually like his writing and that he’ll probably get an acceptable grade.

      As far as his teacher can see, Andre is deeply involved in his work. That’s because he isn’t avoiding the task (like Riley), but he is avoiding the challenge. Perhaps you’ve seen students choose topics or classes they think are easy; they know they can do a good job and get a good grade, but they’re avoiding the effort that might lead to better learning.

      Next to Andre is Jake. Jake loves big ideas, often imagines alternative explanations, and shares his creative thinking during class discussions. But this isn’t a class discussion. It’s

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