Co-Constructing a Way of Seeing: a Shakespeare Inspired Epiphany

Recently, I had the privilege of visiting the Grade 12 higher-level English classes to guide a dramatic reading and discussion of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. It’s been years – 15 was my rough estimation to the students – since I’ve interacted with this play with any amount of intimacy. What a treat, and, as is the enduring magic of Shakespeare, it had the effect of bringing a day, a week, a career and indeed a life into clear view. At least for a fleeting moment that I’ll attempt to capture here.

We picked up the reading in Act IV, just as the play has turned and in the wake of Hamlet’s murder of Polonius. It’s a difficult time for the audience: perhaps already conflicted on their impression/interpretation of the young Prince, Shakespeare further challenges our tendency to cast him as “hero”, with all of our expectations, likely bred not by reality but rather an idealized construct of humanity. As is always the case, Shakespeare has flipped the focus, and suddenly we’re left to contemplate the nature of our own harsh judgements. In both Grade 12 classes I visited, the prevailing classification for Hamlet was “crazy”. This provided the perfect opportunity, with a group of kids I don’t often get “hang” with, to extend the conversation beyond the play itself (just as Shakespeare surely would have wanted). The discussion begins with the question “What is crazy?” And it’s perpetuated by the questions “what of our tendency to describe, to judge Hamlet in this way?”

__________________________________________

Perhaps you’ve had this same kind of experience, maybe many times over… Recently I witnessed a student melting down, unable to cope with the expectations of that class/that school on that particular day. A teacher, in this case skilled and devoted and purely empathetic, was trying only to guide this student towards a gentle and healing landing. It was, in a way, heartwarming. Just as it was heartbreaking to watch that student struggle to cool down ; plugged into her music, travelling deep into her thoughts, muttering (venting!) and, finally, weeping.  It is the reality of a given life on a given day in conflict with a set of behaviours, expectations that, on this day, were unreasonable. With a less skilled teacher this day takes an even worse turn. The breakdown is not regarded with a heavy heart. Only disdain. The teacher perhaps seething at the disruption. Seeing only the disruption.

__________________________________________

It’s easy for the students to avoid these questions, as they readily identify behaviours and instances that “prove Hamlet is crazy.” And so I push. What of our tendency to categorize his behaviour at all? What is it about this world, about you even, that makes you so frustrated, angered by Hamlet’s behaviour, his action or his lack of action? How many, do you think, in Shakespeare’s audience have ever had their father killed by their uncle who then marries their mother with the burden of truth and justice for an entire kingdom suddenly falling upon their innocent, naive shoulders? Not many of us in Shakespeare’s audience know anything of ourselves in the same situation. Why then, are we so quick to judge? What is it about our own reality that prevents us from even trying to empathize with Hamlet’s?

As is usually the case in these discussions, these questions have a humbling effect, turning the lens onto my hypocritical self.  And so I arrive at this reflection on co-creation.

One of the big topics around our school in this early part of the year was homework: what it is, when to give it, what its value is. It’s a healthy discussion, like so many that we should be having , that looks into a set of behaviours/expectations/routines  at least partially bred by conventional “wisdom” that may very well sit in opposition to an emerging and more relevant pedagogy.  For all the innovation I witness, it’s amazing to me how quickly a so called 21^st century approach to learning can crumble in the face of student resistance or apathy: The students aren’t reading the novel so let’s hit them with a content quiz; groups aren’t working productively, let’s place them back in rows; they’re not being productive in class, let’s assign homework.  It’s like we’re not quite in, not fully committed. Ok, we understand that we need to re-imagine approaches to learning, but let’s only re-imagine until the students’ don’t seem to be learning (at least in a way that convention has taught us to recognize) at which time we’ll revert to the approach that we’ve already decided doesn’t account for the needs of the learner (we’ve moved from the tragedies to the comedies as this a total absurdity!). I think, in so many cases, we’re excited to re-imagine teaching but not learning itself. When the outcomes aren’t well measured by traditional means, which can simply mean the training of our eyes, we begin to question ourselves and, sometimes, revert.

 Things are not always what they seem! Shakespeare often liked to place his true wisdom in the margins, in some character we’re not accustomed to hearing – a jester or a drunk for instance. And, if we don’t look, we won’t find it.

A couple of years ago, our entire faculty spent a few days together with the amazing Sandra Herbst, reassessing assessment.  I believe this time with this truly inspiring and empowering educator was transformative for our culture, and the lasting concept that still resonates with regularity was “co-construction” (or ‘constructivism’).  I think I’m slower than most in that I’ve regarded this concept purely through the lens of assessment and assessment tools. In an English Class, as we embark on a journey – through a text or a genre – we might stop to reflect upon our early experiences and develop, together, the essential questions we’ll be responsible for answering, in some form, at journey’s end. At journey’s end, we’ll consider an appropriate expression of our learning and brainstorm the criteria of an assessment tool that will frame the feedback and, yes, the grade (ouch) they will ultimately receive. But now, I’m beginning to see. Co-construction needs to be much more than a framework – a construction of the basic tools we rely upon in a specific approach to learning and assessment. Co-construction must also be a frame of mind – working together continually to construct perspective, to construct a way of seeing. From a teacher’s perspective, it is a determination to truly understand the extent of students’ experience and life.  By co-constructing perspective, we’re better positioned to co-construct learning.

And suddenly we have meaning. Homework isn’t just homework for the sake of homework. More importantly, the students have no opportunity to perceive it this way.  “Homework” falls within a larger context of learning and only to the extent that it is manageable within a larger context of life. A truly empathetic teacher will work with the students to co-construct this perspective. And, from a broader perspective, imagine the possibilities for learning if we’ve all taken the time to understand all aspects of learning within the larger context of life… each life.

On this day, it’s easy. I’m hanging with 12^th Graders, talking Hamlet. It’s new, out of my routine and invigorating. I don’t really have an agenda; I’m in no way driven by a larger calendar. It’s easy to take a step back. The challenge is it to consistently discover this moment within my routine. To remember its power and importance – in many ways it’s so much more important than most anything within my routine. Also, it’s really fun!

By the end of class, we don’t agree. No one, it seems, agrees. And so Shakespeare has left us to ponder the extent of our dissension and the vastness of our individual experiences. Most important is that we feel the excitement and find a way to leave class more grateful than frustrated.