Common-core anxiety sweeps the land, and professional developers of curriculum and assessment smell dollars. Flashy brochures promise that once that purchase order is signed, every child will pass the new tests. For a pittance more, they鈥檒l make the lion lie down with the lamb.
District administrators would be wise to lay down their pens. There鈥檚 a valuable resource right in front of their eyes. It requires no lengthening of the school day, no elimination of art and music, and no endorsement of checks to third-party developers. It鈥檚 so familiar we no longer notice it. It鈥檚 called the history/social studies curriculum.
One would assume that the Common Core State Standards鈥� emphasis on nonfiction would spur a flurry of interest around a subject area jam-packed with relevant texts. But the opposite has occurred. The entire discussion around the curriculum of nonfiction and 鈥渋nformational texts鈥� has focused on English/language arts, a bizarre turn when history鈥檚 essence is its claim to be true, to be nonfiction. Listening to some, one would conclude that the purpose behind the writing of Martin Luther King Jr.'s 鈥淟etter From Birmingham Jail鈥� was to teach students the difference between assonance and alliteration.
The lack of attention to historical texts may stem from the belief that social studies teachers already have a text鈥攖hat 1,000-page behemoth known as a history textbook. But those who embrace this view need a lesson in 鈥渃lose reading.鈥� And they should start with the common standards themselves: Students must learn to 鈥渋ntegrate and evaluate content presented in diverse media and formats,鈥� to 鈥渁ssess the strengths and limitations of sources,鈥� to attend to and interrogate 鈥渢he date and origin鈥� of information, and to evaluate authors鈥� claims by 鈥渃orroborating or challenging them with other information.鈥� Teaching students to contend with this complexity by using the homogenized prose of the textbook is like training swimmers to survive a raging sea but never letting them out of a wading pool. That approach sets them up to drown.
There are three main ways that historical reading contributes to the goals of the common core:
鈥� First, research has consistently shown that a key to adolescent literacy is exposing students to a rich diet of texts. These texts should mix genre and style and be pitched, in the words of Harvard researchers Gina Biancarosa and Catherine E. Snow,
Adolescents become fluent readers when their horizons are broadened. The documentary record鈥攁 trove of letters, diaries, secret communiqu茅s, official promulgations, public speeches, and the like鈥攃onfronts readers with varied styles and textures of language that push the bounds of literacy. It is this rich textual fare that students most need.
鈥� Second, at the same time when students need to cope with this welter of texts, they need to know when to slow down. Sadly, the how-to books on 鈥渃lose reading鈥� hawked on Amazon have led us astray. Close reading does not exist in the abstract. Decoding a 17th-century lyric poem by John Donne requires the toolbox of symbolism, rhyme scheme, inversion, and theme. But different tools are needed to parse the Lincoln-Douglas debates. When Abraham Lincoln tells Stephen A. Douglas that 鈥渢he Negro is not my equal in many respects, certainly not in color, perhaps not in moral or intellectual endowment,鈥� many readers today instantly cry racism. Yet, these same readers typically miss鈥攐r dismiss鈥攖he equivocation in Lincoln鈥檚 retort鈥攈is barely noticeable 鈥減erhaps.鈥� But, as the late Stanford historian George M. Fredrickson observed, in an era when notions of innate inferiority were part of the everyday landscape, Lincoln鈥檚 鈥減erhaps鈥� signaled an"open-minded or liberal position.鈥� History demands that we think about the meaning of words not to us 150 years later, but to the people who actually uttered them.
鈥� Third, when any kook with an Internet connection claims historical expertise, separating truth from falsehood is not a luxury, but an essential quality for discharging the duties of citizenship. A 2010 flap dramatizes what鈥檚 at stake. Our Virginia told 4th graders in that state that 鈥渢housands鈥� of African-Americans voluntarily fought for the Confederacy, 鈥渋ncluding two black battalions under the command of Stonewall Jackson,鈥� a claim that historian Carol Sheriff from the College of William and Mary likened to saying that Jews 鈥渉elped with the Holocaust.鈥� When the book鈥檚 author was queried by a Washington Post reporter about her sources, she explained that she conducted her research primarily on the Internet. For this claim, she visited the website of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, a 鈥減atriotic, historical, and educational organization ... dedicated to ... preserving Southern Culture.鈥� If adults become snared in such digital traps, what can we expect of students?
Even among common-core supporters, arguments have degenerated into a numbers game鈥攚hether the split between fiction and nonfiction should be 60-40, or if the right mix is closer to 50-50. But such questions miss the forest for the trees. At its heart, the common core forces us to admit the world has radically changed. In a different time, the challenge was to teach students to locate and remember information. Today, when information bombards young people from all sides, the question is not where to find it, but once found, whether it should be believed.
Traditional pedagogy prepares students to meet the challenges of a world that no longer exists. It makes little sense to have students read their textbook chapter and memorize facts that can be found instantaneously on their iPhones. For their part, social studies teachers can no longer palm off the responsibility for developing students鈥� literacy with the excuse 鈥淚鈥檓 not a reading teacher.鈥� All of us have a role to play in meeting new challenges. Even if we are able to come together over the common core鈥攊tself a tall order, given the checkered history of school reform鈥攊t鈥檚 not assured we will succeed. But if we don鈥檛 join hands and use all the resources at our disposal, our failure is surely guaranteed.
