This article was originally published in The Notebook. In August 2020, The Notebook became Chalkbeat Philadelphia.
When the District unveils its new Strategic Plan this week (plan is now available here), I’m hoping to be impressed. But no matter what the plan says, I have a suggestion for something we should do before we take even a single step in carrying it out.
Admittedly, my suggestion doesn’t quite fit the title of my blog (education law). Or maybe it does, because there really should be a law about this. It could say:
No large institution (e.g., a school district that serves 167,000 children and has 25,000 employees) may implement any new plans, initiatives, or programs unless it agrees to employ at least one full-time historian. The historian’s role will be to keep records of plans, initiatives, and programs previously undertaken. Before setting out on any new program, the institution will consult with the historian, who will inform the institution and the public about whether it (or something like it) has already been tried – and, if so, whether it worked.
How ridiculous, you’re thinking — a position for a historian at a time when we’re short of teachers! Talk about frills. Well, maybe; but if you’ve been around for awhile, you’ve probably lived through the following scene, or something like it, more than once.
Recently-appointed District official (“RADO”): When I arrived last summer, I was just really struck by the need to do something about [insert topic]. So we put together a [insert topic] Task Force, which worked long hours to produce this plan [holding up document], which gives us a great road map for the next few years.
Person who has been around for awhile (“PWHBAFA”) [rubbing eyes]: Actually, this sounds sort of like the [insert same topic] plan that was developed two years ago, not to mention that other plan on [very same topic] that was drawn up a few years before that. How does this plan relate to those earlier ones? And whatever became of them?
RADO: Well, I wasn’t here, so I can’t speak to that. But I really believe we’re taking a whole new approach this time, and believe me, this one will be carried out. [Exit, pursued by assistants.]
Here’s where my historian proves his or her value. In the next scene, both parties proceed to Room 116, where the historian pulls – from a neatly organized file drawer – copies of the earlier plans. It becomes apparent that PWHBAFA was right – a lot of good work has already been done on this subject. The historian also explains the extent to which the previous plans were implemented (again, perhaps, confirming that PWHBAFA was right – they weren’t, or they were but they were abandoned in midstream, or they were supposed to be district-wide but ended up being limited to two schools in southwest Philly, or they didn’t work, or they were a stunning success, or whatever).
At this point, PWHBAFA’s mental confusion (technically, paramnesia – the “experience of feeling sure that one has witnessed or experienced a new situation previously”) dissipates, having been replaced by actual facts. And RADO and the public school community start talking about how to amend the plan so as to take past experience more fully into account.
In the end, a lot of time and effort would be saved if we — including those of us both inside and outside the District – had access to some institutional memory. In fact, I’m certain the savings would more than justify the cost of my one additional position (which would amount to an increase of 0.004% in the District’s workforce, and anyway, maybe we could get it paid for from the stimulus package).
Of course, I’m not really suggesting that people can’t remember things, even without a historian to help them. They can, but this is a district with tremendous turnover, and a lot of the people who remember are actually working somewhere else now. And sure, the records are there somewhere – but it’s seldom clear where, and even when they can be found, the District has been known to be less than enthusiastic about sharing them. (In the end, the Public School Notebook and Research for Action may be the closest things we have to an official historian – but that’s not the actual job of either organization, and besides, they don’t have access to all of the information.)
I’ll spare you the Santayana quote about those who cannot remember the past. I’ll also refrain from mentioning the fact that not only huge enterprises like the Army (which employs hundreds of historians) but also small ones – every county in Indiana, for example! – have recognized the value of having an in-house historian. And I’ll resist the urge to point out how ironic it is that a school system that devotes enormous resources to the teaching of history should pay so little attention to its own.
Maybe it’s silly to imagine that my law could pass. But here’s the beauty of my suggestion: we don’t actually need a law. We can simply take it upon ourselves to create a system for chronicling, and learning from, our history. And we can begin to insist that, when we propose new ventures, our proposals are grounded in real knowledge of what we did last time.
If we agree to do that, maybe – finally — we won’t be condemned to repeat it. (History, that is. I know, I was going to spare you that.)