This Is Not a Democracy

Somewhere along the way, we seem to have confused respecting students with treating them as equals. We want students to have a voice, to feel heard, to take ownership of their learning. All good things. But in our enthusiasm to create student-centered classrooms, I wonder whether we have become uncomfortable with the idea that adults are supposed to be in charge.

I have spent more than twenty years teaching teenagers, and I have enormous respect for them. I listen to their opinions, solicit their feedback, change my mind when they make a compelling argument, and learn from them regularly. Some of the most interesting conversations I've had in my career have taken place in classrooms with sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds.

But we are not equals.

I went to Catholic school, where obedience was practically a virtue unto itself. We did what we were told, often without question, and challenging a teacher's authority was not permitted. We were obedient to a fault. I don't look back on that model with nostalgia, and I certainly don't want to recreate it in my classroom. I want my students to ask questions, challenge my thinking, and recognize that adults can be wrong. I want them to develop the confidence to speak up when something doesn't make sense or doesn't seem fair. But somewhere between the unquestioning obedience of my childhood and the endless negotiation that sometimes characterizes classrooms today, there has to be a sensible middle ground. Students should have a voice, but they don’t get to vote on everything. I am the adult in the room. I have the experience, the training, and, ultimately, the responsibility for what happens there. And sometimes that means making a decision my students don't like. 

As a parent, I remember being encouraged to explain every decision to my children. And generally, I did. Children deserve explanations. They deserve to understand the reasoning behind rules, expectations, and consequences. But anyone who has raised children knows that there comes a point when the explanation has been given, the objections have been heard, and the discussion is over. You still have to brush your teeth. You still have to go to bed. You still cannot run into the street. The fact that a child disagrees with a decision does not make the decision unreasonable. Nor does it obligate the adult to continue negotiating.

The same is true in a classroom. I want my students to understand that my expectations are purposeful rather than arbitrary. And if they challenge those expectations thoughtfully, I listen. Sometimes they persuade me to change my approach. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes the answer is simply “no,” because I have a responsibility that extends beyond any one student's immediate preferences.

This distinction matters because teenagers are still learning how to navigate a world in which they will not always get what they want. They need opportunities to question authority, certainly, but they also need to learn that questioning a decision does not guarantee changing it. Disagreement is not the same thing as injustice. Discomfort is not necessarily evidence that something is wrong. Not every expectation needs to be negotiated. And not every battle needs to be fought. This is a great life lesson, actually.

I also think there is something reassuring about adults who are comfortable being adults. Teenagers may push against boundaries, but that doesn't mean they don't need them. In fact, I would argue that clear expectations, consistently enforced, are a form of respect. They communicate that the adult has thought carefully about what matters and is willing to take responsibility for it. 

There is, also, a broader lesson here about leadership. Listening to people does not mean surrendering the responsibility to make decisions. Whether we are leading a classroom, a department, or an entire school, we should welcome questions, encourage disagreement, and remain open to the possibility that someone else has a better idea.

Good leadership isn't measured by how often everyone agrees with us. Nor is it measured by how successfully we impose our will. It is measured, in part, by whether people trust that we have listened carefully, considered competing perspectives, and made decisions for reasons larger than our own convenience. And when we get it wrong, as we inevitably will, we need to be willing to say so.

I want my students to become independent thinkers. I want them to challenge ideas, including mine. I want them to recognize injustice and have the courage to speak against it. I want them to grow into adults who don't blindly accept what they're told. But I also want them to understand that independence comes with responsibility, that disagreement doesn't automatically confer authority, and that being heard is not the same thing as getting your way.

My classroom is a community built on mutual respect, intellectual curiosity, and trust. But it is not a democracy. And that's okay.