Candidates for humanity
What we are telling kids without telling them
“We have an absolutely extraordinary attitude in our culture, to the new member of human society. Instead of saying frankly to children, “How do you do? Welcome to the human race!” we are playing a game and we are playing by the following rules: we want to tell you what the rules are so that you know your way around, and when you understood what rules we are playing by, when you get older, you may be able to invent better ones.
But instead of that, we still retain an attitude to the child that he is on probation; he is not really a human being, he is a candidate for humanity. And in just this way, we have a whole system of preparation of the child for life which always is preparation and never actually gets there. In other words, we have a system of schooling which starts with grades. And we get it always preparing for something that’s going to happen.”
— Alan Watts
With her head dropping down, looking sadly at the floor, she said:
“Well, I’d like to, but I can’t. I’m not good enough for that.”
Oof, that hit hard. A kid this young thinking that about herself.
I was having a conversation with a twelve-year-old girl on her first day at a new school while filming a documentary about education.
She was colorful (literally, wearing lots of colors). Bright, clearheaded, and curious. It was easy to talk to her.
She just didn’t think any of that counted for much.
Levels
We were walking past classrooms built like real workplaces—a bakery, a car shop, a woodworking shop—as she explained that this was a “practical” type of school. Looking at me as if I should know what that meant. As in, not good.
She wasn’t upset. Worse. Resigned.
She had translated: “These students can handle more abstract thinking,” “This track is for stronger academic students,” and “This recommendation is based on ability,” into “the smart kids go there.” plus “I’m not one of the smart kids.”
And I don’t blame her.
Nobody had told her she wasn’t good enough. Yet somehow, that’s exactly what she’d concluded.
The problem isn’t that children are different from one another. The problem is that many of them learn to understand those differences as a hierarchy.
Officially, these levels exist to help children learn in an environment that suits them. In practice, they often become much more than that. What they actually communicate is that one kind of ability counts more than the others.
What schools call “high” is really “high academic performance.” Abstract reasoning, theoretical thinking, exam performance. Not creativity. Not social intelligence. Not craftsmanship, leadership, or practical problem-solving. Those might be nice to have. But they’re not what counts.
She wasn’t disappointed about the things she would learn here—she was actually quite excited about those—she was disappointed she wasn’t good enough for the “higher” level.
Obviously the only one worth reaching.
Elements
When I think about that girl, I don’t find myself wondering whether she had been placed in the right educational level. I find myself wondering whether anyone had become genuinely curious about who she was.
What was she interested in? What came naturally to her? What did she struggle with? What kind of environment helped her learn? What kind of future would have excited her?
What struck me that day was not that the children were different from one another. Of course they were.
What struck me was how many of them already seemed to know where they stood.
Before anyone had become genuinely curious about who they were, they had already learned how what level they were on the hierarchy.
Ken Robinson used the term “element” to describe the place where a person’s talents and interests come together. In other words, the place where they come alive.
Finding that requires adults and systems that are interested enough to find out who a child is before deciding what category they belong in.
Every child I spoke to had their own unique personality, interests, and way of looking at the world. But often, they seemed surprised to be asked about those things.
As if they already knew for sure, they wouldn’t be picked anyway.