Radical (15 page)

T
HEY WERE NOT LOVING
me, however. It was very clear from looking at the data that we had to close schools. Though we were spending more money per child than nearly every other urban jurisdiction in the nation, we were not educating all our children. As I traveled from school to school I saw a lack of supplies and resources and decaying buildings. Teachers were spending money out of their own pockets for the classroom basics. No one felt that we were one of the richest school districts in the nation.

Part of the problem was that we were running far too many schools. For our 50,000 students, we should have been operating about 70 schools, fewer than half of the 144 in the system. We were paying to light, heat, air-condition, and maintain half-empty buildings. We knew that if we closed the twenty-seven schools and right-sized the district we could ensure that every school in the district had an art, music, and physical education teacher as well as a librarian, nurse, and guidance counselor/social worker. It was what families across the city had told me they wanted. It was just at a price they weren't necessarily willing to pay.

I
F
I
WAS GOING
to keep ripping off Band-Aids, my next chore would be to make the DCPS central office staff more responsive and smaller.

We interviewed all staff members and assessed their performance and passion for helping students learn. I met with Mayor Fenty and told him that about a quarter of the staff might have to go. However, I didn't know how we were going to do it. There were rules and regulations in place that made it nearly impossible to fire employees.

“If we don't like the rules of the game,” Fenty said, “we need to change the rules.”

So he introduced legislation to the city council that would make central office employees “at will” employees, which meant they served at the pleasure of the chancellor, who could replace them at any time. Word got out to the city council that we were looking to fire workers. I was called in for a hearing in early November.

“I am convinced that we must not let the rights, privileges, and priorities of adults take precedence over what is in the best interests of students,” I said. “We cannot allow children to languish while we try to remediate adults. We cannot forsake their futures for adult issues in the present.”

Fenty introduced the legislation, and the council held more hearings and voted in the spring to give me the power to fire central staff. In March 2008, I handed out ninety-eight pink slips.

The reaction from the city unions was swift and loud. The AFL-CIO and American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees organized protests on the steps of the Wilson Building. Their placards targeted me as the incarnation of evil.

“This is not reform,” one radio spot charged. “This is a dictatorship.”

Perhaps, but in my eyes and those of Mayor Adrian Fenty, we had to start off doing the hard things first. Closing schools was painful, but it was done. We could focus on the positive side of building up programs, curricula, and services. Firings in the central office were necessary, too, and better done quickly and early. They also gave me the freedom to bring in new staff whose clear goal was improving schools.

I had fired thirty-six principals and twenty-two assistant principals.

Tough? Uncompromising? Decisive? Yes to all three. But totally necessary, given the condition of the public schools that I found on my first day.

Now I had to prove that I could create schools that would educate all D.C. children.

This was going to be the hard part.

6

In Labor

W
e were backed into a tight corner.

According to the federal “No Child Left Behind” mandate, we were required to take drastic action in twenty-seven of the District of Columbia's schools that had failed to make adequate yearly progress for five consecutive years. Shortly after taking over the schools, I realized that neither the district nor the schools had been paying attention to the federal law or its potential ramifications. I had to act.

We held countless meetings with each of the twenty-seven schools, trying to put together the required turnaround plans. The school communities were not pleased with the four options. A school could be turned over to a charter management organization; the state could take it over; part or all of the staff would need to be replaced; or an unspecified option could be employed. There was no escaping reform.

After a lot of work and many sleepless nights, we prepared to finalize the plans. Something wasn't sitting right with me. I just couldn't put my finger on it. Finally, I figured it out. All ten of our large comprehensive high schools were identified as failing and headed for drastic change. However, we hadn't yet had the opportunity to talk to the students and engage them in the process of restructuring their schools.

“We forgot the students,” I told Michael Moody, who had become my chief aide on academics, and Abby Smith. “We can't completely restructure their schools until we hear from them.”

“You're right,” Abby responded. “We're on a really fast timeline. Let us figure out how to do this; it's going to be a tough one.”

The next day they came back to me with an idea. We could pull students from all the schools together for an afternoon—not ideal, but better than nothing. Within hours we asked each of the high school principals to send a contingent of students to the meeting.

When I pulled up to Ballou High School the afternoon of the meeting, I wasn't sure what to expect. As I entered the auditorium, I could see groups of students chatting with one another. I marched up to the front, where they were still working on setting up the microphones. It was taking longer than expected, so I got started.

“Thank you so much for joining us today, especially on such short notice,” I began. “As many of you may already know, all ten DCPS high schools must be restructured this year because of failure to make progress according to the U.S. Department of Education.”

I told them we had been through a long process to try to write improvement plans, but before we took any formal steps, we wanted to hear from students.

“What do you think can help us improve your schools?” I asked.

Grumbling. The kids were unimpressed.

“Does anyone want to share some beginning thoughts?” I asked. “If you do, please raise your hand and tell us what school you're from.”

Deafening silence.

Then one young man stood up.

“I know that you did that Teach For America program,” he said. “I'm afraid that you are going to fire all of our teachers and replace them with those young teachers.”

He said students need older, experienced teachers who know what they're doing.

“We need people who know us and our neighborhoods,” he said, “not a bunch of young, white people from Yale.”

There were appreciative snickers rippling through the audience. A young woman stood up.

“I totally disagree with you,” she said. “Yes, some of the TFA teachers are clueless when they first get here. But they improve really quickly.”

She said they were dedicated, cared about learning, and worked harder than everyone else. She added: “The best teachers I've had have all been Teach For America.”

Another student stood up and said, “My best teachers have been veteran teachers.”

The dialogue continued. Students from all the schools stood to express their opinions on their best teachers.

Finally a young man stood up and said, “I actually don't think we're disagreeing here. Based on what I've heard, what we all know is that whether you're Teach For America or not, whether you're white or black or new versus old, great teachers care about their students, know their material, and are interesting. We can't make assumptions based on groups; we have to look at the individual teachers. But the bottom line is what we need most is great teachers.”

The kids murmured in agreement. They were getting restless, and I had heard what I needed to hear. We adjourned the meeting.

A reporter approached me.

“What did you think?” he asked.

“What did
you
think?” I asked him back.

“Well, I've been to a lot of these community meetings about the plans, and I'd have to say that this was both the most civilized and the most thoughtful,” he remarked.

“I agree one hundred percent,” I said. “Kids have a way of doing that.”

I
AM NOT A
big believer in fate or destiny, and I am not the best at planning or setting career goals. But in many ways it seems that my entire professional life had been preparing me to negotiate a new teachers' contract on the national stage of Washington, D.C.

My family ties and days teaching in the Baltimore classroom had taught me to respect teachers and see what strides students could make with good ones; at TNTP, our research and direct contact with school districts had shown me the destructive impact that some teachers' contracts could have on schools.

The culture in education is what TNTP refers to as the Widget Effect, meaning that teachers are treated as if they are interchangeable widgets, as if they are all the same. Everybody gets tenure. Everybody gets a good evaluation.

That culture does not actually help the profession. It certainly does not help students. The reality is that teachers are not interchangeable widgets, not even close. The differences that highly effective teachers have on kids are massive.

A recent Harvard University study that looked at more than two million students over a twenty-year time period showed that kids who had just one effective teacher in their lifetime had a higher likelihood of graduating from high school, going on to college, and making more money as a professional. They were also less likely to have a teen pregnancy.

If this is the case, it's our obligation to ensure that every student is taught by a highly effective teacher every day.

When I took office in June 2007, I knew that the union contract was about to expire in September. I could not wait to get into the negotiations. This was my wheelhouse. With all of the research we'd done at TNTP, I knew exactly what we needed to change in the new contract.

I
N LATE SUMMER
, K
AYA
H
ENDERSON
set up a meeting with George Parker, president of the Washington Teachers' Union. We met one hot weekend in my office. The air-conditioning was off.

Parker pulled out a pad and pen.

“Who are the seven negotiators on your side?” he asked. “We need to determine our negotiating teams.”

“George,” I said, “I know you're used to conducting negotiations in a certain way, but that's not the way I operate. These are incredibly complex issues and I think they are best discussed mano a mano—just me and you.”

I could see Kaya's eyes widen.

George laughed.

“We can't do that!” he said.

“Why not?” I asked. “Nothing that's a real breakthrough is going to be accomplished through group negotiations. I say the two of us work it out on our own and then we can take it to our folks to put it on paper.”

He laughed again, nervously this time. Beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead.

“I have read all of your studies, Chancellor Rhee,” he said. “I know what you want.”

I had read about George Parker, too. George was a lifer in D.C. schools. He had taught math for years before rising through the union ranks. He had a deep, mellifluous voice that Washingtonians loved when he sang and played keyboards in his band, Special Delivery. He had a reputation as a thoughtful, patient man with a sweet side. He was the opposite of the corrupt union leaders he had replaced.

“If you want to bring stuff like merit pay and tenure to the table,” he said, “you had better bring a whole lot of money with you! The last time we did well with a contract was a ten percent raise over three years under Mayor Anthony Williams. And we didn't have to give many concessions to get that.”

The Washington Teachers' Union had not been doing very well for years. It was known more for scandal and corruption than for organizing and teaching. Former president Barbara Bullock had pleaded guilty in 2003 to stealing nearly $5 million in union dues. In court, Bullock testified that she and two top union officials had systematically skimmed union dues and blown them on extravagant shopping trips. It's safe to say the WTU would not be dealing from a pristine position.

“So you're saying that in order to be able to negotiate around things like tenure and seniority that I have to give raises larger than that?” I asked.

“A
lot
more,” answered Parker.

“What if we offered a twenty percent raise over three years?”

Parker was flummoxed.

“How can you pull that off?” he asked. “Everyone knows the economy is in rough shape and cities will face tighter budgets. The city CFO has already announced that revenues are falling. You can't come up with that kind of money.”

“You're right about that. The city doesn't have any money. But I think there's a chance I could raise it externally.”

“Doesn't really matter where it comes from as long as it's real,” he said, “but there better be a whole lot of it for what you're talking about.”

I
KNEW EXACTLY WHAT
I wanted in the contract: Mutual consent, under which both the teacher and the school had to agree before the teacher got a position. No more forced placements or “the dance of the lemons.” Teacher evaluations would be based in large part on student achievement. Layoffs would be based on quality, rather than seniority. I wanted the new contract to establish rewards and consequences, so that we could pay our most highly effective teachers a lot more and move ineffective teachers out of the system. We would develop strong professional development programs to ensure that teachers at every level had the opportunity to improve their practice every year.

I was aware that these kinds of changes to a contract wouldn't come cheap. I had to find a lot of money fast. But where? I hated raising money. As it turns out, though, I didn't really have to ask.

After we published our first report at The New Teacher Project, foundations had offered to help finance additional research and studies. For the most part, I had turned them down, because we had our own resources. As soon as I landed in Washington, D.C., many of the same foundations came to us unsolicited and asked if they could help finance my reforms.

With that in mind, I directed Jason Kamras and Kaya to take the lead in coming up with the proposal that we would eventually refer to as “the Grand Bargain.”

Under the plan, all teachers would receive a retroactive pay increase of 5 percent as well as generous raises for the next few years. That was the hook to earn broad-based appeal for the proposal. Here was the revolutionary aspect: teachers had the choice of two paths, red or green. A teacher who chose the red track could expect to continue with similar work conditions and expectations set out in past contracts. Teachers who chose the green track would be eligible for much heftier salary increases and bonuses, based on performance and increases in student achievement. But those choosing green would give up their tenure protections. Seniority would no longer apply for teachers in either track. We offered generous professional development opportunities for all.

Yes, it was the age-old carrot-and-stick approach, but this time with a golden carrot.

If teachers chose the green track, had strong classroom observation ratings, and raised student test scores, they could be making $100,000 after three years, with bonuses of $20,000. After fifteen years, the pay scale reached $146,000 for high-performing teachers.

In our first meeting, when I came on board in the summer of 2007, George Parker told me the prospect of high-dollar raises could help push through my basic goals. We spent the next year researching and writing our proposal and raising funds. George and I met in late spring 2008 to discuss the red-and-green proposal. He was amenable. He requested a few changes. We agreed. In late June he was ready to present the proposal to his rank and file. He and I would spend the rest of the summer meeting with union members, answering their questions, and selling them on the merits of the plan. The WTU would vote in the fall.

We were all set to unveil the plan the first week of July. A union member opposed to Parker and the plan got his hands on the package, leaked it to the
Washington Post
, and trashed it.

RHEE SEEKS TENURE-PAY SWAP FOR TEACHERS,
the headline read on July 3. The unidentified union member was quoted as saying, “You may be trading off your future, your tenure, your job security. When you trade that, it seems to me you're not getting much.”

Thanks to the leak and the publication of the plan's bare details, we lost the high ground and the chance to make a nuanced pitch. Not only did the red-and-green plan fail, but the American Federation of Teachers was furious at the direction we were taking.

Randi Weingarten, now the president of the AFT, was not pleased.