On School Suspensions
and why there's a better way
Science of Reading. Science of Learning. Science of Math, even. Lately, it seems the intersection of education and neuroscience is even more obvious as we reflect on and re-evaluate our relationships, our curriculums, even our pedagogies, to ensure we are doing the best we can for our students.
Neurobiology tells us the process of learning literally changes the composition of the brain. But it’s harder to learn under duress. When you’re feeling triggered or emotionally dysregulated, the brain floods with adrenaline, your fight-or-flight instinct kicks in and it can be hard to carry on without an intervention. If that happens repeatedly but the interventions are ineffective or escalating, it becomes difficult to build healthy, trusting bonds with not only your teachers, but the school experience in general.
As educators, we should understand that in order for learning to occur, for the synapses to connect and new neurons to grow, we need to create conditions in which students are physically and emotionally safe and able to focus on the intellectual tasks at hand. It should follow that the students displaying the most egregious behaviors are communicating to us that they have the greatest need for intervention.
Unfortunately, the response to that communication through unwanted behavior often fails to acknowledge the neurological factors at play in each high-stakes scenario. We seek to punish, not understand. Too many of us want retribution, not healing. And through suspensions and expulsions, we discard, not support, the most troubled children in our care.
This is not a post about the harm caused, and I want to acknowledge that. I do not wish to dismiss or downplay the impact of actions caused by children in the classroom setting. There is no doubt that those experiencing anger, fear, and hurt deserve healing and peace and the right to learn in a safe environment. But their right to a safe environment does not supersede anyone else’s. In order to build school communities where all students’ needs are met, we must pay more attention to those whose needs are urgently unmet.
So what do we do? Many teachers, when faced with the data about the failures of zero tolerance, proof of the school-to-prison pipeline, statistics about the disproportionate suspension and expulsion rates of Black and Latine children, particularly Black boys, are still reluctant to abandon suspension as a disciplinary tactic. They throw the question back, decrying the absence of alternatives.
The fact is that there are alternatives, and unlike schools suspensions, they work. The catch is that they are not formulaic, and they are not easy. There is no magic response that will undo years of trauma and cause children to function in a space that is not built inclusively of them. There is no brilliant punishment that will teach kids their lesson and make them want to obey us if everything in their being is telling them they want to quit. What we need to think about is not children as general beings, but as individuals with individual needs that cannot be analyzed and solved by people on the internet who don’t know them, their histories, their strengths, their dreams, or their circumstances. But I firmly believe that even if the answers aren’t in front of our faces, that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.
The point I’m making is that when children make mistakes, we want them to learn from them, fix them, and walk away feeling better. This is obviously a simplistic interpretation of restorative justice, but it’s exactly how I would explain it to one of my students. It hits at the heart of the philosophy that no human being is disposable, that growth and change is always possible, and that we are going to succeed or fail as a community and we must operate as such.
Suspensions and expulsions fly in the face of that ‘community as care’ mindset. Instead of calling for harsher and more frequent punishments, we should be sharing ideas about reasonable and appropriate consequences that mitigate harm and promote healing. Instead of doling out sentences, we should be investigating root causes and putting supports in place. I’d love to be a part of a teaching community that sees those types of responses as righteous, reasonable, and possible.
Andrea Castellano serves as an elementary teacher, instructional coach and PBL collaborative coach in New York City’s public school system. After 20 years in the classroom, she remains continuously enriched and inspired by her students, colleagues, and the teaching profession in general. You can connect with Andrea on Twitter @teachbk and Instagram @teach_bk.