A New Chapter - Part 2

I did some quick research into what writers have said about trust in schools. While the following is not an exhaustive dive (by any means), it will give us some useful terms with which to explore the topic of how trust has been eroding in schools (and in society). In this installment, I will briefly explore the 2002 foundational text, Trust in Schools, by Anthony S. Bryk and Barbara Schneider.  

Bryk and Schneider identify three different kinds of trust: organic, contractual, and, most important, relational. Organic trust mainly characterizes religious communities and schools where a strong identification with the religious institution is developed, and the truth of these institutional visions is beyond any doubt. An all encompassing worldview links members of the community together, and the moral value taken in sharing this worldview together gives great meaning to the interpersonal relationships within these communities. Contractual trust stands in stark contrast to organic trust. The basis for contractual trust, far from moral consent with one another, is primarily material and instrumental: “The terms of the contract explicitly spell out a scope of work to be undertaken, or a product or service to be delivered” (17). Of course, if one party fails to uphold their agreement, legal action may be taken to seek redress. Education fits neither organic nor contractual trust models. Since members of most school communities are not lifelong members (like in a religious community), do not share the same worldview or core beliefs, and do not relinquish the same kind of authority to the school to compel consent as a condition for participation, the organic model does not characterize interpersonal relationships at schools. In addition, since education is not a single product or service, the contractual model, focusing on outcomes, is limited in how it fits the conditions of most schools. There are neither the infallible precepts of a religion nor the universally accepted standards for good professional practice in place at most schools, whereas these conditions do exist in religious communities and corporations respectively. Schools are not predicated on shared moral visions or on material outcomes. According to Bryk and Schneider, the kind of trust that is applicable to schools – relational trust – is somewhere in between these two. 

Schools are unique, according to the authors, because of the complex web of social exchanges that take place as a result of the interrelated set of mutual dependencies between administrators, teachers, parents, and students. The asymmetry of power relations between these roles makes vulnerability especially salient, and recognition of this vulnerability is crucial to relieving the uncertainty and unease experienced by the role with less power (students vis a vis teachers, teachers vis a vis administrators). Within this context, efforts to relieve this uncertainty and unease are precisely where trust-building lies. Thus relational trust as characterized by Bryk and Schneider isn’t only about meeting obligations, behaving according to a code of conduct, or doing what you are paid to do. The essence of relational trust, ironically, involves  a willingness to cross a boundary, a step beyond the limits of one’s contract, if you will, going above and beyond, doing more and staying longer than is required, and, importantly, the intention behind this is not for professional advancement or personal gain, but out of a deep care and concern for a student, a parent, or a fellow employee. Bryk and Schneider write:

In general, interpersonal trust deepens and individuals perceive that others care about them and are willing to extend themselves beyond what their role might formally require in any given situation. Principals, for example, show personal regard when they create opportunities for teachers’ career development. Expressing concern about personal issues affecting teachers’ lives is another way in which principals reach out to their staff. Correspondingly, teachers who exhibit caring commitments toward students internalize obligations more encompassing and diffuse than is typically specified in collective bargaining agreements or school board work rules. Such teachers are willing to stay extra hours to work with colleagues on program improvement efforts, meet with parents after school, and participate in local community affairs. They may even become personally involved in some of their students’ lives outside of school. 

Personal regard thus represents a powerful dimension of trust discernment in school contexts. As noted earlier, the social encounters of school are more intimate than typically found in associative relationships within most modern institutions. Expressions of regard for others in this context tap into a vital lifeline and, consequently, important psychosocial rewards are likely to result. When school community members sense being cared about, they experience a social affiliation of personal meaning and value. Such actions invite reciprocation from others and thereby, intensify the relational ties between them. (25)

Not surprisingly, Bryk and Schneider go on to argue that where relational trust is strongest, the implementation of new programs is most successful. They had originally set out to evaluate the various programs that were introduced in the Chicago School District at the end of the twentieth century, but discovered instead that the key ingredient to all new programs and to all improvement in schools was relational trust. 

The main factor in whether or not relational trust exists between parents and teachers, teachers and students, teachers and administration, and teachers and parents is how the intention of each respective actor is discerned. In religious communities the intentions are aligned with religious and moral principles, and in corporations the expectations are primarily outcome based. But in schools, where outcomes are multidimensional, ranging from safety and welfare to academic skills to emotional and social development to preparation for civic life, and where parents share different priorities among the elements in this vast range, how the intentions behind the actions of a teacher, administrator, parent, or student are perceived becomes much more salient and significant to the trustworthiness within those relationships. In addition, those assessing another’s intentions are influenced by their own historical perspective on the institution, by their own cultural beliefs rooted in family and community, and by prior experiences in other educational institutions.  

In a later blog, I hope to return to the idea of historical perspectives on an institution and how outside perspectives may diverge quite widely from internal perspectives. The independent school where I taught can be thought of as the “school on the hill,” with a hefty tuition price tag, but those who attend the school, or work there, at least in the past and especially in its early founding years, were surprised by the “elitist” label, and saw the school much more in terms of its quirky, scrappy nature. More recently, the school has been written about in local papers as the place where a scandal occurred, and those examining the school from the outside can’t help but run into articles and posts highlighting a case of professional misconduct, which was detailed in a formal investigation that was published. Such a perspective, certainly based on the facts presented as they were presented in the investigation, arguably colors how an outsider or newcomer would discern the intentions behind the actions of the various members of the community. Students calling teachers by their first name, for example, has been a tradition since the beginning of the school, as was the presence of bean bags and sofas in the classroom, and while these were a result of the feeling that respect was more than the titles we ascribe to our teachers or sitting with rigid posture for eighty minutes, it would be easy to see how someone might interpret these factors as having somehow contributed to the misconduct that took place. Through such a lens, any excess of care or concern that is actually instrumental to forming relational trust as it is described by Bryk and Schneider might begin to seem suspicious. 

For the past twenty-five, staff and faculty participated in boundary trainings, and it was not for a lack of education about boundaries that the scandal at our school took place. However, attitudes toward boundaries have undeniably shifted to focus on not only the real but also the potential impacts of actions as related to boundaries. Therefore, if we take an example of an administrator picking up a student (the student was a low income, high risk student on a full scholarship) so that they could make it to school on time every day (the mother of five was working night shifts and could not drive the student to school) we can get a sense for how attitudes toward adults spending time with students outside of school hours have changed. Once an example of strong relational trust, this going beyond what was expected of this administrator in order to step in and help a needy student, could now be viewed as a transgression or violation in that the adult member of the school community is alone with a student in a private car. Many acts that were intended with deep care and concern fit into this shift in perspective toward them. Meeting a student at Starbucks where she works so as to work on her senior speech between customers, attending a student’s ballet performance for the community holiday performance of the Nutcracker, surfing or flyfishing with students on weekends, meeting them at the gym, having lunch with them to discuss a book that was recommended outside of the curriculum – all crossing the boundary of what is expected or required and all intended to be extensions of the interest in the student beyond a single class subject – are made questionable because they fall outside of the prescribed role for an administrator or teacher. 

I believe that in my first twenty years as an independent school teacher, I experienced a school community that was based heavily on relational trust, and the evidence for this is limitless. The willingness to do more, stay later, discuss with colleagues longer, and choose to seek one another out between classes was a spirit the school had that could have only been the result of very strong relational trust permeating every vector within the asymmetrical power structure. We all wanted one another to succeed; we all wanted the school to succeed. Our efforts to make this happen would often actually transcend our roles as administrators and teachers.

The school that I left this past March was very different, and this difference is probably in keeping with what many schools are going through to various degrees all around the country. I would argue that relational trust was all but absent at the school I left, but in its place was a trust of a different kind – contractual trust – the kind of trust that Bryk and Schneider associate with tangible outcomes, the kind of trust that doesn’t speculate on the intentions behind one’s actions, but only looks at the results of those actions, the kind of trust that privileges impacts, or even potential impacts, over intentions. It is no coincidence, therefore, that keeping strict hours (the requirement that one works from a certain hour to a certain hour),  the constant review of professional boundaries and what constitutes transgressions of those boundaries is implemented, and that legal recourse is entering more and more as a means to address grievances between teachers and the administration, and, of course, between students and teachers. It is not my point to say that one kind of trust is better than the other, or that what I see happening in schools is necessarily bad. I am merely trying to identify, characterize, and give language to (or rather apply appropriate theoretical language to) something that I felt deeply in my most recent years at an independent high school. The independent school environment is becoming based much more on transactional relationships between teachers and students, and between the administration and faculty. Rather than there being an excess or going beyond one’s prescribed role, which was characteristic of relational trust, we are now seeing measured action evaluated not by how the intentions were discerned but by how strictly  a clear, published protocol or code of conduct was followed. I believe that teachers and administrators still want the school to succeed, but the path to success looks very different: rather than transcending the roles of teachers and administrators, the focus has also had to include a great deal more of risk management. That is because the very foundations of relational trust as characterized by Bryk and Schneider – the excess of care and concern – has been recharacterized as risk.

There are still many administrators and teachers who work long hours in order to make events or lesson plans succeed. The shift is taking place around relationships between individuals, so that an excessive effort on the part of a teacher for a student, or an administrator for a teacher can be (mis)construed as risky or exhibiting inappropriate favoritism. Once care or concern for a parent, student, or teacher by a principal, teacher, or other administrator respectively, now when the excess aligns with an asymmetric power relationship, rather than easing a sense of vulnerability, it is immediately flagged as a potential exploitation of that vulnerability. While Bryk and Schneider linked favorable outcomes to the implementation of new programs designed to improve schools with strong feelings of relational trust within the school community, it remains to be seen how a more transactional, contractual frame for trust in schools benefits these learning outcomes, the willingness of students to take risks, the faculty to try new materials, or the administration to plan professional development that does not focus on boundary training, mandated reporting, school safety protocols and drills, or reviews of codes of conduct. As was stated earlier, the definition of success, always multidimensional in the case of a school community, has had to spotlight how psychologically, emotionally, and physically safe the school is to those present and appears to outsiders. 

Later I plan to return to the idea of “safe spaces” when I discuss the connection to the community (and to the land the school is built on). I will contrast the idea of creating “spaces” such as this within the classroom and in department meetings with the more organic construction of “place.” For now, for the purposes of this immediate discussion, it is useful to point out that “safe spaces” as a common, nationwide practice for fostering the emotional and physical wellness of students and employees is something that is created through strict adherence to a protocol, complete with norms for how to behave respectfully toward one another. These protocols are either created by or implemented within a classroom, advisory, meeting space, or other environment. Governing all behaviors is the school code of conduct, which played a more and more prominent role at my former school over the last decade. The presence or lack of such a space can be traced to a failure to create or implement such a protocol. The creation of such spaces is, I would argue, especially necessary within the shift I am identifying from relational to contractual trust. Under contractual trust, safety is a product that can be delivered, and when it is deemed to be absent, how well a protocol was observed can be readily assessed. Boundary guidelines such as not sharing personal information or exhibiting favoritism in any way are considered much more deeply than in the past, and are applied to activities to which they have never been applied such as requiring a teacher does not show favoritism of any kind  in report card comments or letters of recommendation.  The creation of safe spaces is a response to meeting the more intimate needs of the school environment as schools are pivoting with various degrees of expediency to contractual trust, and it does so by largely circumventing the consideration of the  intentions of individuals in their roles especially as teachers or administrators. Rather than focusing on why a teacher wrote something in a report card comment or decided to entertain a certain subject in a class, the matter is simply what was written or covered in class and, importantly, whether it aligns with the various protocols that are in place. The complexity in discerning what one’s intentions were is thus much less necessary. 

In the next installment, I will discuss a more recent 2019 work, by Katherine Schultz, titled Distrust and Educational Change, which remarks upon some of the very observations I made toward the end of my high school teaching career.  Unlike Bryk and Schneider who measure the degree to which trust is present or absent, Schultz actually identifies the active presence of distrust as a pervasive, negative factor. This factor, according to Schultz,  is the true barrier to improvement in schools.