We’ve all been there. You’ve just finished your formal observation with the head teacher and your head of department. You’re sweaty, pretty hungry (you probably skipped lunch to print that resource out) and a bit drained. You feel a mixture of relief and worry over whether you moved that final section of the lesson on too late. Did you support Raheem enough? Was Leon’s thinking challenged in the right way? Could you have probed Ahmed more? You’re also pretty happy; it went well enough, and anyway, it’s over. You sweep the left over papers off the tables and put that dictionary back on the shelf. You open the window to let the heavy smell of collective 15-year-olds’ BO and knock-off Linx out into the afternoon air. Job done.
You head into the feedback session thinking through the WWWs and EBIs from your perspective. The doubts are now more pronounced and are worrying you. You didn’t support Raheem enough; you should have done more. How else could you have supported him? You should have paired Leon with someone else – this would have given him a different influx of ideas for his writing. The checklist could have had a more stretching challenge for Ahmed. You sit down, ready for the obligatory “how do you feel the lesson went”.
Instead, you get, “What would have happened if you had not done any of that? What if you’d just asked them to write, seen what happened, and built the lesson from there?” Well, this is a curveball…
This was the first formal observation feedback I received at School21, my small secondary school in East London.
Following that, it took me another two years more to completely let go of my previous mindset towards observations, born of 3 years of grading, OFSTED criteria and box ticking. Up to then, the most I’d stretched my thinking as a result of an observation was contemplating how to adapt my approach to suit who was observing me (literally ridiculous – I feel a bit sick writing this, but it’s the truth). Observations used to be about self-preservation, safety and striving to ‘succeed’. They were about me.
Fast forward 3 years and my annual formal ‘impact’ observation here at School21 last year came round as my year 9s were in the middle of typing up some story drafts for a collection of Dystopian short stories we were to be publishing in a week’s time. After a brief project meeting with the class, I would be working 1-1 with a couple of students on some punctuation rules whilst others would be getting their drafts typed up. I knew there would not be ‘rapid’ (or even any) progress for many students in that 50 minutes. I didn’t change a thing. I needed feedback on the thing that was worrying me the most about where I was at with PBL – that time spent thinking about something other than the learning (check out Daniel Willingham for some interesting and very relevant reasoning behind these worries). This wasn’t about me, this was about teaching.
That question posed to me in the first observation feedback at School 21 of course challenged how I taught writing, but more importantly it transformed the way I thought about feedback on my classroom practice; it questioned beyond the lesson and deep into my craft and it unlocked an openness around my classroom that I hadn’t felt before. It encouraged me to share my most vulnerable moments, my most uncertain experiments, the parts of my practice that need the most scrutiny and the thinking that I need to really be held to account for.
Good feedback is about flipping expectations, throwing a new context onto a current situation. It’s about probing to transformation, not making small changes. Sure, it’s incredibly useful to get the small stuff, those ‘marginal gains’ that often do make a significant difference day-to-day and to hear practical ideas. But it also needs to open the door to what we don’t know we don’t know. Good feedback should be planned and thought about; in that way it’s basically the same as teaching: designing questions that will drive deep and transformational thinking, facilitating ‘difficult’ conversation and challenging thesis with antithesis to provoke synthesis.
But good feedback goes beyond what is actually said; for significant impact and a truly deliberately developmental culture, it’s the wider school ethos around observation and feedback that needs crafting. We need to undo the oppressive grading culture of the wider teaching world and open up honest and challenging conversation around classroom practice. This means not grading (and not ‘grading-behind-closed-doors-but-pretending-not-to-grade’….actually not grading), designing a culture of near constant feedback that goes in all directions on all things (why not feed back on my assembly, my phone call to a parent, my chairing of a meeting, my restorative conversation with a student?) and building an organisation on kindness. Genuine, deep rooted kindness means we can be challenging.
Of course we need to differentiate feedback and personalise it to the stage and needs of the individual, but we need to open a true dialogue in feedback, and that doesn’t stop with “how do you feel the lesson went”.