LEARNING TO LISTEN
When I arrived as a school coach in fall 2009, the Arts Academy was in disarray. A year before, the district had appointed a new principal named Lauren to tackle declining test scores and parent concerns at this racially and economically diverse middle school. During her first month on the job, Lauren had made sweeping changes, including dismantling a signature arts program, without consulting any of the staff. According to one veteran teacher, āThe arts program was our whole identity as a school. It allowed struggling students to become successful through the arts, and she chopped it up into a horribly watered-down version. She didn't consult with teachers on a lot of decisions that affected us.ā In short, the leader had failed to listen.
Her purpose made sense: She hoped to close the school's achievement gap by increasing instructional math and English language arts instructional time for students. But her process alienated the staff and diminished the value of the arts to the school's identity. Veteran teachers felt particularly disrespected, and in the spring of Lauren's first year, they organized a vote of no confidence in her leadership. Soon after, the assistant superintendent brought me in as a coach to help her repair this contentious relationship.
In our early conversations, Lauren seemed puzzled. A first-time principal but a longtime district teacher, she had arrived with a clear vision for the school and felt she had begun to implement it. She couldn't understand why the staff had chosen to publicly humiliate her. For the next few months, I held one-on-one sessions with her, as well as what felt like educator group therapy sessions with her and a cadre of teachers we came to call the Veteran Seven. The union president, a remarkable woman, participated in these meetings as a listener and cofacilitator.
Through coaching, I asked Lauren to identify her core beliefs, to observe where her behavior had deviated from those beliefs, and to consider small shifts in approach. She articulated what she thought was missing at the Arts Academy: āPeople need to feel they can take risks. . . . In a well-functioning school, there's respect and a generative discourse.ā She acknowledged her miscalculations in addressing the issue: āI made a lot of individual decisions my first year. In my actions, in my persona, I have created a lack of trust.ā From there, we set a basic goal: to reopen dialogue in what was by now a toxic climate.
The group sessions were awkward at first, but over the course of several meetings, the dynamic began to shift. I invited the teachers to voice their concerns and encouraged Lauren to practice listening and taking responsibility for her actions when appropriate. At one emotionally charged gathering, she raised her hand. Everyone seemed to hold his or her breath as she spoke slowly and steadily: āI want to apologize. I am sorry for the ways in which I disrespected you and the history of the school. That was not my intent, and I know we can do better moving forward together.ā
The room heaved a collective sigh of relief. Shoulders relaxed, and contorted facial expressions loosened into something closer to acceptance. We didn't sing āKumbaya,ā but I sensed that this once-demonized leader had become more human in the eyes of her teachers.
At the heart of this process lay a simple, yet transformational, skill: the leader's ability to listen. Listening allowed Lauren to discern her colleagues' unspoken messagesātheir deeply human need to matter, to be seen, heard, and valued. It gave her the courage to take in difficult feedback. And it helped her recognize and transform a negative group dynamic.
The principal repositioned herself as an ally, but she didn't stop there. Lauren asked the Veteran Seven to help her reimagine the school's identity: āIn this moment, with our increasingly diverse student body, how do our mission and model need to evolve?ā Together, she and her former foes led their colleagues through a process to address the question, What do we want our students to know and be able to do as young artists and thinkers, and how will we measure this? The ensuing conversations were rigorous and generative, and they built social capitalāthe collaborative power of the group.1
By June 2010, the Arts Academy staff had rallied around a shared vision. Polished through dialogue with families, this vision established a local definition of success that all stakeholders signed on to. How did a divided community unite within a year? It was actually very simple: The leader slowed down and learned to listen. Rather than continuing to go it alone, she harnessed the collective intelligence of her staff to fashion a new future for the school. Moving from the politics of resistance to the promise of collaboration, the Arts Academy was reborn through its leader's willingness to listen.
