7:15. .. NIL 1.. d I. .3 . § UV 2...; . i. .. . a . -1» . 36., .f.sx...z§u. h, n 2345.: 1.7!. damnawh. #3 . v. {flu .75“... . ., 5.. .... a s: .r.‘ it. .1) . r. u. . 5.0).... ‘3... .av‘... I 1 1 3:7? . :P. A. . It {.3 3A . - so... h .1 291123... . . .v; , "thffi LIBRARIES \\\\ll\l\i1f\l\: W “\l M ll This is to certify that the dissertation entitled To hew against the grain A case study of influence strategies used by teacher change agents to effect schoolwide innovation presented by Charlaine Ezell has been accepted towards fulfillment of the requirements for PhD Education degreein Major professor Date gm z .2 4, W4 MS U is an Affirmative Action/Equal Opportunity Institution 0-12771 LIBRARY Michigan State University PLACE IN RETURN BOX to remove this checkout from your record. TO AVOID FINES return on or More date due. DATE DUE DATE DUE DATE DUE MSUJe An Affirmative Adm/Ema! Opportunity Intuition Wm: TO HEW AGAINST THE GRAIN: A CASE STUDY OF INFLUENCE STRATEGIES USED BY TEACHER CHANGE AGENTS TO EFFECT SCHOOLWIDE INNOVATION BY Charlaine Ezell A DOCTORAL DISSERTATION Submitted to Michigan State University in partial fulfillment oi the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Department of Educational Administration 1996 ABSTRACT TO HEW AGAINST THE GRAIN: A CASE STUDY OF INFLUENCE STRATEGIES USED BY TEACHER CHANGE AGENTS TO EFFECT SCHOOLWIDE INNOVATION BY Charlaine Ezell This study examines the introduction and implementation of a schoolwide innovation from a teacher change agent’s perspective. Previous studies examined innovation in hindsight or from distanced organizationwide perspectives. This study contributes to the literature on innovation by examining a change agent’s communication strategies with administrators and colleagues as the innovation occurred, viewing it from “the inside.” To achieve this research aim, the study used ethnographic and case study approaches, combining interviews, sustained field-based observation, and document analysis. The study derived several observations relating to educational innovation at Western High School (pseudonym), the study site--for example, that teacher change agents did not conform to teacher norms; that they viewed innovation as overcoming resistance from administrators, peers, and others; and that they gave substantial attention to resisters and inadequate attention to potential adopters. This study suggests that additional research is needed on the roles and experiences of mid-level change agents in educational organizations. Copyright by Charlaine Ezell 1 9 9 6 Growing in spirit He who hopes to grow in spirit will have to transcend obedience and respect. He 'I/ hold to some laws but he'll mostly violate both law and custom, and go beyond the established, inadequate norm. Sensual pleasures will have much to teach him. He won't be afraid of the destructive act: half the house will have to come down. This way he'll grow virtuous/y into wisdom. C. V. Cavafy ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would like to thank the following for their example, intellectual guidance, and moral support throughout the writing of this research report: --The members of my doctoral committee at Michigan State University: Drs. Kathryn Moore, Stephen Yelon, and James Snoddy, who believe the academic process should be a combination of personal learning and rigorous, useful research, and most particularly, Dr. Anna Neumann, my committee chairwoman, who taught me to view research as a disciplined form of common sense. --Dr. Howard Major, my colleague at The Extra Edge, for unfailing optimism about innovations in academic institutions. «The administrators, faculty, and staff of the school where this research was conducted, for their willingness to reveal their opinions and experiences as the research unfolded. --Edrianne Ezell, my daughter, for being in love with learning. «Frederick Diehl, my husband, for all the roses. Lastly, I am indebted to my father, Jim Arnone (1919-1994), who taught me how to tell a good story. TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION Introduction Genesis of the Study Background and Purpose of the Study Overview of the Study Organization of the Report of the Study 1 (comm—ta CHAPTER TWO: REVIEW OF THE LITERATURES FRAMING THE STUDY OF INNOVATION 1 6 Introduction 1 6 Educational Innovations: Theories and Explanations 1 7 The Cultures of Schools 1 8 Structures that Impede Innovation 1 9 Innovators in Education 2 2 The Principalship: Power and Position 23 The Teacher as Change Agent: Power and Position 2 5 Teacher Change Agents as Communicators 2 7 Forming Enclaves for Educational Innovation 2 9 The Nature and Processes of Innovation 3 1 The Nature of Innovation 3 2 The Process of Innovation 3 4 Innovation Stages and Adopter Types 3 5 The First Stage: Dissemination of Innovation 3 8 The Second Stage: Implementation 3 9 Implementation Perspectives from Various Levels 40 Implementation and the Organizational Structure 41 The Third Stage: Institutionalization of Innovation 42 Reflections on the Innovation Process 4 4 Socialization 4 5 Learning the Norms 47 Nonconformity, Innovation and the Risks Involved 5 2 Teacher Norms and Nonconformance 5 4 Communication Strategies of Change Agents 5 7 Introducing Innovations 61 Influence Upward from a Mid-Level Change Agent 6 2 Lateral and Downward Influence Strategies 6 3 Summary 6 5 CHAPTER THREE: METHODOLOGY 68 General Approach 6 8 Research Questions 6 9 Ethnography as a Research Strategy 7 0 vi Table of Contents (Cont) Research Design and Procedures 7 3 Access to the Site and to Research Subjects 7 3 Protecting the Subjects: Assuring Confidentiality 74 A Dual Role as Researcher and Participant 7 5 Selection of Primary Research Subjects 78 Interviews with Research Subjects 7 9 Observations of Events and People in the School 8 1 Written Documents Reviewed 8 3 The Recording of Fieldnotes 8 3 Personal Reflections as a Researcher 8 4 Organizing, Storing, and Analyzing the Data 8 5 Data Organization 86 Data Analysis and Interpretation 8 8 Credibility of the Data 8 9 Shifting Interpretations 90 Limitations of the Study 91 CHAPTER FOUR: SETTING THE STAGE AT WESTERN HIGH 95 Introduction 9 5 The School Setting 9 7 Physical Layout of Western High 9 8 Time Constraints 9 9 Constraints Against Changing the Curriculum 101 School Communications: Channels for Change 1 0 4 Advisory Committee Meetings 105 Teacher Talk Times 1 0 7 Department Staff Meetings 108 Friday Faculty Meetings 1 10 Informal and Spontaneous Communications 1 1 1 The Cast of Characters 1 1 2 The Principal as Decision-Maker 113 The Teacher Change Agent ' 1 1 7 Carla’s Position of Power 120 A Prelude 1 21 CHAPTER FIVE: ADVOCACY 123 Introduction 1 2 3 Teacher Impressions of IDT 1 2 3 Getting Administrative Support 127 Carla’s Influence Strategies 132 Winning and Losing Administrative Support 134 Advocating for the Adoption of IDT 1 3 7 Consequences of Advocacy 1 3 9 Assessing the Supporters and the Opposition 1 4 2 Reflections on Advocating Innovation: A Summary 1 45 vii Table of Contents (Cont) CHAPTER SIX: ALLIANCE 1 47 Introduction 1 47 The Disatfection Begins 1 48 Taking Stock of “The Possibles” 1 53 The Formation of an Enclave 1 55 The Principal’s Perspective 1 57 The Resisters’ Perspectives 158 An Aura of Conspiracy 1 60 The Rehearsal 1 6 3 The Presentation 165 The Enlistment of Recruits 166 Summary 1 6 8 CHAPTER SEVEN: DERAILMENT 169 Introduction 169 The Conference Highlights 1 70 Problems of Implementation 171 Reflection on the Enclave’s Implementation of IDT 1 73 Introduction of Another Innovation: The Long-Range Plan 1 74 Planning to Plan 177 Comparing the Two Innovations 1 79 The Enclave’s Insubordination 180 Reflections on the Enclave’s Discontent 1 82 Potential Adopters 183 The Uncertainty of Implementation 184 Increasing Teacher Support for IDT 1 87 The Emotional Toll on the Stakeholders 1 88 A New Meeting Structure ls Proposed 1 90 Losing Sight of IDT 1 98 The End of the Enclave 1 9 9 Summary 202 CHAPTER EIGHT: ANALYSIS 203 This Study’s Beginning and Ending 203 Emerging Observations 206 Perspectives of Schoolwide Innovation 231 A Model of Factors and Influence Groups Affecting Innovation 233 Conclusion 2 3 4 CHAPTER NINE: RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FUTURE RESEARCH AND PRACTICE 2 37 Possibilities for Future Research 2 3 8 Implications for School Administrators 2 4 2 Recommendations for Teachers as Change Agents 2 4 4 viii Table of Contents (Cont) APPENDICES Appendix A: Introduction to the Study Appendix B: Consent Form Appendix C: Nomination Form for Change Agents Appendix D: Consent Form for Change Agents Appendix E: Sample Interview Questions REFERENCES 248 249 250 251 252 253 CHAPTER ONE INTRODUCTION A Carmelite nun in sixteenth century Spain, concerned about casual and insincere devotion rituals she saw taking place, launched a movement to revive the Order's earlier asceticism which had centered on "prayerful action " and rigorous dedication of cloistered nuns to their vows. The woman, Teresa of Avila, aided by another reformist named John of the Cross, inspired a small number of nuns and laywomen who publicly and persistently rebelled against the norms and routines of their own convent and in the whole of the Carmelite Order. Over time, the rebellion mme to the attention of papal delegates and of the Pope himself, who reassigned Teresa to another convent to halt her subversive activities and excommunicated the nuns who supported her (Niggs, 1959). But Teresa 's rebellion continued. Her supporters grew in number as did her influence among other Carmelite houses. The Catholic Church finally recognized the small band of nonconformists as a separate religious order and officially established them in 1579 as a religious house called the Discalced Carmelites (Peers, 1954). During World War II, General C. L. Chennault mobilized a team of American fighter pilots to furnish air support to the Chinese land forces against the Japanese. Assisted by Colonels C. V. Haynes and Ft. L. Scott, he battled the United States Govern- ment's notion that military planes were of less importance in combat than infantry and artillery. Chennault's radical stance was based on his conviction that aviation was a powerful military weapon in its own right. Aided by officials in the Chinese go vern- ment, and despite frequent confrontations with his own military superiors, Chennault fought to have his pilots recognized as a distinctive branch of the Armed Services. President Roosevelt eventually allowed the induction of Chennault's pilots, called the Flying Tigers, into the U. 8. Army (Scott, 1959). In 1974, Charles House’s new assignment at Hewlett-Packard was to be research manager of a new ventures group in the Colorado Springs Division. He found the existing group of engineers there to be demoralized and complacent. They had not produced a s ig - nificant innovation in years. During a series of meetings and brainstorming sessions, House began to forge a team of engineers who felt they had "something important to do and could only do it right by working together. " In protecting the existence of this group, House would explain away unusual budget allocations to corporate headquarters and occasionally exaggerate the progress his team was making. He spent much of his time taking his engineers' incipient ideas to other people he trusted in the company in an effort to gain their support. "Within a year, his group had several innovative projects on the drawing board and the division had produced an innovation significant enough to be included in Computer Design '5 'Hall of Fame’" (Wilkins, 1989, p. 113). 2 Each of these events occurred at different times in history, in different parts of the world, with unrelated characters intent on achieving different objectives. But they share common features: a single individual, fired by personal ambition to push a new idea through his or her organization, mobilized a small band of followers who challenged the organization's usual routines and operations. Because of their persistence, the leaders of these small bands eventually persuaded their respective organizations to adopt the innovation they championed. Each innovation eventually became an accepted part of its organization's philosophical and procedural system. These three examples are illustrations of an organizational phenomenon called "nonconforming enclaves" (Leeds, 1964). Pockets of rebellion within an organization, they may be one means by which innovation is introduced into an organization initially reluctant to accept it. This dissertation is the study of a similar enclave. It is the study of a teacher in a secondary school and her affiliation with a small group of fellow teachers who attempted to introduce a dramatic change in the school’s curriculum. It is a talepof the problems and obstacles the band encountered and the strategies the teacher and her supporters used to persuade their administrator and other teachers to adopt this new curriculum. In the words of organizational change theory, it is the story of a “change agent” and a team of like-minded individuals who defied the traditional norms of faculty-administrator relationships in order to “innovate”--in this case, to have their school adopt new teaching practices. GENESIS OF THE STUDY "I think I’m fighting a war. I am fighting a war!" It was not the frustration of teaching high schoolers that was making Carla Ensign’s eyes glitter and her face redden. 3 For the past year, Carla had been advocating that the faculty adopt a schoolwide curriculum based on principles called “inter-disciplinary teaching” (IDT)1 , an educational philosophy that emphasizes teachers working together to prepare and present lessons that transcend the boundaries of traditional classroom instruction. Almost from her first exposure to the concept, Carla had seen IDT’s value in improving her own high school's curriculum and its benefits for improving student learning. To her, IDT had become a passion, a personal and professional goal to which she was committed, and one to which she wanted the school administrators and the other faculty to be committed as well. 1 In line with promises of confidentiality I made to study participants, I masked the actual name, processes, and the artifacts associated with the innovation that Carla Ensign proposed. Rather than calling it by its true name, I named this innovation inter- disciplinary teaching, or IDT. The premise underlying IDT is that students will master new concepts and learn more quickly and more easily if the lesson components are presented in a logical and sequential order that makes sense to the student, not necessarily as the concepts are presented in a textbook or the school’s course schedule. IDT requires that the mathematics teacher, for example, teach chemistry students the basics of linear equations just prior to the chemistry students learning to use equations to depict the results of their laboratory experiments graphically. For many schools this educational philosophy requires a re-organization of their present curricula, for some components of a lesson needed in a traditional class taught by one teacher might actually be taught by another teacher in a different class, and taught much later in the course than the first teacher needs it. To persist with this example, both the mathematics teacher and the chemistry teacher must work together to plan and present the lesson plan at the appropriate times in the course. IDT, therefore, entails substantive revisions in traditional models of teaching, whereby one teacher teaches self-contained units in a single classroom. IDT requires teachers to collaborate with each other in the development of lesson plans and course objectives. IDT also necessitates the revision of school schedules so that teachers can move easily from one classroom to another as the lesson sequences require. Such ideas represent a radical departure from what exists at many schools, including Western High, where each teacher seldom leaves his or her classroom, and rarely relies on others to plan or present lessons that are pertinent to several teachers’ content areas. This report focuses on an innovation as seen through the eyes of its proponent in the school, an individual who views IDT as a positive and desirable innovation. Because this report seeks to capture and analyze that person’s perspective, without analyzing the innovation itself, it may render an overly favorable reading of IDT. If this report were written from other people’s perspectives and opinions, or if it were to examine the merits of the innovation in and of itself, very different views would undoubtedly emerge. 4 But few of the other teachers at Western High had a thorough understanding of inter-disciplinary teaching, and of the few who did, many were hesitant to try out new teaching methods that would contradict their present practices. In addition, the school‘s administrator, a principal who cared deeply about teacher input and participatory management, was unwilling to insist that all teachers adopt IDT. For Carla, convincing the principal and the teachers to use IDT would be an uphill battle whereby Carla would act as a “change agent,” pitting IDT against the traditional curriculum in place at the school. It was this conviction of Carla Ensign’s that forms the nucleus of this study. For decades, parents, students, and local community educators have challenged educators to change academic environments for the better. In response to these challenges, proposals and models for reform have come from various sources. Many of the reform movements such as reading readiness, efforts to retain potential high school dropouts, and emphasis on mathematics and science, stemmed from A Nation At Fiisk (1989) and were generated at the federal level. Other school reforms like cooperative learning, the use of multi-media, and programs like Success For All and Reading Recovery were state mandates (Hadderman, 1988; Wilson & Daviss, 1994). In most cases, innovations and calls for reform came from legislators, policy-makers, or district administrators and were imposed on teachers at the local school level. In contrast to these traditional, external motivations to innovate, I wanted to study a localized innovation--one where the pressure to change originated from within the school itself, preferably, in the mind of a person who would take the lead in making this change. In particular, I wanted to study the person who proposed such change, to observe him or her within the familiar environment of classrooms and hallways, administration offices, and teachers’ meetings. I wanted to study the interactions between the change agent (and his or her colleagues) and the organization--especially if 5 that change agent did not hold an administrative position--a teacher, for example, who might not be able to use a formal leadership position, with its implication of inherent power and authority, to engineer change. I assumed there might be significant differences in the ways in which change agents at middle and lower organizational levels worked compared to how top-level directors and administrators engaged in innovation. Finding Carla Ensign was the culmination of a long search. I had met her some time before this study began and was intrigued because she seemed to embody many of the characteristics of people in organizations I wanted to understand. I have always been interested in understanding creative and visionary people who developed products and processes that fired the imagination even when these people worked for somebody else. Some of these “entrepreneurs” found their own creative ideas were so hindered by organizational hierarchies and structures intolerant of change that the individuals resigned in order to refine and market those ideas on their own (Hirschman, 1970; Kanter, 1988). I suspected there might be a psychological toll on individuals who opposed some of the organization’s values while still remaining on the payroll or while still being associated with the organization. Perhaps the organization as a whole, or the leaders, experienced a similar stress from having avant-garde and innovative persons in residence. I wanted to learn what happened to change agents who gave voice to their discontent while trying to maintain relationships with the organization, its leaders, or colleagues they might be criticizing. I began to ask questions: How do individuals, working within their institutions, propose new ideas? How do these individuals succeed in getting their ideas implemented? With whom do they communicate and in what ways? What are the rewards to be gained and the risks to be taken in proposing or implementing new ideas? 6 BACKGROUND AND PURPOSE OF THE STUDY In my initial thinking, I assumed that change agents were "mavericks" in organizations--staff members who went their own way in an organization-and survived, perhaps even prospered, within the system. I found a plethora of research spanning many disciplines: education, organizational development, psychology, communication, and innovation (Brass, 1984; Brimm, 1988; Graham, 1986; Heany, 1990; Kanter, 1989). Mavericks, or change agents, as I began to call them, were quite common. I found these change agents varied markedly in the ways they called for reform and the need for organizational redirection. At one end of the spectrum were the extremists who were seen as “loose cannons” in their organizations, sometimes acting swiftly and violently against social mores (Cloward, 1959; Heany, 1990). These individuals generated change through negativity, sabotage, and aggression. There were ”whistle-blowers” who, while being employed by an organization, called public attention to a perceived agency wrongdoing (Graham, 1986; Hirschman, 1970; Staw, 1976). These change agents broadcasted the need for change, but did not always lead the reform movements themselves. There were “dissident voices” who were often targets of political activity during change and may have helped other organizational members strike a balance between the vision of the change and the realities inside and outside the organization (Curry, 1992). There were also "intrapreneurs," change agents who wanted to develop or market a new product or service, and who worked to convince their sponsoring organizations to do so (Kanter, 1988). I wanted to study this latter type of change agent: the intrapreneur, to see how such an individual operated, and especially, to Ieam how he or she operated in educational settings. 7 As I investigated the literature on organizational innovation, I found that change agents’ attempts to engineer “something new” might cause them to deviate from the unwritten, unconscious, and extremely important norms that define the limits of acceptable organizational behavior for employees (Schein, 1988; Van Maanen, 1976). Change agents, mindful of these norms of behavior in their work settings, must interact with others in such a way so as to maintain credibility and to avoid losing others’ trust. Yet in spurring interest in an innovation, change agents may deliberately or inadvertently fail to conform to the rules of behavior for organizational members. They might exceed the limits for such behavior and be labeled nonconformists. Change agents in schools, I thought, might exhibit nonconformance as well. If this was the case, then which organizational rules or norms did change agents follow and which ones did they break when they wanted others to adopt new ideas in a school? How did these change agents manage to retain their own positions in the school without being reprimanded, punished, or ignored for breaking the rules? Did this norm-breaking behavior make it easier or harder for change agents to generate change and how did others in the school perceive their norm-conforming or norm-breaking behaviors? I was interested in learning how and why some individuals in school become nonconformists, and what effect this might have on the innovation they proposed and on the organization where they worked. A large body of contemporary literature in organizational development addresses the actions of nonconformists in large hierarchical organizations, such as corporations and large businesses, with many layers of bureaucracy. Much of this literature addresses change agents who are corporate heads, chief executive officers, and top-level administrators (Kanter, 1983, 1988; Wheatley, 1992). Only recently has this literature begun to investigate those instigators of change who must work to generate 8 change “from the bottom up" (Brass, 1984; Brimm, 1988; Schilit & Locke, 1982). Educational literature, for the most part, focuses its attention on change agents in positions of recognized power and authority--superintendents, principals, and other administrators (Beer, Eisenstat, & Spector, 1990; Fullan, 1982, 1992, 1993; Fullan & Stiegelbauer, 1991, Sarason, 1982, 1995). But what does it mean to be a change agent standing on the middle or lower rung of the school’s hierarchical ladder and looking at innovation from that perspective? What if the change agent is a teacher without the authority to mandate change or without the power to formally involve other teachers in the change? How do others in the organization react to a change agent at this level? I was even more motivated to study this type of change agent in a school system after coming across a body of literature about organizational teams who attempt to change their organizations from within. Leeds' research on innovation teams (1964) offers a provocative analysis of nonconformists who responded to perceptions of weak leadership in their organizations by initiating unconventional and independent actions. These nonconformists mobilized their resources and succeeded not only in defying their superiors, but also in seeing their ideas recognized and eventually institutionalized by the very social systems which had at first been so discouraging. Creating allies and coalitions, I thought, might be one way that teacher change agents might generate change in their schools. Educational literature typically looks at systemwide innovation in hindsight-- that is, after the mechanics of innovation are completed or after attempts to implement the innovation have succeeded or failed (Sarason, 1982). But such a perspective may be blurred or distorted. In fact, many people at many times during an innovation’s implementation will change their minds as to whether they think the innovation is “a good idea” or “a bad idea.” As a result of these spontaneous and very personal evalu- , 9 ations at different times, organizational members are likely to act differently. I thought it would be worthwhile to study educational change at the very time it is introduced and implemented, when many people are involved in the change, when the innovation is the clay of many hands. After studying the literatures on organizational development and innovation theories in education and in other fields, I narrowed my research questions to these: How does a teacher change agent, one supposedly without administrative power or authority in a school, introduce and manage innovation? How does such a person see and make sense of the change relative to its effect on others, and how do those others--the other teachers, the principal, and other school staff--see and make sense of the change and the change agent? On a more elaborate note, I asked: What do the similarities and differences in these people’s perceptions and understandings of the innovation contribute to our understanding of change in schools? OVERVIEW OF THE STUDY My research experience occurred at Western High School, a school of less than one thousand students in a Midwestern community. The school had a reputation in the community for offering a quality academic curriculum, for having an enviable athletic program, and for assuring a "safe" environment for teachers and students alike. Like many schools, Western’s administration and faculty were challenged to react to threatening societal forces: ever-increasing numbers of at-risk students, especially the learning-disabled; persistent demands by parents to “improve” the overall quality of education; dwindling financial resources, and an aging physical facility ill-equipped to handle emerging communication and electronic technologies. The administration and faculty of Western High School were well-entrenched: Nearly all were full-time 1 0 teachers who had taught at Western for years; many described themselves and other faculty as being “set in their ways.” I chose Western High as the site for this study for several reasons, the first and most important reason being that Carla Ensign was teaching there. A second reason was that most educational innovation research to date centers on administrative change agents who work in large school districts. Few research studies explorevthe process of innovation within a small organization--that is, among a small number of staff who all know each other very well. At Western there were only three levels of organizational hierarchy: principal, department heads, and teachers. This was an opportunity to study one or more change agents in a confined setting where I could closely observe and daily document the effects of these change agents on their fellow teachers and on their administrators. The school's relatively small staff presented opportunities to study lateral communication strategies that a change agent might use with fellow teachers as well as the communications he or she might direct "upward" to the administration. The small number of employees at Western made it easier to track and record the communications of these change agents, to understand innovation from their perspective. Western High was ideal for my study in another way. While a great deal of research on educational innovation is carried out in school districts characterized by multi-layered networks and multiple levels of authority, or in schools pressed by federal or state governments to adopt new curricula, policies, and philosophies (Fullan, 1993), little research to date has been conducted in schools with simpler reporting structures. Western High School is a private institution. There are fewer external variables to control in a private school (Coleman, 1987). Innovations can be implemented rather quickly, for a private school principal reports to a superior who is not always directly or overtly concerned with the introduction or implementation of new 1 1 curricula (McCleary & Thomson, 1979). A private school principal is not accountable to the general public, to elected trustees, or to other government officials. At a small private school, there may not even be a Director of Curriculum and Instruction at the district level. At Western High School, there was no “district” at all, except in the loosest sense: Western was independent of the other schools in the area, having its own governance and finance structures, and separate from the other private elementary and middle schools which led into it. Though there was a board of trustees at Western High, consisting of parents and community leaders, they were mostly concerned with issues like tuition, building repairs, personnel policies, and student discipline rather than with the philosophies and politics of curriculum reform. In sum, there are fewer outside forces in a private school to complicate the innovation processes of change agents working on the inside. I began my data collection on change agents at Western High very broadly, by focusing on all people who were attempting to make schoolwide changes. I tried to identity the individuals whom school employees considered to be change agents, what the staff members thought of the changes, and the extent to which they themselves were affected. As I interviewed the teachers, the support staff, and the administrators, I found that the names of a certain few people were frequently nominated as change agents in the school. I soon narrowed my research focus to several of these individuals, including Carla Ensign. I therefore began to concentrate my research on Carla Ensign and on her efforts with regard to the changes she proposed. There were many changes occurring at Western High during the course of this study, each drawing mixed reactions from the faculty. I overheard comments like these on a daily basis: "Everything is falling apart here," or "Nothing ever gets accomplished," or "Last year it was portfolios and technical writing, but this year you 1 2 don't hear a thing about those. Next year it will be another bandwagon.” Teachers sometimes described themselves as feeling frustrated, burned out, exhausted, and demoralized by the daily grind and the constant demands made on their time and their attention. As is often the case in schools, some of the teachers blamed the administrators for “a lack of leadership" when the administrators would mandate unpopular changes, or did not mandate popular changes quickly enough to suit some teachers. It was evident that Western was not immune to nor unacquainted with educational innovations: They seemed to be happening all over the school, affecting a great many people, and contributing to a certain amount of administrative and faculty stress. There was a wide mix of opinions and feelings about even minor changes being proposed at Western High. A change to the curriculum such as inter-disciplinary teaching, which affected every administrator and every teacher and which challenged many deep-seated assumptions about teachers and teaching, would generate even more discussion, opinions, and feelings. Most of the time, the teachers at Western High School expected change to flow from the top. I sensed that a change agent at this school, interested in seeing that inter-disciplinary teaching be implemented, would face a daunting task in gaining support from individuals at different levels of the organizational ladder. “How would a change agent get such support?” I asked, and this question became the focus of my study. I was preparing to study how a teacher change agent introduced a radical, large-scale innovation into a school that might be unprepared to accept it. Since I was especially interested in studying change agents whose positions did not carry authority or power to compel others to adopt changes, I was particularly eager to learn how these change agents worked when they advocated a change that affected every other employee in the school. I began to flesh out my primary research questions with related 1 3 questions: “How did the teacher change agents communicate with others in the school about the desired changes? Did the change agents ever encounter mild or hard-core resistance? Did they find any other barriers to change or any other unforeseen obstacles, and if so, were they able to overcome them?” ORGANIZATION OF THE REPORT OF THE STUDY Though considering the views and opinions of multiple actors, this study concentrates on the experiences and understandings of the teacher change agent who attempted to introduce IDT into Westen High School. It is, therefore, situated in her perspective. This is the story of how Carla Ensign alternated between building support for and overcoming resistance to IDT as an innovation. Carla Ensign found other faculty to support her by forming a nonconforming enclave similar to those I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. The enclave encountered barriers not only from individual teachers who resisted the idea of IDT, but also from the administrator, whom the enclave perceived as being too weak to generate schoolwide change. Carla and her colleagues in the enclave came to realize that advocating a major change like IDT carried significant risks. The nature of inter-disciplinary teaching demanded that the enclave members find ways to make IDT fit into the school’s culture, sometimes amidst norms prohibiting innovations like IDT. In advocating a change like IDT, so radically different from teachers’ usual practices, the enclave members risked breaking the rules for acceptable teacher roles and activities. Carla Ensign’s attempts to diffuse IDT throughout the school and to have it accepted and institutionalized were unsuccessful. IDT was in competition with another radical innovation that had strong sponsorship by the principal, who threw the school’s resources behind this innovation and diverted those available for IDT. The commitment 1 4 of time, energy. and resources to implement the competing innovation eventually eclipsed the efforts of IDT proponents. I present the study as follows: In Chapter Two, I review the literature on educational innovation to provide a broad-based conceptual framework for this research study. Chapter Three details the methods | used to collect and analyze the data. In Chapters Four through Seven I describe the setting, participants, and sequence of events regarding theIIntroduction, implementation, and eventual demise of IDT in the school. Chapter Four, a description of the school’s setting, highlights the constraints on innovation that Carla Ensign faced at Western High. In this chapter, I introduce the cast of characters who were the primary participants in this study. The next three chapters explore the sequence of events whereby Carla Ensign developed support for IDT, with and without the principal’s endorsement. In Chapter Five, I examine Carla’s communi- cations with the principal whom Carla hoped would support IDT. When the principal did not do so, Carla turned to her colleagues on the teaching staff, hoping to find supporters among the other teachers. I call this period “Advocacy,” for Carla spent much of her efforts exhorting faculty to adopt IDT. The mixed reactions Carla received from other teachers caused her to change her approach. She found a group of like-minded teachers willing to advance the cause of IDT in the school. The members of this enclave were determined to force IDT through the school system even without administrative approval. The enclave members worked in secret, planning to bypass resisters and to enlist teachers whom they felt were more open-minded and more inclined to adopt IDT. I describe these developments in Chapter Six, entitled “Alliance,” because at this time the enclave began to close ranks against the principal and resisters on the staff. Chapter Seven concerns the principal’s introduction of another radical innovation in the school: the review of the school’s long-range plan. Conversations about creating new 1 5 governance structures in order to implement the plan reduced the amount of time and the opportunities available for Carla and the enclave members to discuss IDT. In this chapter, called “Derailment,” I describe the conflicts accompanying the implementation of both innovations and explain how the school’s attention and resources were eventually diverted from IDT. These four chapters form the core of the innovation process as seen through Carla Ensign’s eyes and through the eyes of administrators and other teachers in the school. In Chapter Eight, “Analysis,” I consider the effects of a radical innovation like IDT on the teachers and administrators, especially the teacher change agents. I also present several observations, emanating from this study, on the role and activities of teacher innovators. In Chapter Nine, I present several recommendations for future research in this area, as well as recommendations for teacher change agents and administrators. It is my hope that, as a result of this study, school administrators and teachers will have a better understanding of the process, consequences, and implications of systemwide innovation, especially when innovation is generated by teacher change agents. CHAPTER TWO REVIEW OF THE LITERATURES FRAMING THE STUDY OF INNOVATION Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen and thinking what nobody has thought. --Albert Szent-Gyorgyi INTRODUCTION Looking at change agents in organizational contexts in order to understand and make sense of their actions and experiences requires thinking about change from several perspectives, each derived from a different body of literature. To lay an adequate foundation for this study, I reviewed several literatures drawn from different disciplines including research and writing on (1) organizational innovation and innovators, particularly in education; (2) the innovation process, with emphasis on distinctive stages and phases; (3) the socialization of organizational members, with emphasis on the conformance and nonconformance of change agents and, (4) communication theory, with particular attention to persuasion and influence strategies and processes. In the next section, I review concepts that help to frame the idea of organizational innovation and that illuminate the roles of the change agents who propose innovation. I also consider the processes by which these agents enact their roles as innovators in their organizational settings. 16 EDUCATIONAL INNOVATION: 1Ti-IEORIES AND EXPLANATIONS Perhaps no other subject in education is studied as fervently as educational change. Most writings deal with school change by examining the reforms proposed by policy-makers at the national level which are intended to be implemented uniformly across schools and school systems. These nationally-mandated reforms may fail, however, when individual administrators and teachers attempt to implement the innovations at the local school level (Fullan, 1993; Rosenholtz, 1989; Wilson & Daviss, 1994) Searching for the reasons why such innovations fail, some researchers attribute this failure to administrator resistance to change--that is, to educators who are too intent on preserving school stability and the status quo rather on supporting a new idea or concept which might disrupt prevailing educational processes (Baldridge & Deal, 1983; Bolman & Deal, 1984; Sarason, 1977; Wilson & Daviss, 1994). A second explanation for innovation failure is that changes are extremely difficult to implement because they threaten a school’s balance of power, creating opposing coalitions and triggering conflict among educators (Baldridge & Deal, 1975). More recently, attention has focused on the school as a system (Fullan, 1993; Fullan & Stiegelbauer, 1991; Nias, Southworth & Campbell, 1992; Wheatley, 1992) and the need for systemic reform (Thompson, 1994). Such change causes conflict when reformers demand better student achievement without making corresponding changes in school environments and climates. These reformers neglect to address the significant role that the classroom teacher has in changing those environments (Conley, 1993; Cuban, 1993). 1 8 The Cultures of Schools School cultures are often viewed as obstructing innovation (Baldridge & Deal, 1983; Fullan, 1992; Sarason, 1982, 1995). Theoreticians who subscribe to this view note that points of contact and consensus between administrators and teachers are inadequate. These researchers suggest that schools persistently and erroneously assume that policy-makers and administrators will make “the right decisions” about introducing changes and that teachers will easily and smoothly implement these changes. However, to lay national (or statewide) calls for school reforms onto individual schools indiscriminately, without regard for a school’s unique organizational culture, is akin to “pushing square pegs into round holes” (Sarason, 1995), and innovations suffer accordingly. Local administrators, superintendents, and principals who see it as their responsibility to carry out such proposals and recommendations may be reluctant or unprepared to overturn the school’s existing culture, it indeed this can be done at all, by creating a new one that facilitates the easy entry of such reforms at the local level: Redesigning a well-established bureaucracy that also embodies a social institution--school--is excruciatingly slow work. Although new structures are being fashioned, none are yet powerful enough to counteract the continuing decay in our current national educational achievement. Charged with the enormously difficult job of meeting new kinds of national goals, but having no models to follow in identifying, developing, and implementing the innovations needed to do so, U. S. education reform has languished. (Wilson & Daviss, 1994, p. 8). The literature I have reviewed examines top-down innovation in schools (Fullan, 1993; Sarason, 1995) and points to the difficulties in introducing and implementing innovation when it comes from the national, state, or local school administrative levels. However, little is known about the teacher as a change agent and how this individual 1 9 effects change when people at higher levels of the organization with presumably more authority have difficulty in doing so (Barrett, 1991). Some recent studies of educational innovation examine individual teachers’ attempts to introduce innovation by experimenting with new ideas in individual classrooms (Fullan, 1992; Wilson & Daviss, 1994). However there is still a dearth of literature on successful schoolwide innovations inspired and led by individual teachers. What few instances there are to be found are so new that it may be premature to evaluate them (Sarason, 1995). In summary, then, we find that educational literature emphasizes the difficulties and obstacles of introducing innovations at the local school level. This literature concentrates instead on top-down initiatives, but neglects the teacher change agent in the engineering of schoolwide change. Since the literature examines the failure of schools to implement changes when they are proposed by people at the top, it is natural to question what happens in a school when changes are proposed from below. This study stems from this question. Structures That Impede Innovation Organizations by nature constrain individuals and limit the range of acceptable member behaviors (Fullan, 1992; Hirschman, 1970; Kanter, 1988; Sarason, 1982; Rosenholtz, 1989; Wheatley, 1992). I use the term "organization" to mean any social system where people work or join together for a common goal (Aiken, Bacharach & French, 1980) By "members of the organization" I refer to any employee or staff member in the formally established social system. Organizations have structure, the “relatively enduring stable pattern of social interaction which integrates the various and sundry elements of a social system” 20 (Herriott & Hodgkins, 1973, p. 26). Structure includes the levels of authority; the degrees of participation of different members in decision-making; and formalization of roles, responsibilities, and frames of occupational reference (Rosenholtz, 1989). I use the term “structure” to include both the formal bureaucracy and the informal structure, that is, the assumptions about the organization that are passed on by means of oral tradition. Both these interpretations of “structure” may constrain individual behaviors and influence informal organizational subunits and may explain why some innovations fail (Fullan, 1992; 1993; Rosenholtz, 1989; Sarason, 1990; Prestine, 1992). People working in schools often find themselves blocked by these organizational structures, procedures, or policies when hoping to generate internal changes. Schools are similar to other organizations: The people in them do not easily repattern themselves when they confront change and the structures of schools may ensnare innovation in a cultural and political gridlock (Wilson & Daviss, 1994). Despite its confining nature, some type of structure is vital for it allows organizational stakeholders to understand and use decision-making and authority controls and to communicate with one another (Nias et al., 1992). Formal structures can be changed but these structural changes will not be sufficient to support educational reform without changes in the underlying ideas, beliefs, and attitudes of people (Prestine, 1992). This requires a change in the organizational culture: the pattern of norms, beliefs, and values that organizational members share, their understanding and acceptance of what is and what ought to be, and their knowledge of how to act accordingly (Wilson, 1971). Some optimistic reformers suggest that one of the ways that school cultures can be changed is to alter the school structure, thereby changing the interaction patterns of people within the organization. As traditional and habitual relationships are broken 21 down, new ones emerge (Rossman, Corbett & Firestone, 1988), but organizational cultures are extremely difficult to change (Carroll, 1991). This cultural and structural shift is accomplished by rearranging the composition of groups within the school, by realigning the chains of command, by redesigning committee membership or work teams, or by flattening the organizational hierarchy (Conley, 1993; Tierney & Rhoads, 1994). Such dramatic changes may help “unfreeze” an inflexible and rigidly confining organization and create a climate of receptivity to innovation (Lewin, 1947; Schein, 1985). As a result, one presumes, people can come into contact with other people in new and positive ways. It may be easier to introduce or implement changes at these times (Wheatley, 1992). Another way that school cultures and structures can be changed is by introducing a radical innovation (Wheatley, 1992) and by letting the system reorganize itself along new patterns of meaning and new ways of working. But the means by which this is done are neither well understood nor replicable (Sarason, 1982, 1995). Changing schools from within is arduous, intricate, and risk-laden (Fullan & Stiegelbauer, 1991). Certainly we have too few examples of schools which have dramatically and deliberately changed their cultures or their structures to draw any reliable conclusions. Consequently, these hypotheses about changing schools systemically may either be too optimistic or too simplistic: Like every complex culture, that of schools evolved not by plan but by chance...[the] individual threads of school culture have become entangled: onecan trace individual strands, but it’s mad- deningly difficult to separate one from another unless one is prepared to unravel the entire skein....[the] only thing more dif- ficult would be to change some aspects of the tangle while leaving others intact-~to pull out old threads or weave in new attitudes and approaches without altering the relationships of those already there...Schools are among our few social institutions that have yet to adopt a reliable process of change that can weave new ideas into those kinds of dense cultural fabrics (Wilson & Daviss, 1994). 2 2 Models of structural change may not be replicable in schools with distinctive cultures. More pertinent to this discussion, considerations of structural change do not typically address the deeply personal ways in which administrators and teachers are affected. Little exists in the educational literature on the daily, practical realities by which individuals, particularly those at subordinate levels of the hierarchy, introduce innovation within the confines of an educational structure already solidly in place in the school. In examining innovation from this perspective, we may find that organizational structures and cultures present as strong a challenge to teacher change agents as to national policy-makers and state or local administrators. INNOVATORS IN EDUCATION I define “change agents” as innovators or as individuals who introduce some idea, concept, or strategy that is new and unfamiliar to their organizations. In referring to "successful change agents," I mean those organizational members who introduce an idea, concept, or strategy that eventually becomes part of the organization's goals and philosophy, structure and culture, its way of working and doing things. As mentioned earlier, when innovation or change is called for in a school context, it is usually policy-makers at federal or state levels who seek far-reaching school reforms. But innovation can also emerge from the efforts of local administrators, school boards, superintendents, principals, and central office staff. However, here too innovation flows from the top down-~from administrators and policy-makers to teachers--a condition that marks most traditional schools (Fullan, 1993; House, 1974; Rosenholtz, 1989; Sarason, 1982, 1995). In the next section, I describe the nature and role of innovators working on localized change. The Principalship: 2:II’ower and Position Over the last decade educational innovation theorists have directed much of their attention toward the role of school principals as change agents. Like most organizations, school personnel are divided into leadership and nonleadership roles along established lines of hierarchy, authority, and power. When competing points of view and competing ideologies exist in the school, one usually expects the prevailing view will be determined by those in leadership positions. Principals are believed to be in an advantageous position to influence the outcomes of this struggle (Sergiovanni, 1987). According to the literature, principals can control the formal communications channels in the school and thus can decide what information to share and with whom. Furthermore, principals can control the allocation of resources and are able to recognize and reward--or ignore or punish--behaviors of other school employees (Fullan, 1991; Sergiovanni, 1987). Some writers have painted the principal as the shaper and manipulator of school culture (Sergiovanni, 1987) and cite the principal’s role as the school leader as one of the important factors of effective schools (Brookover, Beady, Flood, Schwietzer & Weisenbaker, 1979; Edmonds & Fredericksen, 1978; Rutter, Maugham, Mortimore, Ouston & Smith, 1979; Weick, 1976). As principal, an individual is in a strategic position to control personnel and resources, and to coordinate problem-solving activities that are considered keys to the successful implementation of projects (Dubin, 1991; Lipman & Rankin, 1981; Sergiovanni, 1987). Some research also points to teacher perceptions of the principal as a leader in developing the curriculum (Rossow, 1990), while other research notes that teachers regard principals as a weak influence on their curriculum decision-making (Leithwood, 1982). While principals may function as gatekeepers, controlling resources for various 24 innovative projects, and while they can lend support or not to others’ innovations, there are few examples of principals as dynamic change agents in the literature (Fullan, 1992). Furthermore, principals may be in the business of contending with the demands of managing multiple innovations, including those that they themselves introduce. One would suppose that the latter might receive a larger share of the principal’s attention and a greater proportion of the school’s resources than ideas that are generated by others. One might also suppose that, in some settings, the mere suggestion that the principal was supportive of an idea would lead faculty to assume it was mandated. A closer look at the literature on the power of the principal reveals a conflict: some researchers suggest that a person in this position cannot depend on authority alone to mandate educational change. The person in the principalship is both a facilitator and a barrier to change (Becher & Maclure, 1978) and must work to convince, cajole, and encourage the rest of the staff to work in new and unaccustomed ways. There is a certain attendant powerlessness in the principal’s power position (Sarason, 1982), especially when it concerns innovative efforts: “We have known for decades that top-down change doesn’t work but leaders keep working that way, for lack of a better understanding or knowledge of how to do things better” (Fullan, 1993, VI). Principals as agents of change must work within a context researchers call “an uneasy federation of small, independent sovereignties, each wielding a measure of political power over educational structures and processes” (Wilson & Daviss, 1994, p. 134). Presiding over such a fluid and ever-changing pool of relationships may require the principal to act in ways that the teachers will interpret as being supportive, encouraging, and trustworthy. Persuading people, particularly teachers, to accept and use new ideas may be a principal’s great challenge, even though the principalship supposedly Iegitimizes the use of authority to make teachers and students change. The conflict in the literature 2 5 about the power of the principal to create and support change suggests that a teacher, hoping to implement a schoolwide innovation, may need to be cognizant, at the very least, of the principal as a force in the school, with the power to support or obstruct any ideas the teacher change agent proposes. The Teacher as Change Agent: Power and Position While the literature is replete with studies of principals and other admini- strators as change agents, until recently, writers and researchers have not devoted much attention to teachers in that role (Connelly, 1988; Fullan, 1990, 1993; House, 1974). The research typically studies the power of classroom teachers as centered in their abilities to effect change through relationships with influential people outside the school, such as in unions and professional associations; through the setting of certifi- cation standards; through legal sanctions; and, most importantly, through control of their classrooms (Hess, 1992). More recent research (Fullan, 1993) suggests the usefulness of studying the power of a teacher as an effective force for change, for the types of power mentioned above are insufficient and irrelevant for teachers to engineer, participate in, or evaluate educational innovation within the school setting. Teachers may have more power to effect change and a greater capacity to act as change agents than the earlier literature suggests. The classroom teacher can have a strong and pervasive effect on top-down decisions regarding school innovation even when the principal makes the decisions, for it is the teacher who ignores or complies with these decisions in the classroom. A teacher’s power is very subtle and very strong: it can determine whether another person’s ideas about proposed or mandated changes from the top will find their 26 way into the organizational culture (Klein, 1991). Teachers also can also exercise their power by making contacts with others in the school. There are many opportunities for linkages and interdependencies to form between teachers and other individuals at other levels of the organizational ladder (Corbett, Dawson, & Firestone, 1984; Glatthorn, 1981; Weick, 1976). There are ways of communicating with individuals both formally and informally (Weick, 1976, cited in Rosenholtz, 1989). In short, the organizational structure of the school permits teachers to communicate with individuals at upper, middle, and lower levels of the school hierarchy and to build support for personal causes and for a desired innovation. For example, a secondary school teacher may interact with another teacher or depart- ment head, with the principal or another administrator, with other teachers in the department, with students, with parents, with coaches. In each case, the teacher performs a different role. For example, the teacher may try to influence decisions at the societal level as a parent, advise in curriculum development as a department head, be a member of a curriculum review committee with fellow teachers, serve on a planning committee for a student activity, or function as a primary decision-maker at the instructional level. The opportunities teachers have, then, are different from a principal’s but may be just as effective in reaching and influencing other people. Certainly when teachers are innovators, they face different problems than do administrators, because of their place in the bureaucratic structure of the school. Teachers cannot insist that other teachers adopt a new idea. They cannot allocate organizational resources to support a new idea. Perhaps just as problematic as real powerlessness is the illusion of powerlessness. Because school administrators are so often seen as the agents of change in a school, teachers do not often realize the power they themselves have to generate equally important, wide-ranging change in their schools 27 (Fullan, 1990). Teachers usually defer to others within the organization (particularly administrators, who are qualified by “the rules of the game") to oversee the activities of the organization (Kelley, 1975, cited in Meyer & Goes, 1988). Often teachers’ perceptions of their inability to engineer change may be at the heart of their difficulties (Macroff, 1988; Sirotkin & Oakes, 1986). If teachers, then, are potential engineers of educational innovation but perceive their lack of formal power as a constraint on their efforts to introduce a schoolwide innovation, then teachers must find and make use of other means to effect organizational change. There is a large body of research available that suggests that a change agent’s ability to generate change comes not from having an administrative position, but from that change agent’s ability to communicate strategically with others (Kotler & Roberto, 1989; Perloff, 1993; Pfeffer, 1981). Teacher Change Agents as Communicators Many innovators in noneducational settings are recruited by organizations which want to employ them. Some organizations actively and deliberately train individuals to be change agents, encouraging and supporting newcomers in that role. Often the newcomers’ responsibility is to generate ideas that are unusual or unfamiliar to the organization and its members, but which may result in new products or services (Child, 1972; Kanter, 1983; March & Olsen, 1976). Sometimes it is only after they have been working in the organization for some time that individuals are charged with making changes. These persons may receive directives from their immediate supervisors to create something new for the organization (Kanter, 1988). Some innovators may take advantage of an opportunity to develop a new idea if they find they have adequate 2 8 resources, or they may find themselves in situations where ideas can grow serendipitously. This is typically not the case in schools. Change agents who are teachers derive their power from their status as respected members of the teaching staff, not from their reputation as innovators (Fullan, 1993). The rest of the faculty may see teacher change agents as respectable, credible, visible, and trustworthy if they are good teachers (Perloff, 1993). These teacher change agents often bring new ideas to their workplaces from their participation in continuing education events, workshops, and conferences (Smith & Keith, 1971; Smith, Kleine, Prunty & Dwyer, 1986). Lieberman and Miller (1984) suggest that such teachers have well-developed “entry characteristics” as well as “on the job skills.” Such teachers may be experts in curriculum development practices, have a sound academic background in a number of subject areas, and have finely-tuned administrative and organizational skills. In addition, innovative teachers often display flexibility and sensitivity when they engage in new ventures and seek out ways to establish rapport among stakeholders in support of new ideas (Fullan, 1990). With some teachers clearly fitting the role of change agents and in positions - where they can exert a great deal of influence, why do not more of them function as change agents? One researcher suggests that the difficulty with many teachers’ successfully enacting roles as change agents is their trouble in understanding that “change by legislative flat or policy pronouncements from on high is only the first and the easiest step in the change process” (Sarason, 1990, p. 101). The length of time it takes to push an idea forward may be disheartening to a prospective change agent. Many teachers are pulled in many directions by their own teaching load, so that “starting something new” is simply not a priority. Hartzell (1994) points out that teacher change agents, operating alone, also face condemnation by administrators, loss of 2 9 credibility among fellow teachers, and failure to see their innovations adopted. Operating alone, a teacher change agent may have little chance of being effective in generating schoolwide innovation. These reasons may be sufficient to explain why potential change agents abandon any efforts to explore or push for new ideas beyond their own classrooms. Forming Enclaves for Educational Innovation Even though teachers do not have the power they perceive as inherent in the principalship, teacher change agents may generate change by seeking alternatives to independent action (House, 1974). Such change agents may collaborate with others who share an interest in the innovation. Beer at al. (1990) and Rosenholtz (1989) found that innovation occurs in isolated pockets of change. Innovators are often in the minority: It is critical for them to build support for innovation by building alliances with other teachers. Krassa (1988) suggests innovators may work in groups and networks, which can drastically alter people’s opinions and attitudes about change. Hall and Hard (1987) noticed that change agents found and formed close ties with associates, whom they called consiglieri, or trained leaders who helped to convince others to adopt a change. Leeds (1964) gave particular attention to supportive groups whose development is fostered by a single individual ambitious to push a new idea through the organization. This individual selects and makes use of a small group of followers who share the enthusiasm for the new idea and work with the originator to create wider circles of support. Leeds called these groups "nonconforming enclaves." The characteristics of these enclaves are relatively distinguishable from other 30 groups: They are characterized by a leader whose charisma of office has become personal. This leader pursues a course of action or a cause which is perceived by the organization or by the organizational elite as unorthodox, and for which he [sic] will create symbols and an ideology. His immediate lieutenants are nonconformers in their own right, although less influential and original than their leader. The cause served is usually a means to revive allegedly neglected organizational goals or to achieve present organizational goals more effectively. Lastly, a peculiar aura, either of ascet-icism or of romance, envelopes the enclave, contributing to its integration and highlighting its dedication to its cause (Leeds, 1964, p.122- 123) These enclaves are, in effect, means by which change agents may pursue organizational innovation with less personal risk, greater support from their fellows, and a better chance at seeing the innovation succeed. We know that such enclaves exist in school systems, particularly when the innovation is radical (House, 1974). This type of enclave seeks transformation of the entire school system by intentionally instituting new cultural norms (Rossman et al., 1988). This intentional manipulation of the norms may cause conflict among organizational members (Rosenholtz, 1989). For example, we know that “balkanization” can occur when strong loyalties form within a group with a resultant indifference or even hostility to other groups (House, 1974). This occurs in large schools when subcultures develop, thereby inhibiting schoolwide initiatives (Fullan 8. Hargreaves, 1991). Yet research in education does not track these enclaves in any great detail. One wonders: What happens in school systems when these nonconforming, balkanized groups form? What effect do they have on educational innovations? Are enclaves more likely than individuals to succeed in getting the rest of the school to adopt the innovation? Enclaves, like individuals operating as change agents, may lack the inherent power of formal positioning within a bureaucratic structure. Moreover, the efforts of 31 enclaves may be just as prone to failure as those of individual change agents. The school’s culture or bureaucratic structures may not be conductive to change; the administrators may not be amenable to pressures exerted by the enclave. The innovation itself may be unwieldy or problematic: Previous case studies of successful school innovation efforts report many major and minor implementation crises (Huberman & Miles, 1984; Louis & Miles, 1991). The literature on planned change suggests that some of these failures are avoidable by training teachers and developing their skills in change management (Crandall, Eiseman & Louis, 1986; Fullan, 1990; Hall & Hord, 1987). Other problems, however, cannot be “managed” but are a consequence of the way in which schools are organized (Weick, 1976). The organizational structure of schools both facilitates and impedes the process of innovation and may be an equally valid concern for teacher change agents and for educational enclaves. It is also possible that the ways that teachers think about innovation may impede the innovation process. Fullan suggests that many teachers do not understand the processes by which changes are introduced, implemented, and institutionalized (Fullan, 1992). For this reason, I turn to another body of literature in order to understand teacher change agency from another viewpoint: by looking at the nature of innovation itself. THE NATURE AND PROCESSES OF INNOVATION Borrowing from the literature on organizational development, I define innovation as a process that begins with the activation of some person or persons who sense or seize a new opportunity to generate change (Amabile, 1983). Fullan (1992) frames innovation in educational terms: “a new or revised curriculum, a policy, a structure, an idea--something that is new to the people encountering it for the first 32 time” (Fullan, 1992, p. 22). In this section, I outline the nature of innovation and the traditional theories about the diffusion of innovation in social systems. I then examine the diffusion of innovation in educational settings and discuss some implications for change agents. The Nature of Innovation An innovation may either be a minor alteration in what already exists, an addition to what already exists, or a restructuring of what already exists around new functions and roles (Chin & Benne, 1969). Innovation can be either routine or radical. Routine innovation, for example, is the introduction of an idea or concept that is new to the organization but very similar to something the organization is doing. One would expect‘that consideration and adoption of routine innovations, because they require less study, planning, and redirection of the organization's current processes, would be more easily adopted and incorporated into the organization's framework (Damanpour, 1988; Martin & Sciehl, 1983). A radical innovation, on the other hand, is not only new to the organization, but is apt to require significant changes in the behavior of employees and often in the structure of the organization itself (Nord & Tucker, 1987). Governance policies, personnel, communications, social networks, even the buildings housing the organizations themselves may need to be reexamined, revised and remodeled to accommodate a radical innovation. Radical innovations may be much harder to implement than are routine innovations, while innovations of any sort are highly perishable (Huberman & Miles, 1984). Both Amabile’s and Fullan’s definitions of innovation imply that tradition and newness are forces opposing one another. Routine and radical innovations imply “encounters” between proponents and resisters: proponents working toward adoption of 33 the innovation and resisters ignoring the proponents or taking more active steps to maintain the status quo. The nature of innovation may thus be defined in terms of forces that create conflict among organizational members. Today, popular literature and social trends encourage people to think of “innovation” as desirable and valuable improvements over what is current in their organizations. Merely announcing that an organizational change will be made is sufficient reason for many individuals to assume the change will be positive. Leaders and subordinates often make judgments about an idea on its own merits and before anyone gives serious consideration to implementing it. These individuals may decide to put organizational resources behind a new venture or to change policies and procedures without fully considering the consequences of the change. It is usually after an innovation is adopted or rejected by organizational members that its real effects are evaluated. An innovation that was initially considered worthwhile may become so difficult to implement that organizational members become exhausted and oppressed during the process. On the other hand, the arduous nature of implementing a new idea may be easily forgotten as time passes. As a result, individuals’ perceptions of the innovation are likely to be colored by organizational interpretations of the change in light of its history and by the individual’s own feelings over the long term. These perceptions may change dramatically over time (Sarason, 1982). There may not even be a way to distinguish an innovation promising positive effects from one with deleterious results until the new idea is actually adopted by the organization and implemented by its members. We have instances of change agents proposing good ideas that were essentially unimplementable; it is certainly possiblethat change agents may propose “bad ideas” that, once implemented, turn out to be eminently good (Rosenholtz, 1989; Wilson & Daviss, 1994). In instances like this, individuals '34 affected by the change may decide that implementing the innovation was not worth the time or the effort entailed. People may view the innovation as a failure, even though it did become part of the cultural fabric of the organization. The relative merits of the innovation and its value may be, like beauty, entirely in the eyes of the beholder. The Process of Innovation Although theoretical understandings of innovation are still being formulated, we know much more about the process of diffusing an innovation throughout a social system than we do about its nature. The literature suggests that innovation is less of an event than a process with specific stages and phases whereby individuals and groups become aware of a new idea, evaluate its usefulness, and accept the idea as fitting conveniently and relatively easily into the environment (Rogers, 1983). Information about the relative merits of an innovation typically passes from one individual to another through “persuasion channels,” the means by which adopters of the innovation convince others to do the same (Kotler & Roberto, 1989). This information, flavored by people’s perceptions, infiltrates entire organizations, moving between social units who pass through phases of acceptance or rejection of the new idea (Beyer & Trice, 1978; Daft & Huber & Daft, 1982; Ettlie, Bridges & O’Keefe, 1984). This process is called “the diffusion of an innovation”--a multifaceted process by which an idea or new concept is first proposed, then considered, tested, adopted, or rejected (Rogers, 1983, 1995). If the idea is adopted, we assume it is institutionalized (Goodman, Bazerman & Conlon, 1980; Kimberly, 1981). This definition of the innovation diffusion process is fairly simplistic: It merely serves my purpose here to explain how one might first formulate a view of the 35 organizational innovation process from the extant research literature. This process presupposes a linear sequence to innovation, a sequence not always clearly evident as the process unfurls. In examining an innovation from “behind the scenes,” one may discover a nonlinear, convoluted, Hydra-headed picture where the steps of the process cannot be identified (Kanter, 1988). Some researchers point to the need to study innovation as “organic” or “natural” to an organization and to the need to study the resulting “chaos” that innovation engenders as a natural and systemic response to change (Quinn, 1985; Rosenblum & Louis, 1981; Wheatley, 1992). Despite this emerging realization that innovation in neither “neat” nor linear, the literature persists in examining the innovation process in terms of stages and phases occurring in a predictable sequence (Curry, 1991; Fullan, 1992, 1993). Innovation Stages and Adopter Types Rogers and Shoemaker’s theory (1971) suggests that there is a distinctive “S- curve for the diffusion of innovation in social systems” whereby a small percentage of innovators manufacture or access new information and influence another small percentage, the “early adopters.” The early adopters, in turn, collectively influence early majority, late majority, and finally laggard, or resistant, members of a social system. Rogers et al. suggest that these populations move toward adoption of the innovation in distinct stages: (1) awareness of the change; (2) interest, or the formation of positive or negative attitudes about the change; (3) a mental decision to adopt or reject the innovation, and lastly, (4) adoption, or the use, practice, or ratification of the idea. Later, Rogers amended this theory to include “nonadoption,” when an individual refuses to use the innovation (Rogers, 1983). Rogers identified the la: the it; 8X5 an: 36 last persons to adopt an innovation as “resisters,” a pejorative term that suggests a negative and apathetic response to change (Frost & Egri, 1991). The innovation process presumes that there is little contact between the innovators and resisters. Rogers (1983) suggests that innovators and resisters move in different social and organizational circles, do not come into frequent contact with one another, and differ in their preferred ways of thinking about new ideas. Since Rogers’ seminal work, educational theorists have offered refinements of his theory of the diffusion process. Fullan and Stiegelbauer (1991), like Rogers, see innovation in education as a process, but emphasize a different sequence of stages, viewing the process less from the individual adopter or social perspective than from the organizational perspective. These researchers name the first step as “initiation,” interpreting this to mean the official ratification of an idea by the organizational elite-- the administrators and policy-makers. This phase is followed by the “implementation phase,” when educators experiment and test out the idea in an actual school setting. Following this stage are several others that occur in different sequences, depending upon the specific demands of the innovation. At these times, organizational members realize that the technical capacity of a school, its institutional arrangements, and its capacity to evaluate and measure the impact of the innovation on students will also require re- examination, revision, and transformation. The school then seeks to reduce the barriers and overcome the obstacles of daily processes, technology, evaluation, and measurement. The last two stages, as discussed by Fullan and Stiegelbauer, are “continuation” and “outcome.” On the whole, researchers describe this general linearity as a “snarled process” (p. 48). Both Rogers’ and Fullan/Stiegelbauer’s theories suggest that there is a sequence or progression of innovation diffusion moving from early to later stages. These 37 researchers also agree that the purpose of the process is to nullify the newness and reduce the unfamiliarity of innovation, to make the new idea normal and familiar to organizational residents. Change does not occur in an orderly progression (Rosenholtz, 1989; Senge, 1990). In the innovation process, the stages often overlap: One stage often begins before another ends. A shortcoming of many educational theories, according to Rosenholtz, is an overemphasis on the early stages in the process of innovation, such as the dissemination of information or creating awareness of the new idea, and, to a certain degree, a neglect of the later stages, the implementation and institutionalization of the new idea within social and organizational contexts. This may be true of Rogers’ theory, which examines the persuasion messages and channels used by innovators and early adopters more thoroughly than the persuasion channels used to convince resisters, assuming these are the same channels and messages. Fullan and Stiegelbauer’s organizational theory of educational innovation concentrates heavily on the challenges of innovation implementation, less on its institutionalization. In fact, there is a great deal of confusion about these various stages of the innovation process. Gaynor (1975) suggests that much of the literature on change in schools incorrectly assumes that adoption is the same as implementation. Many educators confuse “a change in policy” with “a change in practice” (Sarason, 1995). Many schools have ignored the accumulated knowledge about the management of change entirely (Rosenholtz, 1989). Yet, to understand how innovation proceeds through a school system is essential, for without this understanding, change agents may run the risk of failing in their attempts to get new ideas adopted. Sergiovanni (1987) notes that schools frequently adopt innovations that are not implemented. If they are implemented, the innovations are manipulated so as to conform to the existing culture to the point that “the changes” are hardly noticeable. On the other hand, some innovations are indeed 38 durable, withstand any such manipulations, and eventually flow into the school’s existing culture. When this occurs, we assume that the innovations have been “institutionalized” and consider the process to be successful (Sarason, 1982). It behooves us, therefore, to look at the process of innovation in school systems, and to examine how this process works in the hope of reducing the likelihood that meaningful innovations will fail. The Eiret Stage: Dissemination of lnnovetien The beginning of innovation occurs when one person in an organization learns of or invents something new, then proceeds to tell others about it. This is the dissem- ination of information into the social system. Rogers called this stage “awareness.” Fullan and Stiegelbauer (1991) do not address it directly. Becher and Maclure (1978) define this introductory phase as “the process of a conscious, systematic strategy for promulgating new ideas” (p. 110). The dissemination stage often precedes efforts to adopt the innovation imme- diately. In many schools, the compulsion to adopt or implement every new idea is strong (Fullan & Stiegelbauer, 1991; Sarason, 1990). Administrators are usually the proponents of rapid adoption and when they feel a strong “ownership” of an innovation, they typically categorize other school members as “supporters” or as “resisters” (Fullan, 1992). This creates conflict between individuals. In reality, however, immediate adoption and acceptance of new ideas occur very rarely, for the organizational forces, traditions, and norms for maintaining the present order are powerful deterrents to new ideas becoming embedded in the organizational culture (Wilson & Daviss, 1994). 39 The process of creating awareness of an innovation and disseminating information about it is the first stage in the innovation process, whether the new idea is the intellectual property of an administrator or that of a teacher. Most often, individuals become more aware of a change when change agents introduce them to the relative merits of the innovation (Dearing, Meyer & Kazmierczak, 1993; Major, 1980). Change agents generate interest in a new idea through interpersonal communications: talking to peOple informally, writing and sending letters and notes, and introducing and explaining the innovation at formal and informal meetings and gatherings (Cialdini, 1988; Kipnis, Schmidt, & Wilkinson, 1980). People may often mistake this flurry of activity from a few organizational members as “support” and assume that the school is ready and willing to implement the new idea (Fullan, 1992). T :ml ai The next stage of the innovation process, implementation, is much debated by educational theorists. For the purpose of this study, I define it as the local decisions and choices, explicit or implicit, on ways to put an innovation into practice (Berman & McLaughlin, 1975). This definition implies that planning is also a part of implementing, that the two functions interrelate and occur simultaneously. The problems inherent in the implementation stage are profound, deep-seated, and often insurmountable. In transforming the innovation from idea to reality, the innovation itself is on trial. New procedures and activities identified during the dissemination or initiation stage must now move from ideas on paper or in people’s heads to making adjustments in the present practices of the organization. It is during implementation that conflicts may arise (Rosenholtz, 1989). The risks of the innovation not being adopted, getting lost, or being distorted are very great. It is 4O entirely possible that the innovation will be dramatically and substantively modified or that the organization will reexamine and change its own purpose for existing in order to accommodate the innovation. Since improvement generates many complex problems, successful change requires deep coping solutions on the part of the original planners who must be assertive, persistent, and tenacious in order to turn the innovation from a problem into a solution (Louis & Miles, 1991). As Sarason (1995) points out, the implementation of an innovation, even if the change is fully understood and well- planned, does not guarantee that it will survive intact. Implementation perspectives from verious levels: During the implementation stage, people at different levels of the educational hierarchy look at the innovation from their different points of view. For administrators, it is imperative to find a good fit for the innovation in the local setting, to provide ongoing technical and institutional support, and to stabilize and routinize the innovation in such a way that the innovation is incorporated into the existing training, budget, and policy cycles. Administrators are conserned with keeping the innovation intact while changing the practices of teachers using it. Teachers, on the other hand, are more concerned with the demands made by the innovation on their current skills and on the way they run their classrooms. They foresee challenges in getting the initial and ongoing assistance they need, finding the time and energy required to become experts in the new practices, and smoothly incorporating the new ideas into their teaching (Huberman & Miles, 1984). Teachers are more concerned with manipulating or massaging the innovation to fit their own work styles. These differing priorities may create conflicts that are never resolved. Corbett, Dawson, and Firestone (1984), for example, found that antipathy between teachers and administrators and among teachers 41 played in important part in determining curriculum changes before the changes were even implemented. Simply implementing school change is not enough: One also has to be mindful of people’s perceptions, understanding, and motivations. II II' III 'lilll. Complicating the problems of the innovation’s fragility during implementation may be problems associated with organizational governance, resource allocation, and mechanisms and processes by which people communicate and interact with each other. Organizational structure is said to have a tremendous effect on the successful implementation of an innovation (Wheatley, 1992). “Ideas whose time has come are no guarantee that we know how to capitalize on the opportunities, because the process of implementation requires an understanding of the setting in which these ideas have to take root” (Sarason, 1990, p. 99). Implementation problems can occur when the organizational structure of the school is modified with no corresponding change in the attitudes and behaviors of teachers (Katz & Kahn, 1966). When people in the organization are confused about how to merge the new idea with their current understandings or when they resist altering their relationships with others, there is little chance that the innovation will succeed unless solutions are found to these problems. Individuals may find they have to make radical changes to technological and procedural systems or to both of these simultaneously. In fact, the earmark of successful implementation is that structural arrangements are made that will accommodate the innovation (Sergiovanni, 1987). Implementation must be sustained over time so that the innovation becomes a part of the organizational culture (Miles, 1983). 42 In looking back over the literature, I wonder: Can this stage of the innovation process be planned for and guided, or is it a matter of fate, fortune, or good timing? Are there precepts and guidelines that a change agent could learn and follow to ensure that implementation is successful? How does an innovation become part of an organization’s culture? This brings me to the next stage in the innovation process: institutionalization. T Thir : In i i naliz ion of lnnovstjpn Institutionalization is the “routinization” of new ideas (Hage & Aiken, 1970, cited in Rosenholtz, 1989), the “continued, sustained implementation” (Zald & Berger, 1983) and the “incorporation” of innovation into the system (Berman & McLaughlin, 1975). Institutionalization is the successful acceptance and adoption of ideas by a majority of organizational members: the stable, permanent, widespread use of a well- designed innovation that has a positive effect on the target population (Huberman & Miles, 1984). While it may be true that some radical innovations are more easily accommodated if the organizational environment and climate allow for easy routinization of new ideas, the literature suggests that all innovations are difficult to institutionalize (Damanpour; 1988; Kanter, 1988). It may be necessary for sufficient time to elapse wherein organizational members become familiar with the idea of the innovation and no longer regard it as alien or unorthodox. The time it takes to institutionalize an innovation is usually unpredictable (Quinn & Cameron, 1988; Rogers, 1983). Organizational leaders play a significant role in the successful institution- alization of innovation, for their direction and support are vital to the continued attention that must be given to the innovation. Other factors such as communication 43 between organizational members and the processes by which organizational actors make decisions regarding use of the innovation or its byproducts may influence change. Successful institutionalization, while not clearly understood, is generally predicated upon a majority of organizational members using the innovation (Curry, 1991). We do not understand how the tide of organizational opinion turns from resistance to acceptance of innovation (Curry, 1992; Goodman, Bazerman & Conlon, 1980). Researchers know an innovation has been institutionalized when they see it embedded in the organization, but they find it difficult to identify signs that this is happening. We know a great deal, for example, about the internal feelings and overt behaviors of individuals undergoing change: withdrawal, mourning, grief, enthusiasm, excitement, disengagement, disorientation, etc. (Gould, 1978; Hopson & Adams, 1977; Marris, 1974). We assume that as time passes, any disruptive behaviors, feelings and opinions about the innovation will die away (Leeds, 1964), leaving only a residue of these behaviors and feelings which might surface in stories and myths that become part of the organizational culture (Kanter, 1988; Smircich & Morgan, 1987). This may be the most obvious sign of institutionalization: that two or more individuals adopt the new behaviors over time (Goodman et al., 1980). It is therefore appropriate to ask: Is institutionalization only a function of time and familiarity or are there other factors and conditions that determine how an idea becomes part of the organization? What is the precise point when it can be said that an innovation is institutionalized? In school settings, Sarason (1971, 1982) has pointed out that efforts to improve schools and to institutionalize changes were inadequate unless there were deep, fundamental changes in the school’s culture. He suggests that, because schools traditionally have had no mechanisms to aid members in recognizing and discussing the beliefs and assumptions that comprise their cultures, school cultures seldom changed; 44 moreover, because these cultures resisted change, innovations were seldom institutionalized. Reflections on the Innovation Process Theories of dissemination, implementation, and institutionalization of an innovation are the basis for my thinking about the diffusion of innovations in school systems. As such, these theories underlie this research on innovation. Rogers and Shoemaker’s theory of the diffusion of innovation in social systems (1971) parallels Fullan and Stiegelbauer’s theory of diffusion of innovation within an educational setting (1991). Both theories form the framework within which I analyze the meanings of events as they transpired at Western High School. However, neither theory adequately explains the strategies of influence and persuasion that change agents may employ to make others in the organization aware of a new idea and to encourage them to support it, nor do these theories illuminate institutionalization of innovations. Furthermore, while Rogers’ theory emphasizes the perspective of individual adopters, and while Fullan’s emphasizes a more distanced organizational perspective, neither considers the innovation process from the change agent’s perspective. It is possible that clarification of the innovator’s perspective will be crucial to an understanding of innovation, for the innovator cultivates relationships with certain individuals within and outside the school and makes decisions about behaving and acting to push an innovation forward. Therefore, developing an understanding of educational innovation from the change agent’s perspective may add to our understanding of the innovation diffusion process and help to flesh out our understanding of the social and psychological effects of innovation on the change agents as much as on the adopters. 45 Researchers (Aiken, Bacharach, & French, 1980; Kimberly, 1981) note that we know very little about important components of the innovation process, such as the role that interpersonal influence may play, despite the fact that influence appears to significantly affect an innovation's successful adoption (Tornatzky, Eveland, Boyland, Hetzner, Johnson, Roitman & Schneider, 1983; Nord & Tucker, 1987). Even less is known about how change happens when the innovator is not among those on the top rungs of the organizational ladder. In these cases, attempts to introduce innovation may be complicated by the fact that innovators at subordinate levels do not always know what the consequences are, to themselves or to the organization, when they propose a change. Acceptance of routine innovations implies that little in the organization is threatened if the innovation is implemented; radical innovation, on the other hand, may call for significant and substantial changes on personal, professional, and organizational levels. How does the teacher change agent make such changes? The answer, or a partial answer, may lie in understanding the socialization processes of school teachers. SOCIALIZATION Just as innovators try to create an atmosphere where others will become familiar with a new idea so that it becomes part of the organization, so does the organization try to socialize its members so that they become a part of it. This leads to an examination of the literature on socialization and the implications for change agents. In this section, I also consider the literature on personal risks that an individual might face in being a change agent. Researchers suggest that organizations consciously and deliberately socialize their members by spelling out their regulations and procedures for acceptable employee 46 behavior as part of the recruitment, selection, and orientation of all new employees. As newcomers enter the organization and become active participants, they learn what are appropriate and inappropriate organizational and social activities, as well as how to behave, how to dress and comport themselves, whom to impress, whom to ignore, who controls resources, and how to get along with others in the organization (Ferguson, 1984; Marsick, 1987; Trice & Beyer, 1987; Van Maanen & Schein, 1977; Watkins & Wiswell, 1987). These responses are learned in a variety of ways: Employees observe veterans, listen to their supervisors, read organizational literature, and act as protégés to mentors, etc. (Marsick, 1987; Porter, Allen & Angle, 1981, cited in Cummings & Staw, 1992). New employees become part of an organization by learning the organization's culture, values, and the formal and informal rules of behavior (Schein, 1988; Van Maanen, 1976, 1978, 1986). In examining socialization from a cultural perspective, I rely on Geertz's (1973) view whereby culture is seen as shaping and being shaped by social interactions and communications among organizational members. In these interactions and communications, members of the organization also learn the norms: the unwritten standards of behavior about what is good or bad, allowed or forbidden, right or wrong. These norms may be explicit or implicit and represent guidelines for behavior. Traditional views on organizational socialization assume employees are reactive or passive beings who learn necessary information about acceptable and unacceptable behavior and seldom, if ever, question it. Other theories of socialization take different points of view. One line of research suggests that traditional socialization theory has overemphasized the organization’s perspective on socialization and underemphasized the individual’s initiative and involvement in these learning experiences (Bullis & Bach, 1989). One emerging theory of socialization, for example, looks at employee 47 socialization as a function of managers who influence worker commitment to the organization and to its goals throughout the employee’s entire employment history (Note, 1988). If we pursue the implications of this line of thinking, socialization emerges less as a process of newcomers’ passively learning the rules and norms of the organization than of individuals’ active experimentation with and a possible manipulation of such rules and norms. From this perspective, individual behavior in organizations is not a matter of rote learning. What adults learn is based on “scripts” which employees use to make sense of their places in the organization. Such scripting also helps individuals to organize and assess what they believe is appropriate behavior and helps them to predict the consequences of certain actions (Ashforth & Fried, 1988). From this perspective, individuals are constantly being socialized by organizational forces, and their understanding of the appropriateness or inappropriateness of their behaviors undergoes continuous reexamination and reconsideration that does not end with the conclusion of their formal orientation period. This view of socialization presumes that organizational norms for acceptable behavior are not fashioned solely by the organization but are a function of individuals continuously responding to their understanding of their places in that organization. Learning the Norms If the purpose of socialization is to make organizational newcomers and residents functioning or compliant members, then it is possible that the process may go awry. There are employees who do not complete the socialization process (Cloward, 1959; Graham, 1986; Trice & Beyer, 1987). There are employees who do not immerse themselves entirely into full and unquestioning acceptance of established forms of 48 behavior called for by a particular organizational culture (Cloward & Ohlin, 1960; Mugwy, 1982). When we study the process of socialized behaviors from the perspective of adult learning theory, we begin to understand just how informal, personal, and unplanned the learning of socialized behaviors can be (Marsick, 1987). Self-directed learning theorists point out that learners have some personal choice in the type, extent, and nature of learning which they seek (Brookfield, 1985). Pe0ple learn in a variety of ways and what they learn as part of their socialization process may not be what the organization expects them to learn; learning is not always controllable. Learning how to follow or not to follow the norms, learning when to give voice and when to remain silent, is neither simple nor easy. Learners do not always know what they need to know at the time they need to know it. They may file new information away without ever acting on it. They may also interpret new experiences incorrectly, a phenomenon called “oppressive socialization,” that is, the internalization of erroneous beliefs which can impair one‘s ability to critically reflect on them. The result of oppressive socialization is not disloyalty but diminished autonomy (Benson, 1991). Employee socialization is best described as a process of reflection, inquiry, practice, intuition, and sense-making that is much more complex than a simple progression from acquaintanceship to membership in the organization (Argyris, 1982, 1992; Marsick, 1987; Schein, 1988). Throughout their history and association with an organization, employees exercise a great deal of discretion in how and from whom they learn, and, for the most part, an organization permits them a wide latitude in what they learn. Adult learning theory, therefore, parallels and confirms the theories of socialization regarding the lively nature of employees’ creativity as they learn about their work lives. 49 When employees acquire skills and knowledge so as to become fully socialized members of their organizations, they are learning conformance, the term given to the activities and thinking of individuals who are learning the organizational culture, who maintain the organization's overall mission, and who publicly and privately adhere to the organization’s norms (Sirotkin & Oakes, 1986). Conforming individuals do not challenge or upset the status quo, undermine the organization’s value system, or cause discontent or disagreement among other organizational residents (Lee, Ashford, Walsh & Mowday, 1992; Van Maanen, 1976, 1986; Van Maanen & Schein, 1977). Schein (1988) suggests that organizational socialization carries with it two dangers. The first is the danger of overconformity, of making mindless functionaries or stereotypical bureaucrats out of organizational members. Overconformists unquestioningly carry out orders from above, regardless of ethical or moral considerations. The second danger is the perpetration of indiscriminate rebellion, wherein certain nonconforming individuals carry their lack of conformity to such lengths that they seek to overthrow their own organization. Between the two extremes, and most advantageous for both the individual and the organization, is the organizational response Schein calls "creative individualism,“ wherein an individual accepts certain pivotal norms and values, but rejects others. Schein (1988) provides a typology of norms that is based on the nature of organization responses to norms. Pivotal norms are crucial to the survival of the organization. Fleferent norms are idiosyncratic to a subgroup or to a particular job function, not to the organization as a whole. Peripheral norms are casual, sometimes forgotten or excused, or are less vital to the maintenance of order. Of course, each organization has different norms and rules for behavior. If an individual violates peripheral norms, there may be few or no consequences. The relative importance of 5 0 norms is determined by the degree of punishment accorded to individuals who violate them (Schein, 1988; Van Maanen, 1978, 1984). Employees learn that certain norms can be violated, perhaps with deliberate calculation or, occasionally, with impunity: The point is that not all norms to which the new member is exposed are equally important for the organization. The social- ization process operates across the whole range of norms, but the amount of reward and punishment for compliance or noncom- pliance will vary with the importance of the norm. This variation allows the new member some degree of freedom in terms of how far to conform and allows the organization some degrees of freedom in how much conformity to demand (Schein, 1988, p. 59). Creative individuals, or nonconformists, may choose to ignore, digress from, or otherwise violate their organizations’ norms (Leeds, 1964). The literature distinguishes between nonconformists and deviants, who actively seek self-serving or distracting goals that are incompatible with the organization's (Graham, 1986). The nonconformist breaks some rules in the organization but not others, intending to achieve personal goals that closely reflect organizational ideals. Since organizations need members who complete organizational tasks and who conform to the norms as they are learned on the job, we might ask: What happens to organizational members when they learn and demonstrate nonconforming behaviors rather than conformance? Why are some nonconformists seen as creative individuals in one organization and as misfits in another? Like Schein, Hirschman (1970) speaks to this issue. He suggests that at any time during an individual’s association with the organization, that person may become dissatisfied with any number of management or work conditions. This may result in the individual leaving the organization, or staying and giving voice to the dissatisfaction. Administrators in particular may attribute the ways in which dissatisfied individuals give voice as being disloyal or anti-social (Schwartz, 1987). The degree to which these 51 individuals voice their dissatisfaction is determined in part by the strength of their dissatisfaction, the options and resources available, and the responses of the organization. The display of this perceived disloyalty may not be strong enough or sufficiently threatening for management to take action if the display is instigated by a single person. People in groups, however, may exhibit their dissatisfaction in much the same way as a single individual but with much more dramatic results. The organization usually takes notice of groups giving voice and has several alternatives: An organization may punish such offenders, change the conditions that caused the dissatisfaction, or co-opt it--an organizational response in which organizational processes and routines are not significantly altered and where protesters eventually are dispersed, their dissatisfaction absorbed (Leeds, 1964). Socialization processes and systems may lead, not to the growth of cohesive and uniform organizational cultures, but to disloyal subcultures (Nord & Tucker, 1987). Nonconformists achieving their goals in ways that depart dramatically from the norm may form a counterculture within the larger culture of the organization (Yinger, 1982). Nonconformance, then, may be a byproduct of organizational socialization and a serious concern for any organization, especially for schools and for teachers (Fullan, 1992; House, 1974; Smith et al., 1986). Most of the research on nonconformance concentrates on the organizational perspective, treating nonconformance as a negative response, as deviance, or as disloyal behavior (Hirschman, 1970; Kanter, 1983; 1988; Leeds, 1964; Nord & Tucker, 1987; Schein, 1988). However, some nonconformists may give voice to their dissatisfaction with existing conditions by selectively breaking cultural norms while remaining a part of the organization. More pertinent to this study, the research 52 literature just reviewed fails to give explicit attention to the nonconformance of change agents, whose nonconformance may be predicated on the grounds that such individuals offer a desirable and positive redirection of neglected organizational goals (Curry, _ 1992; Feldman, 1976, 1981; Feldman & Arnold, 1983; Hartzell, 1994; Louis, 1980; Nicholson, 1984). The theories about problematic socialization and organizational responses to it lead to additional questions: How do some individuals know which norms must never be broken, which might be bent, and which might be disregarded under certain circumstances? Can organizational norms be changed? If so, who changes them and how are they changed? Nonconformity, Innovation and the Risks Involved There appear to be close linkages between nonconformity and innovation (Agor, 1984; Amabile, 1983; Curry, 1992; Emmet, 1958; House, 1974). Nonconformists challenge the status quo, as do innovators who seek to introduce change into "stable" environments. The fact that many change agents openly admit to violating their organization's norms (Curry, 1992; Kanter, 1988) compels us to explore the relationship between change agency, nonconformance and their potential repercussions. Innovators face potential dangers in advocating the adoption of an innovation. We know little about the personal risks to teachers as innovators, but may be able to better understand what these risks are by considering the experiences of change agents in fields other than education. Change agents may find that while some organizational cultures and climates may make it easy for members to introduce and implement innovation, other cultures do not (Becker & Geer, 1966; Berger & Grimes, 1973; Frost, Moore, Louis, Lundberg & 53 Martin, 1985). The latter is more common in deliberately managed bureaucracies with rigid, vertical hierarchies and closely centralized decision-making (Leeds, 1964; Nord & Tucker, 1987). Employees in the profit sector, for example, who have a compulsion to push forward a new idea will sometimes chafe under the bureaucracy and red tape of their organizations (Kanter, 1988). Some employees feel “strait-jacketed” by the delays (Van Maanen, 1976, cited in Dubin, 1976). These change agents may perceive organizational decision-making as moving “at a snail’s pace.” They may complain about the shortsightedness of their leaders and administrators. Change agents may step on organizational toes and intrude on another’s organizational turf. When this occurs, the organizational members may be labeled whistle-blowers, troublemakers, or worse (Buono & Kamm, 1988; Jos, Tempkins & Hays, 1989; Schein, 1988). Change agents are sometimes seen as advocating that the old order be abolished. This dismantling or "unlearning" can be very difficult for an existing organization (Jernier, Slocum, Fry & Gaines, 1991). One of the risks, then, is that change agents may find other organizational members with whom they interact are ambivalent and uncertain "how to respond“ to the changes or to the change agents. There is a growing awareness of the psychological costs the change agent incurs when attempting to fit an innovation into established work environments (Sarason, 1995; Fullan, 1993; 1994; 1995). Teacher change agents are apt to face the same challenges with the same risks as other innovators. In probing this further, it is essential to understand the context of normative behaviors in which teachers live and work. If nonconformance is implicit in a change agent’s make-up, then a teacher change agent must know which are the ropes to jump and which are the ropes to skip. 54 Teacher Norms and Nonconformance Some research suggests that the bureaucratic glue that holds many schools together may be weak, for there is minimal hierarchical surveillance of teachers’ daily work. In contrast, a school’s organizational culture may be very strong (Weick, 1976). Teachers, like members of other organizations, shape their beliefs and actions largely in conformance with the structures, policies, and traditions of their workaday world. Teachers come to define their workday realities through a set of shared assumptions about appropriate attitudes and behaviors they construct from their overt and latent experiences (Bandura, 1977). Meanings of work are exchanged, negotiated, and modified through the communications teachers and administrators have with or the observations they make of others (Clark, 1987, cited in Tierney & Rhoads, 1994). Thus, teachers learn through everyday interactions how to name and classify things, and in that process they learn how they are expected to behave with reference to those things (Berger & Luckmann, 1966, cited in Rosenholtz, 1989). The currency of information new teachers collect comes directly from colleagues and-principals who, by way of examples, symbols, stories, or advice communicate the “correct” ideas, values, goals, and ways of thinking and behaving. The research literature suggests that the norms for teacher behavior are easy to identify. For example, teachers typically are deeply and personally committed to their roles as teachers and as shapers of young minds (Kanter, 1983). Teachers are also, the research indicates, self-reliant, independent, and deeply respectful of the profession’s ethic of individualism and of each other’s autonomy (Fullan, 1992). The literature also suggests that teachers develop and use subtle strategies to try to influence the domains of other teachers, without venturing into others’ classrooms for the presentation of lessons 55 (Fullan, 1992; Wilson & Daviss, 1994). Teachers may influence each other in their lesson planning and adoption of new teaching techniques and styles, but occasions for teacher collaboration other than these are unusual (McPherson, 1986). Such occasional contacts do not spring spontaneously out of teachers’ mutual respect and concern for each other but have to be planned and organized. The same is true for involving teachers in decision-making processes in the school. Principals have to structure such involvement by frequently inviting teachers to include themselves in substantive decision-making issues affecting other faculty. At some schools, time is set aside for meetings of administrators and faculty where joint planning, problem-solving, and decision-making can occur (Rosenholtz, 1989). Communications through meetings, committees, and discussion groups in place in most schools are the mechanisms by which teachers interact with each other. These interactions form a mirror for communications for the school (Rosenholtz, 1989). Adhering to the norms of the school permits a teacher to fit into the existing school culture. Strong bonds form among people in the school when norms are sustained (Owens, 1987, cited in Shieve & Schoenheit, 1987). Teachers, like other socialized organizational members, are perceived as being rewarded or punished depending upon whether they adhere to the normative culture. These rewards come in different guises. Teachers may receive the principal’s permission to expend school funds for a desired project. A school board member may compliment a teacher publicly. Teachers may win the support of parents and students. Teachers may be rewarded for improvements they make in their own classrooms but they are not always rewarded for proposing schoolwide innovations that affect other teachers or that may disrupt existing school systems and cultures (Fullan & Stiegelbauer, 1991; Marris, 1974). When a teacher proposes a radical innovation, 56 introducing and implementing the innovation may be compatible with teacher norms, and the innovation may fit easily into the culture of the school. It is more likely, however, that the innovation will not fit so smoothly: Introducing the new idea and trying to implement it may present a serious personal risk to the teacher change agent in a system that already functions to avoid ambivalence and uncertainty (Chin & Benne, 1969; Fullan, 1992; Rosenholtz, 1989). Teacher change agents, then, may face personal risks in advocating a change, for teachers as innovators are likely to violate the norms and to threaten organizational relationships between members. In concluding this section, I have attempted to summarize the theories of sociali- zation of organizational members as they relate to teachers as change agents. Organ- izations “ask” for member compliance in order for work processes to flow smoothly and without significant disruption. Socialization implies that organizational newcomers and residents learn their place in the organizational culture. Most of this learning concen- trates on the learning of conforming behaviors, whereas creativity and individualism may be predicated upon the learning of nonconforming behaviors. It is possible that the means by which compliant individuals Ieam conforming behaviors are the same means by which nonconformists learn nonconformance: by discovering the nature of rewards or punishments for observance or nonobservance of norms, among other things. Since by its nature an innovation is unorthodox, innovators must also learn enough about the internal workings of their organizations to promote and sustain their unorthodoxy within an environment designed to eliminate it. During a time of innovation what may appear to be an employee’s act of disloyalty may also be that individual’s experiment with innovation: He or she may be testing out a new idea or concept using organizational resources in unexpected and unusual ways. The change agent is therefore likely to cause some organizational stress. Some change agents face personal risks, as when social, 57 collegial, or professional relationships are threatened. Some of these risks are organi- zational, such as the failure of the change agent to convince the organization to adopt and implement the innovation. The change agent’s effort may also be absorbed into or co- opted by the organization. A teacher change agent may face similar negative reper- cussions for teacher norms in schools are very strong and resilient (Fullan, 1992). The research does not deal substantively with the issues of the management of change agency or the repercussions that advocating change may have on the innovator. We know little about the nonconformance of teacher change agents, or about the potential problems they face in proposing or implementing an innovation within a school setting. Yet the ways in which a teacher change agent seeks out other organizational participants and tries to garner their support for the innovation are crucial to the innovation process. In the next section, I examine the literature relating to organizational communication strategies that a change agent might use. Like other organizational mechanisms, the use of communication channels and processes is regulated by organizational norms, and a teacher change agent may comply with or violate these norms as well. COMMUNICATION STRATEGIES OF CHANGE AGENTS Once an innovator has a new idea and decides to promote it, he or she is challenged by the question of how to foster its development within the organization and how to influence the organizational “elite” to divert time, energy, and resources that are earmarked for other projects. The process of innovation in any organization or social system is a function of power. “The success of an innovation is highly dependent on the amount and kind of power behind it (Kanter, 1988, p. 183). Power is defined is the 58 ossession of control, authority, or influence over others (Pfeffer, 1981). Schools and chool systems are political organizations, but not always studied as such. “With but a w exceptions, when political scientists have looked at schools, their descriptions and walyses have been centered on matters of policy and not on the uses and allocation of awer” (Sarason, 1990, p. 78). Hess (1992), Sarason (1990), and Popkewitz (1991) see school reform and novations in schools as changes and shifts in the power structure, its meaning, and 'ocesses. Klein (1991) sees innovation in terms of political negotiation, compromise, id alliance-building. Morgan (1986) suggests that the “dominance theory” of ganizations presumes that power is wielded by people in executive and managerial isitions, but individuals and groups at other levels can leverage their influence on ase at the top. Frost & Egri (1991) suggest that the interplay of power and politics 1ong the individual, intraorganizational, and interorganizational levels are integral to termining the eventual success or failure of a proposed innovation. Change agents usually need to convince top administrators, immediate pervisors, colleagues, even people outside the organization to adopt a new idea (Kipnis al., 1980; Kipnis & Vanderveer, 1971). Innovators may have to venture outside the ganization to garner support before they approach insiders (Kotler & Roberto, 39). At some point in the innovation process, change agents at subordinate levels will ad to contact and associate with people at higher levels. In an earlier section of this apter, I referred to the power inherent in the principalship and in teacher positions a school. Teachers, as I mentioned, often perceive the principal as having a great deal power and do not recognize their own ability to effect meaningful change. When indiv- als lack formal authority (such as that associated with administration), they are ely to employ indirect methods to communicate with others because they perceive that “I‘m-Iii . ' ‘l J 59 0 other power base is available to them (Cody & McLaughlin, 1985). They cannot irectly control the allocation of resources or disperse rewards or punishments that light be used to influence others. It seems likely that teachers, who perceive them- alves as working “under the principal,” would be more likely to use persuasion rategies that did not endanger their relationships with their principals. By “persuasion” I mean the conscious attempt to influence another, to induce a range in the attitudes, beliefs, or behavior of another through the transmission of some essage (Bettingham & Cody, 1987). The use of persuasion, unlike coercion or force, uplies that the individual being persuaded has some measure of freedom to accept the ew idea1 (O’Keefe, 1990). The use of such communication strategies is designed to duce organizational members’ uncertainty and to encourage them to try out and accept 9 innovation (Fidler & Johnson, 1984). To influence others, the innovator may rely on his or her personal reputation, a enomenon known as “communicator credibility” (Berlo, Lemert & Mertz, 1969). If ange agents are personable and charismatic, they are more apt to attract followers otter, 1985; Trice & Beyer, 1986). If change agents are perceived to be trust- irthy, the innovation is more likely to be adopted by larger numbers of supporters anter, 1988; Rogers, 1983). digress here to attend to the moral or ethical considerations of persuasion strategies. oted earlier that the goodness or harm inherent in an innovation might not be recog- ed until the innovation process has been completed. The same may be true for com- inication strategies: It is very possible that communication strategies intended to imote good ideas are the same as those used to promote poor ideas. For example, a .cher writing a letter to the principal threatening to resign unless more money is ant on new textbooks may be seen as an indication of a teacher’s courage in taking a nd for the students’ best interests. A letter from the same teacher addressed to the lOOl board and falsely accusing the principal of sexual harassment may be seen as loyal and aberrant behavior. In both instances the same communication strategy is ad. Persuasion strategies in themselves are not value-laden although actions resulting n them may be. 60 The success of an innovation is undoubtedly dependent on the nature and number of supporters. Researchers have observed that close interpersonal contacts and connec- tedness via interpersonal communication channels in an organization are positively related to the rate of innovation adoption (Rogers & Shoemaker, 1971; Tushman, 1977) A comparison of over 115 innovations found in the successful ones a set of allies, often peers from other areas as well as more senior managers, behind successful innovations, ranging from the “stakeholders” who would be affected if the project was implemented to the “power sources" who contributed the tools to ensure that imple- mentation (Kanter, 1988, p. 183). There are a variety of communication strategies available to “sell” potential idopters or supporters on the benefits of an innovation. Mere exposure to a new idea, or example, is a strong and robust persuasion strategy (Perloff, 1993), and frequent, epeated, and consistent exposure to a new idea is particularly likely to enhance avorable attitudes (Bornstein, 1989b). Simple exposure or awareness-building iessages are, however, effective only in the introduction phase of innovation: These ressages lose their effectiveness during implementation and institutionalization phases Rogers & Shoemaker, 1971). Other strategies change agents might employ are apitalizing on personal friendships with a supervisor or administrator or negotiating »r the exchange of favors (Allen & Porter, 1983; Mowday, 1978). Sometimes inno- 1tors will make appeals based on general principles to the heads of an organization or ill commission emissaries to plead a case before authority figures (Allen & Porter, l83; Dearing et al., 1993; Kanter, 1988). .The type of strategy used depends upon the perceived differences in power etween the change agent and the person who controls the desired resources, ‘ormation, or other desired elements (Frost, 1987). Innovators may attempt to use ;.'-l av- 61 lre unorthodox means than relying on personal contacts, negotiating for favors, or Ing emissaries, particularly if listeners initially turn a deaf ear to innovators’ pleas. these cases, change agents may consider violating organizational norms in order to luence others. Several questions follow: Which communication strategies have the st chance of achieving the desired results? What are the factors that contribute to a ange agent's decision to use these particular strategies and not others? When does a ange agent adopt strategies that do not conform to the norms? What do others think of 3? Is this nonconformance effective? Introducing Innovations Influence and persuasion strategies are a pervasive aspect of organizational life anter, 1983). Persuasion is context-bound, and different influence strategies are .ely to be used by change agents in different situations and at different times ’errault & Miles, 1978; Schenck-Hamlin, Georgacarakos & Wiseman, 1982). Persuasive presentations of new ideas can take many forms. One change agent ay inform others about the innovation, then ask an administrator to call an open ,eeting of others in the organization for more help in thinking and tinkering with the ea. Another change agent may work in secret, carefully refining and shaping the Inovation until it is "ready" to be demonstrated or pilot tested. A third might join one r two colleagues in private, shape the innovation, then spring the fully-formed product n the rest of the organization. Recent literature suggests that the communication trategies that innovators use are determined by available resources, their objectives, ,nd their expectations of success (Kipnis, Schmidt, Swaffin-Smith & Wilkinson, 984). It is possible that we should add to this list of determinants the degree to which 62 the persuasion strategies used conform to the norms for socialized behaviors of people in an organization. If a radical innovation is being proposed, it presents a more complex dilemma to the change agent than does a routine innovation that is easily implemented. A radical change will affect different people in different ways, so the change agent must tailor his or her approach to appeal to each audience (Cialdini, 1988; Boster, Rodriguez, Gurz & Marshall, 1995). Innovators may need to contact people with established interests or ones who can remove stumbling blocks. Change agents may need to confront and cajole ardent adversaries or neutral individuals. Each of these implies a need to customize iifferent messages about the innovation to different audiences. This ‘may weaken the orcefulness of a change agent’s appeals. Consequently, innovators must select and use :ommunication strategies with care and discretion. One of the purposes of this dissertation is to identify the communication trategies a teacher change agent in a secondary school used to recruit supporters for an movation and to cultivate interest in it and how she transformed the innovation from lea into reality in this school. Another aim of this dissertation is to understand how the eacher change agent (or agents) selected and made use of established communication ~lannels and the extent to which these conformed or violated the established 'ganizational norms in place in the school. Influence Upward from a Mid-Level Change Agent Strategies aimed at administrators and other school officials may be especially portant to teacher change agents. I define “upward influence” as attempts by Ibordinates in the formal organizational structure to persuade individuals at higher Jels toward decisions and actions that might not represent what the higher-level 63 ndivlduals are accustomed to thinking or doing (Porter, Allen & Angle, 1981). Frost & Egri (1991) posit that for social and administrative innovations, the only viable >olitical strategy is one of “seeking and securing permission” (p.261). According to leveral researchers, the ability of change agents at subordinate levels to influence leople in control may be an essential component of these persons’ effectiveness in ealizing their goals for innovation (Brass, 1985; Frost & Egri, 1991; Gabarro, 1979; ’elz, 1952; Schilit & Locke, 1982). One problem for the organizational innovator, men, is to get the powers-that-be to pay attention: The consensual importance of this topic has been reflected in an abundance of research on downward influence processes, under such general frameworks as leadership, and lateral influence processes as treated in the literatures on group dynamics or socialization. Unfortunately, research on downward influence has not been balanced by a proportional concern for upward influence (Porter et al., 1981, p. 109). Lateral And Downward Influence Strategies Using upward influence strategies is only a part of the implementation process ' change agents. The literature suggests that mid-level innovators must also direct mmunications laterally, to others in similar positions or at the same organizational 'el as they are, and downward to subordinates. These strategies are equally crucial to e adoption of an innovation (Belkin, 1989). One theory suggests that a common lateral ategy is coalition-building, or the recruitment and maintenance of a team of >porters (Belkin, 1989; Kanter, 1989; Yukl & Tracy, 1992). This line of research jgests that isolated individuals, operating independently, rarely succeed in :omplishing innovation, for their presence is often viewed with distrust or is avoided others (House, 1974; Rogers, 1981). Organizational innovation is more successful Tanaged by a team, with a single champion proposing the idea and several others 64 asterminding selected aspects of implementation and transacting “the business of novation” with allies, peers, managers, and outsiders who have a stake in the outcome lelkin, 1989; Ferguson, 1984; Heany, 1990; Kanter, 1988). There are several advantages to having team or group support for an innovation. novators who mobilize supporters both inside and outside the organization can have "amatic effects. Groups may yield better and stronger solutions to problems that arise implementation than those who work alone (Kanter, 1988; Leeds, 1964). Group >nconformity is more difficult for certain types of organizations to control (Kanter, 383, 1988; Leeds, 1964). The organization can put more pressure on a maverick range agent, who lacks the protection that comes from a network of supportive >lleagues, than it can on a group (Leeds, 1964). A group’s chances of successfully lplementing an innovation are greater than a single individual’s. While innovation groups in education do exist, there is a scarcity of information )out their formation, especially if their members come from different social, 'ganizational, or political bodies. The teacher change agents who first advocate new eas may need to become leaders of these innovation teams, and this necessitates that ey develop leadership skills in settings other than in the management of classrooms. To begin building an innovation team, the research literature on innovation ffusion suggests that a lone change agent first talks to people and asks for help with troducing or implementing the innovation or a part of it (Kotler & Roberto, 1989). uring the implementation stage, the number of people in the team may help to apply 'oup pressure and give reinforcement to potential adopters (Asch, 1951). But little (ists on why some communication strategies are employed at certain times in the novation process and why other strategies are never employed (Major, 1980). 65 The literature on persuasion and influence does not specify which influence strategies are especially useful at certain stages of the implementation process (Gabarro, 1979; Perloff, 1993). This is particularly true of the theory of educational innovation. In fact, very little data exists as to how change agents communicate with other supporters or, for that matter, with resisters; how innovation teams are formed; and why some teams succeed while others do not. There remains room in the literature for analyses of communication strategies used in the innovation process. Therein lies he heart of this study. SUMMARY This dissertation was framed in the context of four literatures, each casting a ifferent light on innovation in organizations. These include: (1) the literatures on rganizational innovation and innovators, particularly those in education; (2) the erature on the innovation process with emphasis on separate stages and phases of troduction, implementation and adoption; (3) the literature on nonconformance of lange agents as part of the organizational socialization process; and (4) the literature 1 communication strategies used by change agents to create awareness and interest in an lovation among organizational members. I integrated these literatures into an compassing conceptual framework to guide my examination of teacher change agents at astern High School, the site of this study. Proposals to innovate and to reform schools often fail and this may be associated 1 a number of factors--for example, federal, state, or local mandates to implement ool reforms without attention to their local fit, or governance and power structures ch present obstacles to change agents in administrative or policy-making positions. 66 Organizations typically resist threats to their stability; innovation may present just such a threat. Cultures and organizational structures are not easily changed to accommodate new ideas and ways of working. Individuals such as top-ranking administrators and individual teachers may have the power to effect change, though they may not be able to bring about such changes easily. Teachers as change agents may perceive themselves as having less power than principals and therefore less ability to effect schoolwide change. The process of innovation may be difficult and time-consuming regardless of who proposes it. Various theories have been proposed to explain the diffusion of an innovation (Fullan, 1992; Fullan & Stiegelbauer, 1991; Rogers & Shoemaker, 1971; Rogers, 1983; 1995). Rogers explains innovation from the adopters’ perspective and as progressing through discrete stages of awareness, interest, mental trial, and finally, adoption or rejection of the innovation. Fullan and Stiegelbauer analyze the innovation process from the organizational perspective: from the introduction or adoption of an idea through its implementation and finally its institutionalization. The research literature does not address the diffusion of an innovation from the perspective of a teacher change agent. Innovation seems antithetical to socialized behaviors, where organizational members are learning to be functional members of the organization. As part of the socialization process, employees learn the norms of the organization and may learn conforming or nonconforming behaviors. There is a strong association between nonconformance and innovation (Leeds, 1964), and dissatisfied individuals may give voice to their discontent in ways that other organizational members perceive to be disloyal. This disloyalty, however, may be the individual’s attempt to introduce new ideas. When normative structures are very strong, such as the teacher norms in 67 schools, it may be very difficult for teacher innovators to propose innovations that are perceived as threatening to tradition and relationships with others in the school. Teachers who desire to generate change derive their power from their status as credible and visible teachers, not from their previous experiences as change agents (Fullan, 1993). As innovators, teachers may find different challenges in innovating than do administrators. Teachers may feel they lack the authority to mandate change and may be unaware of the processes by which innovations are adopted. In trying to push an innovation forward, change agents at subordinate levels may communicate upward to administrators, laterally to colleagues, and downward to their own subordinates. No matter what organizational level they are on, innovators are more likely to form alliances and teams with supporters to push an innovation forward. The communication strategies a change agent employs are designed to persuade others to adopt the innovation. However, the selection and use of certain communication strategies may present risks to the teacher change agent because the strategies may violate the norms of acceptable employee behavior. In the next chapter, I present the methodology I used to address the research questions, and I explain how I collected, organized, and analyzed the data in order to address those questions. CHAPTER THREE METHODOLOGY “Information informs us...and forms us." «Margaret Wheatley, Leadership and the New Science GENERAL APPROACH This chapter is as much about my own socialization at Western High School as it is about the methods used to collect and analyze data. The purpose of this study was to describe and analyze the introduction of a radical innovation as seen by a change agent without formal administrative power. It was to be an analysis of the communication strategies that the teacher change agent employed to persuade administrators and other faculty to adopt an innovation. The study used an ethnographic research methodology in a case study of a teacher change agent in a secondary school. I collected data using semi- structured and unstructured interviews, observations of study participants on site, and reviews of written documents pertaining to the innovation process I saw developing in the school. I then analyzed the data, formulating assertions based on linkages I discovered. This chapter outlines the procedures I followed through the research study and the factors, idiosyncrasies, and limitations that affected and influenced my approach. 68 6 9 RESEARCH QUESTIONS I began this research with the following questions, and I designed a case study that would provide a means of addressing them: 1. What is the nature of the change process from the point of view of the change agent when that person is not the chief administrator of a school? 2. How does the change agent him/herself see and make sense of the change relative to its effects on others? 3. How do others--colleagues, enclave members, or other staff in the organiza- tion--see and make sense of the change and the change agent? 4. What do the similarities and differences in these people’s perceptions and understandings of the change contribute to our understanding of change in small organizations? In order to help me consider these questions in relation to the particular site of study, Western High School, I focused the research questions as follows: 1. How did the teacher change agent, Carla Ensign, initiate and engage in organizational innovation at Western High School, given that she was not in a position of control over others, namely, her school administrator and department heads, and given that she had minimal power to direct other teachers’ work? 2. How did the teacher change agent communicate with the school’s principal, Diane Adams, with regard to inter-disciplinary teaching (IDT), the innovation Carla wanted Western’s teachers to adopt? 3. How did Carla Ensign communicate with other faculty at Western High School and with other school employees who were affected by IDT? 7O 4. Did Carla ever enlist others in the school to assist her in her efforts to get her innovation adopted, and if, so, how did she do this? 5. How did Carla Ensign interpret the principal’s responses and those of the other teachers regarding IDT? 6. Did the responses Carla received cause her to change her strategies regarding IDT in any way? ETHNOGRAPHY AS A RESEARCH APPROACH In designing this study, I looked for a research approach that would let me depict a change agent during the process of change. I wanted to gather “thick descriptive data” (Geertz, 1973) to form a "narrative essay" describing and analyzing the activities, feelings, and viewpoints of a change agent in a school setting. To my knowledge, this kind of on-site, insider perspective on the work of a change agent is rare in educational innovation studies. The innovator, not the innovation, is the key to this study. To the extent possible, I also wanted to examine the viewpoints of others working with her (or around her). Ethnographic research was my choice for a research approach, for it provides a methodology based on an assumption that directly relates to the type of research questions I had in mind (Bogdan & Biklen, 1992; Eisner & Peshkin, 1990; Erickson, 1986; Goetz & LeCompte, 1984). This approach suggests that human behavior is always bound to the context in which it occurs--frames it, in fact-~and that social reality cannot be reduced to variables in the same manner as physical reality. What was most important, for my study, was to find a research methodology that would permit me to understand and portray the meaning of events as they were constructed by the 71 participants involved in the school setting. In this way, I hoped to capture the “insider’s perspective” (Lowie, 1960). I knew this would be an intensely personal kind of research, one that admitted “the subjective perception and biases of both participants and researcher into the research frame” (Goetz & LeCompte, 1980, p. 95). The case study is a research method used to study selected phenomena in a single setting or in small numbers of settings (Yin, 1984; Yin, Bateman & Moore, 1983). Since I was searching for a method that would permit the study of one or more individuals within a single organization and since I sought to describe those subjects’ behaviors, viewpoints, feelings, and experiences in relation to those of others, a case study seemed most likely to produce the perspective I wanted. A case study also requires detailed examination and analysis of the actions of a few individuals in a single setting over a considerable period of time, as would be necessary if I wanted to document a teacher change agent’s activities in the introduction and implementation of an innovation in a school. Case study research always raises the question of generalizability and transferability. What is important about case study research is that it seeks to generalize to theory rather than to generalize to populations. A case study seeks to reveal the uniqueness of a research site, rather than the features of that site that are common to other sites (Donmoyer, 1992). Thus, although it is conceivable that certain elements of what I learned in my study site would illuminate my own and others’ understandings of related phenomena in other sites (Yin, 1984), it is more likely that the situation in a different site would vary from that of Western High School in particularistic ways (Erickson, 1986). The selection of a single case was also my personal choice for a research method. Working a case study would permit me to get to know the people at the school as real 72 people. The administrator and faculty members would not be simply disembodied voices on cassette tapes to be transcribed into written files, but people with identities, anxieties, longings, and passions created out of past histories and future hopes and dreams. As the study progressed, I found the research subjects became more than actors playing out roles on organizational stages, they became friends and colleagues whose comments and expressions of feelings revealed a poignancy that I found became stronger as the study continued. They engaged my sympathy, whether they were the persons proposing the innovation or the persons who were resisting it. This was a chance to probe deeply into their relationships, feelings, and actions. One possible concern with case study research, as with all research, is that a researcher’s preconceptions, values, even deeply ingrained biases strongly influence which behaviors he or she will observe and ignore, and the ways in which he or she will interpret such observations. Qualitative research, like all research, is value-bound and, for this reason, it is important for a researcher to clarify the roles that his or her values might play in a study. I would inescapably bring my own assumptions and beliefs to the research site: This could not help but shape my interpretations of the meaning of events as I witnessed them on site. To remind readers of this research reality, I used the first person voice, on occasion, throughout this report. I also wanted to limit inappropriate bias in this study. Later in this chapter I describe the precautions I took against such problems in the collection and analysis of the data. 73 RESEARCH DESIGN AND PROCEDURES The most common means by which a researcher using an ethnographic approach collects data is through observations, interviews, and analysis of documents and related artifacts. These are often recorded in fieldnotes and transcripts. About two-thirds of the data for this study came from interviews and the rest from observations of subjects. A very small portion, about five per cent, came from review of written documents. All the data were collected between February and July, 1994. Mid the Site and 19 Research Subjects Prior to beginning data collection, I secured permission from the high school principal, the chief officer of the school, to conduct research in the school with herself and other school employees as subjects. We discussed the school’s participation verbally and she followed up with a written letter of agreement to participate. l have this letter in my confidential research files. With the principal’s permission, I introduced the project to the teachers and administrators at a Friday morning faculty meeting, asking for their voluntary participation. Later that day, I explained the research project to the clerical staff: the receptionists, school secretaries, office managers, and other school personnel. Later that week, I repeated the presentation to the custodial staff, again asking for their participation. To inform the school employees about this research, I prepared a one-page introduction to the project (see Appendix A), describing the purpose of the study, reviewing the data collection methods I intended to use, and assuring participants of the 74 confidential nature of the research. I also attached a form asking for individuals’ agreement to participate (Appendix B). I asked the school employees to return this consent form, if they chose to participate, and to fill out another asking for their opinions as to which persons in the‘school they regarded as change agents (Appendix C). About sixty people worked at Western High School during the time I collected the data. These included the principal, five other administrators, thirty faculty members, and the office staff, secretaries, and bookkeepers. I did not include nonfaculty athletic coaches, cafeteria staff, or volunteers who were not well known to other school employees in this study. Approximately fifty people agreed to be study participants and signed consent forms which I have in my files. Of the thirty teachers and six administrators, all except two agreed to participate within two weeks of the introduction of the project. At first, these two mentioned some reluctance to participate, claiming not to know any change agents on the staff. However, four weeks into the data collection, they changed their minds and agreed to be research subjects. The request for nominations of potential change agents served as an entree for me to arrange a private interview with each staff member who returned a nomination form. The process of collecting data grew naturally and easily out of these interviews. Because of the nature of the research topic and my concern to protect the identities of people in the school, I assured all participants of confidentiality and explained how I would comply with this promise. I intended'to use pseudonyms in place of the real name and location of the school, the names of employees, the classes they taught, and the positions they held. I would not reveal a person's gender if doing so would 75 betray that person’s identity. Whenever necessary, I would refer to school employees, school artifacts, and institutional processes in generic terms. I would also disguise the names of meetings and school assemblies in the writing and publication of the final report. In taking notes and keeping records, I intended to edit out any mention of specific individuals’ names or any means by which they might be identified. In writing the final report, I would continue these practices and, when necessary, delete or mask specific elements that would identify them or lead others to guess their identities. For this reason, too, I would present some data in summary form, rather than in the exact words used by a single speaker. These explanations seemed to reassure people that they could be open and candid with me as a researcher. ADI l R hranPiin In my role as a researcher, l was helped to a great extent by the fact that l was an employee of the school myself. I had been hired at the school as a part-time staff member a few months prior to beginning this research project. This was a position with membership on the Advisory Committee, a group serving in an advisory capacity to the principal. I also served on several other school committees. Because my status as an employee required participation in school events, meetings, and discussions, I was able to interact with many people many times ' throughout the day. My position provided entree into people’s views, understandings, and experiences more quickly than if I had been on site only as a researcher. Being a school employee very quickly helped me to establish relationships of trust with the research subjects. 76 However, the collection of data was at first a physical challenge as well as a mental one. Since I was hired at the beginning of the new year, teachers and other school staff quickly assumed that I was “another new person on the staff" and regarded me as a colleague who shared their frustrations and goals about working with teenagers. This collegiality made it easy to arrange meetings with people on the staff. The employees, particularly the teachers, quickly accepted my presence in meetings, and were willing to have those meetings audiotaped. Several of the teachers offered to get copies of written documents that would otherwise have been hard to obtain, such as personal notes from one teacher to another, c0pies of teacher memos, private correspondence between a teacher to the principal, and vice versa. For any conversation I had with a study participant, l was careful to say that I wanted “to take notes for my research,” and to ask their permission. They never failed to agree. _ However, this dual role meant that I had to remind others constantly when I was conducting research and when l was performing my work as an employee: I often had to switch rapidly from being an active participant in school activities to being a more passive observer, similar to being both a player and a fan at the same baseball game. I learned to begin a conversation by explaining which role I was taking and the purpose of the conversation or the reason for the discussion. If I was acting as a researcher, I asked permission to write notes or record what individuals said. Another way I learned to conduct myself in this dual role was to remain quietly in the background at meetings and to volunteer few comments unless they related to my employment at the school. After a few weeks this became easier: I had few personal sentiments about many of the changes going on in the school, so I could resist the temptation to reveal my personal opinions or to wield much substantive influence on 77 discussions. I had little understanding of many of the issues before the teachers and so could contribute very little to conversations or discussions when these issues arose. Most of the time the administrators and the teachers saw me sitting in meetings, audiotaping conversations, taking handwritten notes and only speaking when asked a direct question. When someone persisted in forcing more specific Opinions or more substantive information from me, I could usually divert the conversation to safer, neutral ground. Because the school was a tightly bound community, and the teachers claimed that "everybody's business was known to everybody else," the norms dictated a casual modus operandi for research: "...We just do things here, we don’t...write up every little thing.” I made every effort to be self-effacing and relaxed in my role as a researcher, quietly writing entries in small notebooks that lay openly but unobtrusively in my lap or desktop. Once I had permission to audiotape a meeting or conversation, I kept the recorder off to the side. On several occasions when I could not take notes at the time of the conversation, I wrote down comments after the conversation had concluded, always with the permission of the study participants. Much of my on‘site research was arranged to correspond with scheduled events at the school--a meeting, for example. Other points of contact with study participants were unscheduled, but visiting with faculty and administrators at scheduled meetings made later interviews with them easier to arrange and helped me break the ice more quickly than if I had arranged “cold calls” on the study participants. 78 Selection of Primary Research Subjects After the school employees had returned their nomination forms with the names of individuals they considered to be change agents in the school, I arranged personal interviews with each of these persons. The interviews were held in the school, before or after classes, during teachers’ planning periods, and at other convenient times. I usually spent about forty minutes (the length of a teachers’ planning period) to an hour and a half before or after school in a typical interview with a research participant. In the nomination forms for change agents which were returned when I introduced the research project, the names of certain people, particularly of certain teachers, appeared quite frequently. At first I had intended to track three change agents simultaneously. But one person’s name was mentioned so often by people in so many different positions in the school that l narrowed my focus to her very quickly, although as I will note below, she collaborated with several others whom I saw as sharing in the leadership of the innovation. This was a teacher named Carla Ensign. After a few weeks of interviews and observations, I chose her as the primary change agent in this study because she was a teacher, not an administrator, in the school. She was also a department head and therefore a member of all the school governance assemblies, interacting often with the school’s administrators. Most particularly, she was eager to see many innovations and school improvements adopted, the chief one being inter- disciplinary teaching. She was regarded as “a mover and shaker” by many of the other school employees. With her permission (using the consent form as it appears in Appendix D), I began to track her activities more frequently than I did those of others. Several other teachers’ names were also mentioned as possible subjects for me to study and, as it happened, several of these people were associates of Carla Ensign. They, 79 too, figured prominently in the introduction of the innovation that Carla was proposing. Five of these teachers formed, with Carla, an innovation team dedicated to pushing for the adoption of inter-disciplinary teaching, while the rest of the faculty became their targeted audience. It was these six teachers whom I studied, and the rest of the faculty and administrators as they responded to these six. I focused the study on inter-disciplinary teaching because this innovation was teacher-inspired, had a strong advocate for it, and affected every other teacher and almost every administrator in the school. The principal’s later introduction of another innovation, a long-range planning process, dramatically affected the teachers’ interest in inter-disciplinary teaching. Thus, later in the study, so I found it necessary to consider that innovation as well. Before and after I selected Carla Ensign, I had intended to interview all school employees. But since some of these individuals were not well known to Carla or to other teachers, or did not have any direct connection to the innovation she was proposing, l limited the number of subsequent interviews with these persons. I also excluded parents and students from this study. Although the impact of the innovation on students' lives and learning was no small part of the innovation Carla was proposing, it was she, the other teachers, and the principal who were the foci of this study. In rview wih Re ar h Su ct The interviews I conducted with the school employees were of two sorts: interviews scheduled at certain times with individual employees, or informal and unscheduled conversations in which I asked questions and elicited information from research participants. 80 There were approximately 75 scheduled interviews with the subjects, at least one with each school employee. I conducted or observed a total of 160 scheduled interviews, meetings, and conversations with research subjects over a period of five months. As the change agents were identified, l arranged many more conversations and informal interviews with these subjects and with the principal than I did with other school employees. The formal interviews varied in length from twenty minutes to two hours and often were continued from one day to another, as a subject’s schedule demanded. I also took advantage of informal and unscheduled talks, discussions, and chats with one or more individuals. These often yielded background information about individuals” points of view about an innovation, their relationships with others in the school, and their perceptions of the actions of administrators and other faculty members. These informal interviews were held in empty classrooms, hallways, cars, local cafes and school offices and in the school gymnasium and teachers’ lounge. Some of these interviews were also by telephone. I tried to observe or conduct at least three such interviews each day. Over time, as I began to narrow my focus to Carla Ensign and her closest associates, l reduced the number of interviews with those staff members who seemed less affected by inter-disciplinary teaching. I increased the amount of time I spent with the change agents and their close colleagues. My intent at this point was to ask for the change agents' opinions regarding IDT and how it was progressing, but I later expanded this stream of questioning to encompass what they thought about other people's reactions to them and to IDT. I was especially keen to learn how they communicated with the principal and with their fellow teachers. 81 The principal, Diane Adams, was a prime participant in my study. Because of her position as chief administrator, she was the person teachers went to when they wanted a change in present policies or procedures. If the change agents could convince the principal of the need for change, it seemed likely that the rest of the faculty would accept it, at least overtly. I interviewed the principal about once a week. The questions I asked her were designed to uncover her understanding of the changes being advocated and her reactions and concerns about them from an administrative and personal point of view. These interviews and the lengthy conversations that often arose out of them became particularly valuable when the principal asked the faculty to conduct a review of the school's long-range plan, a second innovation introduced later in the year. This innovation figured prominently in the progress the teacher change agents were making regarding inter-disciplinary teaching. I attended and recorded notes from all of these interviews and meetings with the change agents and from every school meeting or discussion group where the change agents were together as a group. Later I transcribed and prepared write-ups of these notes. rvain fven dP in ol Almost every day there was an opportunity to sit and watch people, especially the teachers, to listen to their stories and watch their reactions to events going on around them. I watched how people interacted with each other and who their friends were. I watched where they sat at lunch and in faculty meetings. As an observer, I attended faculty meetings as often as possible. These occurred most Friday mornings just prior to the start of the school day. I also attended Advisory 82 Committee meetings and Teacher Talk Time meetings every three weeks, subcommittee meetings of each of these, department meetings with faculty, strategic planning committee meetings, and meetings between the principal and one or more faculty members. Since the meetings were open to the public, I also attended school board meetings and two subcommittee meetings of the board. As a member of the staff, I had a valid reason to "just sit and listen." This was how new personnel learned the organizational culture (Schein, 1985; Van Maanen, 1986). I could spend time with other newly-hired staff members who were also learning the norms for staff behavior and found myself, as they did, looking to veterans on the staff for advice. From them, I learned how people, especially teachers, at Western were expected to act, how they should talk, dress, and comport themselves with students and with each other. I learned the school's history and its traditions. Since I was especially interested in how teachers worked and related to each other, I paid close attention to their activities and learned what were the normative behaviors for faculty at the school. For example, I learned that each teacher was responsible for the presentation of certain parts of the academic curriculum in his or her classroom and that teachers seldom, if ever, took another teacher to task if they thought that teacher was doing a poor job. Teachers publicly supported other teachers regardless of what they might privately think. I discovered that the lack of a strong financial base (tuition covered less than half of the school's expenses) prevented staff members from entertaining ideas for school improvements if these ideas carried a financial burden of even a few dollars. My reputation as an employee and as a researcher depended upon my learning these norms and never violating them, and l was careful during interviews to adhere to the unspoken standards for behavior that teachers seemed to respect. 83 Written Documents Reviewed Whenever an administrator or a teacher referred to a document that might be significant, I asked to look at it and to have a copy made. These documents varied as to their usefulness to this research. The long-range plan for the school had dozens of related documents, including edited and unedited drafts of the mission statements, corrected and uncorrected revisions to various parts of the plan, handwritten copies of teachers’ notes, and the principal’s corrections, addenda, and editing marks. Inter- disciplinary teaching, however, had virtually no paper trail. Most of the communications about this innovation were verbal. T! E II [EU I The main corpus of data came from fieldnotes I took during interviews (both formal and informal), from observations, and from documents and meeting minutes collected throughout the second semester of the academic year at Western High. An entry, when written up, might be similar to this: Diane (the principal) discussed the need for a long-range planning review/makes statements that sound more like questions. Her voice lifts at the end of the sentence, as though she is requesting support. Sounds unsure of herself here. Teachers comment, mixed reactions. Very rapid fire. Teachers A, B, C, and D making comments about lack of a mission. One teacher leaves room to find her mission statement. Diane asks for volunteers to head up committees “to review long range plan.” Dead silence. Then Teacher 8 makes a comment, unrelated to LFl plan, wants to know if dress code is in effect next Tuesday. I also had access to meeting reports, minutes, and follow-up correspondence. When such documents were available, I abstracted relevant content and noted it in my fieldnotes. For example: 84 Advisory Council minutes, (Date) Department Heads A,B,D,E,G present and C, F absent. Significance: IDT and LR plan came up for discussion although IDT not on the written agenda. PERSONAL REFLECTIONS AS A RESEARCHER From the outset, l was concerned about my inexperience conducting research. Although taking university classes, reading books and journal articles, and conversing with experts in qualitative research methods are helpful in overcoming some of a novice researcher’s anxiety, they cannot substitute for the actual experience of stepping into the flow of activity in a real research site. I feared that in my first attempts to interview subjects at the school, my interview style and observations would be too obvious and that I would appear naive. I worried that the appearance of naiveté and inexperience would alter the teachers’ comments to me and jeopardize the quality of the data. Some of the respondents’ information might be unduly influenced, I thought, by my presence as a researcher. I was equally concerned that my own assumptions, experiences, and philosophies as a training and staff development consultant would subtly constrict and bias my analysis of the data. Because I had previously taught and published in the areas of personal change and innovation, and was optimistic about the possibilities for change in people and in organizations, I thought it might be difficult for me to see and sympathize with teachers who felt powerless to enact change, who resented and resisted it, or who saw only losing battles in an endless war. But after I had completed two or three interviews, particularly with teachers, I lost this feeling of anxiety. I let the interviewees’ conversations guide the sequence of 85 talk, and I asked spontaneous questions that let individuals expand on issues to which they had earlier alluded. After several experiences with conducting the interviews in this way, I gained more confidence. After that, I tried to maintain a balance between my use of prepared and spontaneous interview questions (See Appendix E). ORGANIZING, STORING AND ANALYZING THE DATA After each interview, meeting, or observation, I dictated a full account into an audiotape recorder, drawing from my fieldnotes. I also typed the taped interviews and meetings exactly as they were recorded. Later I transcribed all the data notes onto computer disks. The corpus of data amounted to about 450 typewritten pages. W I kept an audit trail of materials that documented how the study was conducted (Bogdan & Biklen, 1992). These materials included the raw data gathered in interviews and observations, my records of my decisions about whom to interview (including when and where), personal files documenting how working hypotheses came to be developed from the raw data, my early findings from the study, and notes from research journals that related, sometimes very indirectly, to the research “project. I kept this audit trail as a guide to be certain that the procedures I employed were dependable and so that I could confirm that my findings were derived from and grounded in the data I had collected. I first arranged the raw data chronologically, then later juxtaposed the events of simultaneous innovations in relation to each other in order to find contrasts or 86 relationships among the innovation processes. I then reread all the notes in my files and listened again to all the tapes. I transcribed the tapes in private and coded them to protect personal identities. I kept the data on computer disks that were also coded to protect the contents. The data, including the typewritten pages, were stored in notebooks inside locked file cabinets and were not accessible to others. DIEI' III II' In keeping with ethnographic research practices, I reported my study findings as empirically grounded assertions, generated through induction and obtained by searching through the full set of fieldnotes, interview notes, audiotapes, and site documents to find a warrant for these assertions (Erickson, 1986). I framed these assertions as observations that emerged from the study. This case study offered many opportunities to examine the ways in which the teachers at Western High School related to each other and to their administrators. I could probe deeply into the faculty’s previous history, especially as it highlighted the ways in which faculty members accepted and implemented contemporary innovations and the school's ability to absorb change or shrug it off. I learned that employees at the school were not simply reacting to each other, but to their knowledge of the school, its history, and the cultural and social forces at work in the school. Analysis of the data involved, in part, my listening to the taped interviews and reading and re-reading of the transcripts. I listened to the tapes at least three, and sometimes as many as eight times, discovering nuances of meaning in the intensity of voice tones and the choice of words and phrases used by the speakers. In this way, I could 87 better understand both the superficial and overt meanings that subjects gave to events and to actions, as well as the "deep surface" meaning that participants constructed (Frost & Egri, 1991). I first listened to the tapes and transcribed the data in order of occurrence. However, this schema changed several times over the course of my data analyses. The bulk of the evidence consisted of perceptions of the teacher change agents, the administrator, and the other faculty. After sorting this information, I set aside the data that did not relate specifically to inter-disciplinary teaching, to the long-range plan, or to the people involved with either. I scrutinized the data that remained, then rearranged it, this time according to the name of the teacher change agent. I then compared the change agent data to the innovation data to see where and how they differed. I discovered there was a large amount of data about people’s perceptions of the teacher change agents that was integrated with their perceptions of the innovations the change agents proposed: the two sets of perceptions could not always be separated. I thought this might make a difference in my interpretation of what had happened at the school and made notes of the patterns I saw emerging as a result of this comparison. When the principal introduced a second schoolwide innovation, the review of the school’s long-range plan, the chronological threads of the change agents and inter- disciplinary teaching became entangled with those of this second innovation. I found I had to reexamine these data and sorted them in sets according to whom they affected: the teacher change agent, the principal, the teachers working with Carla, and those who became involved in the implementation of the long-range plan. To help track and organize the shifts in my thinking about the data, I arranged the emerging categories of data on a chart, tracking the duration and sequencing of diverse 88 communication strategies I saw the change agents using, particularly so for Carla Ensign, the primary change agent. In rearranging the data in this way, focusing especially on Carla’s point of view, I found natural divisions in the innovation process that I later labeled “Advocacy”, “Alliance”, and “Derailment.” These became the titles of the chapters describing the teacher change agent’s activities, the crux of this study. Looking at this final arrangement of data, I searched for signs indicating how the principal and the teachers responded to the communication strategies used by Carla Ensign and what might have happened in the school as a result of those responses. Throughout these attempts to organize and make sense of the data, I reviewed them repeatedly to test the validity of assertions that were forming in my mind, seeking disconfirming as well as confirming evidence. I was looking for key linkages among various data elements that demonstrated patterns of consistency. In most ethnographic research studies, data collection and data analysis take place simultaneously (Ary et al., 1990), but with this research project, I found the sequence of events at the school, especially the introduction of the second radical innovation, were unfolding so quickly that it was difficult to conduct analysis “on the spot.” For the last several weeks of the semester, I was observing and interviewing subjects, attending meetings, and taking notes an average of three or four hours a day. I often found that as soon as I was at the point of making a tentative hypothesis as to what might be going on, new developments would nullify or negate my working hypothesis. Therefore, I deferred much of my reflection on the data until the end of the semester when there was leisure to study the data more deeply. At that time, I was grateful that I had transcribed nearly all the interviews and meetings, for I felt that, in doing so, I had preserved the fullness and immediacy of the subjects’ feelings, viewpoints, and interpretations. 89 I also learned that there is an overwhelming temptation for people caught in the middle of rapidly unfolding events to delay judgments, opinions, even their understandings of what is happening at the time it is happening, and to make those judgments and conceive of those opinions only after the sequence of events had slowed. Much like me, the study subjects themselves came to know their “realities” in retrospect. mums—Dam Qualitative inquirers use a variety of procedures to check the credibility of data and to confirm developing insights and hypotheses. Among these procedures are extended engagement at the research site and the persistent observation of research subjects and their actions so as to provide sufficient scope and depth to the analysis of these observations (Ary et al., 1990; Bogdan & Biklen, 1992). To supplement these procedures, I triangulated multiple sources of data, including observation, formal and informal interviews, and reviews of written records to be certain that my interpretations and propositions were credible. I would regularly compare my interpretations of the previous day’s events with the views of one or more subjects and their peers. As discussed by Lincoln and Cuba (1985), researchers must be watchful of unwarranted bias that may, unobtrusively, slip into various phases of their studies. For example, bias may appear in structured interview questions, in questions in unstructured and informal conversations, and in a researcher’s own unconscious, nonverbal communication in the presence of study participants. In an attempt to decrease bias, I tried to discuss the substantive portions of respondents’ conversations 90 and comments with at least two additional study participants. I did this particularly for events and situations where consistency of interpretation was important. I also tried to match participants’ perceptions during interviews with my own observations and noted discrepancies or differences of opinion whenever these occurred. In making such comparisons and interpretations, however, I bore in mind that discrepancies in these various views might themselves be “data” as opposed to representing “bias” or “misunderstanding” on my part or on the parts of others. SHIFTING INTERPRETATIONS l initiated this research project with two assumptions about change and innovation. I thought of "change" as personal, a process of internal transformation that happened to an individual. I looked at "innovation" as an organizational phenomenon, a process affecting people in a group and within a system. I assumed that organizations, by their nature, were intolerant of change and innovation, for these threatened the very purpose and existence of organizations. I was profoundly influenced by thinking of "change" and "innovation" as following in linear paths with predictable outcomes. Implicit in change and innovation studies is this sense of organizational linearity, of progress made from stage to stage and step by step as adopters become familiar with and adjust to the innovation. Much of my reasoning was formed by organizational development theory (Rogers, 1983; Kotler & Roberto, 1989) and is based on the presumption that intervention in organizations is both possible and beneficial (Schein, cited in Jackson, 1987). In tracking the teacher change agent, her allies, her resisters, and the administrator, I found these theories did not apply. That is, I found no patterns, no 91 connections, no linkages if I approached the data from a linear perspective. What seemed to be emerging was inconsistent with the prevailing theories of innovation diffusion. l was frustrated and confused--feelings that must have been similar to those of the change agents. I felt incomplete and at odds with the data, not recognizing this feeling as an integral part of the change process (Wheatley, 1992; Nias et al., 1992). In moving from a linear and outside-in perspective to one based on the internal perspective of the teacher change agent herself, I began to feel more at ease with my interpretations of the data. When one looks at innovation from the inside looking out, instead of from the outside looking in, one sees events and activities very differently. In studying change agents from this perspective, one recognizes the importance of coincidence and randomness in the change process rather than linearity. The importance of the individual change agent’s activities and other events going on at the same time must all be taken into account when one is studying the innovation process from the inside. I also began to look at the data that indicated that changes were happening to the organization, as well as in the organization. This was, I speculated, a case of an organization turning itself inside out, reacting to a proposed innovation by changing its own infrastructure. The innovation at Western High School did not happen systematically, smoothly, or linearly. I realized that educational innovations demand a fuller understanding, much more complicated and multidimensional,_almost holographic, than I had at first expected. LIMITATIONS OF THE STUDY Throughout this chapter, I have hinted at possible limitations in the collection, arrangement, and analysis of the data. In this section, I present some additional 92 comments about my own perspective and other conditions and factors that might have affected the study. First, this study was conducted in a private school, with a simple bureaucratic structure of three levels of employee participation and a financial and administrative structure relatively unaffected by outside influences. A similar study, if conducted in a public high school, or one with a different organizational hierarchy, might show different results than I found here. Furthermore, I do not address the communications regarding IDT that the teacher change agents may have had with parents or students or with others outside the school yet part of the larger social and academic community. While many teachers do marshall outsiders in support of a change, I was expressly interested in the role and activities of teacher change agents relative to school administrators and to other faculty in the school, to learn how the school’s authority structure and organizational hierarchy might influence such relationships. If this story were told from other people’s perspectives, different themes might emerge than those I describe and analyze in this study. Second, there may be some gender bias embedded in the comments and remarks made by some of the study participants. In accordance with promises of confidentiality, l masked the genders of several people in this study to prevent their possible identification. As such the possibility of gender bias in their comments may not be eVident. Third, Western High School, compared to other high schools, had a relatively small number of administrators and teachers. The pattern of innovation I saw there may not be fully reflective of other high schools with larger staffs. 93 Fourth, out of necessity, this study begins with the premise that the innovation the change agent proposed was a positive change at the school. I wanted to capture the perspective of teacher change agents working within the school and at the time of the earliest inception of the innovation. Consequently, there is a strong bias toward the innovation, inter-disciplinary teaching, reflected in this report. My final concern is how my research might be interpreted by readers who might have been involved in the study. I hope to make it very clear that this writing is my own studied interpretation of events as l have come to understand them. It is not the intent of this study to pass judgment on the merits of the innovation or on the effectiveness of the persons involved in planning or implementing their strategies. I tried to express people's thoughts and actions through their voices. These are still filtered through me as the writer, and this filtration is not and cannot be identical to the views of others. I had more access to people’s views about the events at Western High than did anyone else on site and I had more opportunities to verify my observations. However, in accordance with research traditions, I elected not to be merely a translator, but to be an interface who chose the interviewees, selected their words to quote, and described their actions in an effort to address my research questions. In the very act of selection, I have created something new. If Margaret Wheatley’s statement at the start of this chapter is true, that "information informs us and forms us," then it may, in a sense, be an uncomfortable corollary to learn that we also form and inform information. In the chapters that follow I present the story of Western High and how the change agents interested in inter-disciplinary teaching tried to implement it as part of the school curriculum. I intend this narrative to be an interpretation and analysis as seen from the eyes of the teacher change agent and her colleagues who attempted to lead 94 the change rather than as a reenactment of events or evaluation of what happened at Western High School from other people’s perspectives. It is meant to be a study of an innovation through the eyes of the teacher change agents, but as I saw it and as I came to understand it. In that sense, it is not only their story; it is mine. CHAPTER FOUR SETTING THE STAGE AT WESTERN HIGH "The background reveals the true being of the man or thing. lfl do not possess the background, l_make the man transparent, the thing transparent. " «Juan Jimenez, Selected Writings INTRODUCTION I write the account of Western High School and its change agents against a backdrop colored by human and organizational dynamics. I intentionally chose to write this account as drama, with a cast of characters who interact with each other in roles that propel the action toward a specific destination (Crozier & Friedberg, 1980; Fineman, 1993). But to view the school and the events that transpired there as pure theater would be unjust and superficial, for Western High is also an organization, a social system whose members exchange viewpoints and reinforce and defuse the interests of others in pursuit of a variety of goals (Barnard, 1938). Any school is likely to be based on a bureaucratic model, with a clear division of labor among its participants (Sarason, 1995). Viewed in this way, administrators, faculty, and other staff assume that a school’s administrators make important decisions affecting the entire school and it is the business of those on the lower levels to carry out them out (Louis & Miles, 1990). Like any school, Western High School also has a culture with norms and values implicit and understood, to some extent, by its organizational members (Rosenholtz, 95 96 1989; Rossman, 1988; Sirotkin & Oakes, 1986). My purpose in this case study is to follow one character in this organizational drama: to follow a single change agent, a teacher, whose efforts to implement a schoolwide innovation involve her in relationships with several others, including the teachers who supported her, those who did not, and her principal. In relating the events that transpired, I examine the innovation process and suggest that this case is not representative, as the early literature on innovation diffusion suggests (Rogers, 1983), of a linear and predictable progression of events resulting in innovation adoption or rejection. Rather, the diffusion of this particular schoolwide innovation represents a movement between forces of innovation and resistance, a movement orchestrated by a teacher change agent. Second, I suggest that a change agent who attempts to persuade others in the school to adopt her innovation may violate norms for socialized teacher behavior. The changes in the school that took place, and did not take place, center around the activities of Carla Ensign, a teacher at Western High School. The change process, as I describe it here, begin with Carla’s own interest in inter-disciplinary teaching (IDT) and her determination to get other teachers and the administrator at the school involved in its adoption. By this I mean that Carla hoped that all the teachers, with the support and backing of the principal, would use precepts of inter-disciplinary teaching in their daily teaching in their classrooms and that IDT would become a routinized part of the life of the school (Miles, 1983). To set the stage for this study, I first describe the setting of the school, including its physical layout, for the geographic distances limited easy and frequent contact between the teachers and the administrators, and among the teachers themselves. Next, I describe the limitations of the teachers’ curriculum and time schedules, for these prevented teachers from considering new ideas for adoption, especially those that demanded schoolwide acceptance, as did Carla’s idea for inter-disciplinary teaching. 9 7 Third, I describe the organizational communication mechanisms in place between the teachers and the principal and those commonly used by all teachers. These communication mechanisms, too, hindered the change agent and her colleagues. I close this chapter by introducing the principal, the teacher change agent, and the relationships between the two. It was against this organizational framework, in this school, with these people, that Carla Ensign played out her role as a teacher change agent. THE SCHOOL SETTING Western High School sits in the heart of a Midwestern city of about 125,000 people, surrounded by several bedroom communities. The school is a microcosm of the larger social community: predominately residents with incomes of between $25,000 and $65,000. At the time of the study, the students enrolled at Western were 90% white. The remaining 10% were African-American, Hispanic, and Asian or Asian- American. A private school, Western purported to be a place that was ”safe" for students, with a strict discipline policy, a solid academic program that concentrated on offering "basic" and "core" courses, and a strong sports program. The school's mission was to provide for the "physical, mental, and spiritual well-being" of the students who entered there. I The school building, erected in the early 19605, is a single-story structure set on spacious grounds. I noted that the building needed many structural and physical repairs. It had closed for two days the previous winter when a heating coil in the furnace broke and could not be replaced because of its age. One of the administrators described the school as similar to a vintage automobile: "The chassis is good, but showing signs of rust. The transmission is OK, but it doesn't start well on real cold mornings." 9 8 Even though the school is small and contained in one building, one cannot assume that it would be easier for an innovator here to introduce change than it would be for a change agent in a larger school. In fact, if frequent communication is a significant factor in a change agent's ability to introduce new ideas (Kotler & Roberto, 1989; Louis & Miles, 1990), then Carla’s opportunities to interact with other teachers demanded that she exert herself to stay in touch with school staff at some distance from her own classroom. In this next section, I describe the physical layout of the school and how this affected the change agent. PHYSICAL LAYOUT OF WESTERN HIGH One might envision the school as a long fishbone, with the classrooms and offices lying along a central "spine" of general purpose rooms used by the entire student body and the entire teaching staff. These general purpose rooms were the gymnasium, front lobby, student foyer, auditorium, storage rooms, media center, and cafeteria. The spine extended the entire length of the school building with two wings of classrooms on either side. Most of the classrooms were of cement block architecture and locked for security’s sake when not in use. The school’s main entrance was rarely closed: Students and teachers congregated in the front lobby and the foyer from 6:30 am. until late at night. The auditorium, opposite the front lobby, was bordered on its west side by a small meeting room, a cable television studio, a library/media center and the cafeteria/kitchen areas. Teachers were physically distant from each other. There was limited access to the auditorium, meeting room, and library: Entrances to these were open only on one side of the spine. Students and teachers interested in going to the other side of the building had to walk around these common areas rather than take short-cuts through them. Since there were just four minutes between classes to move from one area of the school to another, many teachers did not see or socialize with each other unless their 9 9 classrooms were nearby. One teacher laughingly said to another teacher, "Last week, we were going to get together. And I went to your room...." and the other teacher responded, "and it was like going out of town!" Another teacher remarked on the inconvenience and isolation of the teachers, "It is almost an island mentality here.” Setting is a significant factor in influencing change efforts (Louis & Miles, 1990) and at Western High, the physical layout of the school prevented teachers from having easy and frequent access to each other. One teacher said that “days can elapse before I see [another teacher] on the other side of the building and he’s even teaching in my subject area!” The distances between teachers help to form and maintain the school’s social structure--the relationships between teachers and administrators and between individual teachers. Similarly, the time available during the school day for teachers to communicate constrained those who wanted to discuss new ideas with others. TIME CONSTRAINTS If a change agent such as Carla Ensign hoped to reach many teachers at once, she found few convenient opportunities to do so. School started at 7:45 am. with many of the teachers arriving just prior to the start of the class day. A single teacher spent six of seven class periods alone in the classroom with his or her class. Each class was forty minutes long. One of these classes was a free period, called a “planning period.” Although teachers could use this planning period to chat with other teachers, only three or four teachers might be “free” during any given time. The forty-minute lunch period was divided into “first lunch” and “second lunch.” Half the faculty ate lunch at a time. Some teachers used this time to eat in their classrooms or in the faculty lounge, to dash to the photocopy room, or to go the school office for a brief meeting with the principal or other office staff members. As one teacher remarked, "We are divided in half, and this is probably not a good thing." 1 00 When the bell rang, signaling the beginning and end of class periods, teachers stood in their doorways and supervised the students, checking to see that students were not violating school rules for dress code and behavior. Teachers often called out to each other the last few phrases of a short conversation before disappearing into their classrooms. There were almost no times during the day when a teacher could expect to see more than three or four other teachers in a group setting without students nearby. “I never see [one of the other teachers] at all. It’s like he teaches on another planet,” said one teacher just before the start of her class. Teacher time that could be devoted to substantive planning of school curricula or educational innovations, even the leisure to reflect on issues of a less substantive nature, and time to engage in casual, prolonged conversation, were almost nonexistent. Completing the day’s lesson plans was the stated goal of nearly every teacher and consumed all the time available. “When we went to that workshop on developing student portfolios, I thought we could have done something with that,” mourned a teacher who had attended a day-long program on this topic, “but when I [returned to school], the time just got away from me. I just didn’t have time to pursue [that new idea], and now something else has come up.” Teachers found it difficult to find time in the regular class day to consider new ideas, much less to share them with other teachers or to engage in the kind of discussion and planning that inter-disciplinary teaching entailed. Teachers were also challenged to find opportunities to propose and consider major changes because of the frequent number of days when school assemblies or other unusual events disrupted the usual schedule. A faculty member voiced his concern over his ability to “cover all the materials in the textbook” due to the number of interruptions in the teaching schedules that occurred that term: “Because of all the changes in the last schedule, I missed ten teaching days last quarter. 80, if you want me 101 to think about anything new, I cannot meet or think or do anything until [the end of this school year].” When one sees how little uncommitted time there was in a teachers day, then one looks to weekends or the summer as being a time when teachers might gather to discuss new ideas, revamp parts of the curriculum, or simply stay in touch with one other. But most teachers claimed that weekends were taken up with family affairs and leisure activities and that the summer was “free time” when teachers preferred not to work at all. “I need the summer to regroup,” said a teacher. “After school is out...l do all the things I promised myself I would do when school was in,” said another. The lack of convenient places and times to meet presented particular difficulties to a teacher change agent, for there were few opportunities for the reflective kinds of discussion necessary to consider and experiment with new ideas (Kanter, 1989; Wilson & Daviss, 1994). At Western High, the curriculum in place also posed problems for those interested in changing it. CONSTRAINTS AGAINST CHANGING THE CURRICULUM Because Western was a private school, the principal assumed many of the responsibilities of a local superintendent in the public sector (Coleman, 1987; McCleary & Thomson, 1979). Neither the principal nor assistant principal at Western High needed permission from a district administrator or a curriculum development director before making changes to the building, the expenditure of funds, or' the program of study. The principal had considerable latitude in changing school schedules, arranging half-days for in-service meetings, sponsoring schoolwide assemblies, and sending teachers to continuing education workshops. There was a school board whose members served in an advisory capacity to the principal, but board business and policies usually centered on personnel and finances, rather than on issues related to curriculum or classroom activities. Teachers rarely attended school board meetings or board 1 02 subcommittee meetings. The principal voiced teacher concerns and recommendations to the board members; most of these recommendations were discussed and accepted. Without the constraints of a larger district or a school board actively involved in curriculum changes, it was the principal herself who, acting on the recommendations of teachers or other school staff, approved changes in classroom use, teachers’ schedules, and curriculum. “We don’t have so many hoops to jump through,” said the principal, referring to differences between private and public school protocols. However, this relative freedom from outside influence was somewhat misleading: The standards for national certification prevented the principal and teachers from making dramatic changes in curriculum if these strayed too far from current standards and guidelines. Every five years, the school’s administrators reviewed the goals and standards set by a national accrediting agency. The teachers were very aware of these standards. “We can’t have off St. Patrick’s Day because we need that day for our 180 [the minimum number of teaching days in the school calendar as set by the state certification board]” was typical of the remark a teacher made when someone suggested that Western consider reducing the number of teaching days and adding more in-service days. Similarly, when Carla suggested that teachers consider extending class periods to eighty minutes or using larger blocks of time for laboratory periods for certain classes, she found teachers worried over how these would affect “the number of minutes a student must be in class” in order to “meet the certification levels.” Changes in curriculum could not deviate dramatically from the standards already in place. The school faculty also felt that Western High School’s array of courses should cover “the basics of a high school education” (Western High School Newsletter, 1994). This basic education was embodied in eight subject areas: mathematics, science, language arts, the fine arts, media studies, business/computer skills, social studies and physical education/health. One to five faculty members taught the courses in a single subject area and formed a department. To change any part of the present curriculum, as 1 03 IDT required, meant that teachers not only be willing to alter the present class schedules, but that they find time to plan and prepare to teach new classes. The administrators and office staff would have to rearrange all of the teachers’ class schedules and planning periods so that two or more teachers could share their planning periods. This was not easy. Prior to this study, a few of the teachers had tried to develop team-taught courses that required knowledge of other teachers’ subject areas, but the joint planning times “just fell apart.” As one teacher said, “I could never get to [the other teacher’s] class to see how he taught equations, and the school couldn’t pay for another part-time teacher to fill in for me when I was working with him. It would be wonderful if we could have another planning hour just to plan!” The principal was aware of the difficulties in scheduling joint planning times for teachers to develop new curricula or to make substantive changes in the existing one: “Two of the teachers wanted to work on a block schedule, where they both saw the same students on a two-period schedule, but I had to rearrange ten other teachers’ schedules to do that, and it just didn’t work out.” Besides the inconveniences of adjusting teacher schedules to accommodate teacher interactivity, there was the added aversion that some teachers felt to “move outside” of their traditional roles as dispensers of information and as independent agents in the classroom. One said, “They pay me to teach. They don’t pay me to plan to teach.” A second teacher echoed the first when she said, “I don’t like to get involved in another teacher’s...lesson planning.” For the teachers at Western High to accept the idea of changing the curriculum and embracing the concept of a schoolwide innovation like inter-disciplinary teaching, as Carla hoped they would do, every teacher had to be committed to finding the time and the energy to work out the details involved. In this study, my intent is not to determine whether inter-disciplinary teaching is a desirable innovation for the schoolteachers to 1 04 adopt; rather, I am concerned with exploring the means whereby Carla communicates with others in regard to the innovation. SCHOOL COMMUNICATIONS: CHANNELS FOR CHANGE The school’s organization--with its geographical distances, barriers between teachers, lack of time for planning and socializing, and a well-established, seemingly inflexible curriculum--appeared to discourage innovative ideas from being easily and simply introduced into the school. Teachers and administrators might meet before or after school but, even then, multiple priorities and tight time frames prohibited in- depth discussions on many issues. Nearly all teachers, for example, scheduled meetings with students, parents, or other school staff members after school. At least 40% of the teachers were coaches for student athletic events, training sessions, and practices after school. Commitments such as these prevented many teachers from attending school meetings where groups of teachers discussed ideas for change. There were mechanisms in place for teachers to engage in both formal and informal discourse. These assemblies included Advisory Committee, Teacher Talk Times, department staff meetings, and Friday faculty meetings. There were also, of course, spontaneous conversations and impromptu discussions that arose between two or more teachers whenever they came together. It was in such conversations that teachers were most likely to discuss issues relating to school improvement. It was within this framework of organizational communication that Carla tried to introduce IDT, first by using the existing assembly structure and later by creating her own. In light of this, I will briefly describe Western’s meeting and governance mechanisms, their purposes, memberships, and the type of discussions that characterized each one. 105 Adviser! Cemmittee Meeting; The purpose of Advisory Committee was to provide the school administrator with a forum to discuss school business with the eight department heads at Western High. A department chairperson was a teacher serving as that department’s representative on the Advisory Committee. The department heads met monthly with the principal and other administrators or school staff to discuss a variety of issues. Any teacher could ask the head of Advisory Committee, who was one of the department heads, to "put [an issue or topic] on the agenda” and expect the topic to be discussed. Meetings usually did not begin on time; members chatted about the day’s activities while waiting for latecomers to arrive. The dialogue during the meetings was usually a conversational stew of information-gathering and debate about agenda items or tangential remarks about minor peeves or irritations to individual teachers. There was always a written agenda of topics for discussion and debate, but items tabled at one meeting were not always resolved the following month. In the interim, other topics might be added to the upcoming month’s agenda. These became priorities that overshadowed earlier items. For this reason, many Advisory Committee members regarded the monthly meetings as a waste of time. “We always have to have one more meeting. There is no reason why [the principal] cannot call the department chairs together whenever she wants, maybe once or twice a year.” Even the principal appeared to be discouraged with Advisory Committee meetings: It’s been a pain this year. It has probably been the one thing I have hated to deal with the most. Instead of dealing with issues, we tried to deal with big pictures, but would get so bogged down with a broken shoestring. It seems like I was always being put on the spot about them. Few meetings ended with a clear consensus of opinion on the issues just discussed. Many teachers, including some of the members of Advisory Committee, felt that too much free-flowing discussions and not enough decision-making occurred at these meetings. As one teacher said: 106 I understand the whole idea of this participatory sort of management style where you try to involve as many people as possible. I think at times maybe we almost try to involve too many people. Sometimes I think we just need to listen to what people have to say, listen to the ideas. Then we should try to make a decision and try to make the best decision we can, based on the information we get rather than to listen, listen, listen, come with a proposal, listen, listen again. Then, if people don’t like that proposal, we revamp, revamp, revamp. Nothing gets done. Nothing. The principal conducted the meetings by summarizing certain points that participants made during the discussion. As conversation about an agenda item ebbed, the principal or the head of Advisory Committee might suggest that the Committee members “investigate the matter further” or “defer it to the next meeting.” This kind of closure statement effectively terminated any more discussion on the issue. Sometimes the principal closed off discussions with remarks like, “Why don’t we discuss this the next time we get together?” or ”Does anyone have any problem with talking about this in February?” Sometimes she asked for more information and, very rarely, would ask a particular committee member to get more information on a topic: “It seems we don’t have enough information on this. How about you, , getting some more and we’ll talk about this at our next meeting.” Although this type of meeting discussion and agenda-setting was by no means unique to Western (Birnbaum, 1988), several of the Advisory Committee members found it frustrating. They felt it was the principal’s responsibility to take charge of the meetings and to make decisions quickly. They disliked the principal’s inclination to delay decisions until she had consensus from teachers. One department head summarized several others’ opinions in this way: 107 When she (the principal) comes to the meetings, she doesn’t want to make it look like she's running them...She wants to sit back and listen to everyone's ideas, which is fine, except then it means we just spin our wheels...rather than her listening to our ideas and then making her decisions. Sooner or later, you have to come down to someone to make a decision. But it's hard and I understand her style is...[to]...get a lot of input, involve parents...get teachers involved, get students...When you are doing a lot of things, that's the way you are supposed to go, but I still think maybe sometimes the wheel spins too slowly. Advisory Committee meetings, even though they presented regular opportunities for meaningful discussions between administrators and faculty, were unlikely to come to strong, decisive conclusions about substantive issues. Teacher Talk Times Another regularly-planned meeting of teachers and administrators was the monthly meeting of school personnel called Teacher Talk Time. Like Advisory Committee meetings, agendas for Teacher Talk Times included short-range planning issues and ideas for school policies and procedures. Unlike Advisory Committee meetings, Teacher Talk Time meetings had no set or permanent membership. Interested teachers and other school staff members attended a meeting if they wanted to see a topic of personal or professional interest discussed. Any school employee could join Teacher Talk Time by asking the principal, who always encouraged such participation. While the original charge of Teacher Talk Times was to consider new technologies in support of the school curriculum, the minutes of the meetings of the past two years indicate that the members also discussed many other issues. Discussions could center around the problems of learning-different students, building repairs, concerns over rising tuition rates, teacher enforcement of school rules, ideas for speakers for in- service days, etc. Since several of the Advisory Committee members were also members of Teacher Talk Times, there was often a great deal of conversational overlap, with the same topics discussed in both meetings. 1 08 However, while several Teacher Talk Time members enjoyed the extended time to talk leisurely with other teachers in a structured setting and, as they said, “to explore stuff,” there was also the same frustration with the lack of resolution to these discussions as there was with Advisory Committee meetings. According to one teacher: We seem to get off the track a lot. Instead of focusing on one thing, a lot of side issues seem to come up and kind of pull the meeting apart and so we table [an issue] to another meeting which is a month |ater...By then something else...appears on the agenda that we will...lose track of. Advisory Committee and Teacher Talk Time meetings were the two faculty assemblies in which teachers interacted with the administrators in large group settings; these assemblies resembled each other in terms of the issues discussed and teachers’ feelings about the lack of closure and resolution of issues. There were other opportunities for teachers to gather, with or without administrators present. One such opportunity was the department staff meeting. Dr ffM The department head was responsible for arranging meetings of the teachers of each subject area. To determine the need for such meetings, each department head informally canvassed the members of the department as to possible items of department business, then arranged meetings accordingly. The department head might set aside a two-hour time block after school on a particular day. Sometimes these meetings followed all-school faculty meetings. "We get together once a month,” said one department head. “If we can avoid a meeting, we do,” said another. A third said, “We’d meet more often, but it’s so hard to find a time when we all can meet. We’re going to have to get a new textbook this year so we’ll meet about that.” Sometimes the topics for discussion related to school reform. In the past year, two departments had convened meetings devoted to revising curriculum. The heads of 1 09 both departments had invited elementary and middle school teachers in the region to discuss common concerns with teaching that subject across the entire spectrum from kindergarten through twelfth grade. On another occasion, teachers in one of Western’s departments met with those in another to discuss ways in which the two departments could integrate classes. There was a lack of enthusiasm toward the idea of a joint meeting and some hardship in finding a date convenient for both departments, so that the two department heads agreed: “We’ll probably never do that again. It was just too hard to get everybody together and, when we did, there was a lot of resistance.” One of the difficulties with scheduling department staff meetings was that many of the teachers were members of more than one department. Since opportunities to schedule meetings were limited to open dates on the school calendar, a meeting scheduled in one department often took place on the same day and at the same time as that of another department’s. Teachers then had to choose which department meeting to attend. Department staff meetings, therefore, seldom saw a full contingent of. members. Opinions about the usefulness of department meetings varied. “I think they’re okay,” said one teacher, but many of the department heads shared this sentiment: “I dread them. All some of the members want to do is bitch about everything. I hate them.” One issue related to the department head meetings was the status of the department head as compared to other teachers. The head of a subject area at Western High acceptedzthe position at the request of the principal. No salary increase or fringe benefit came with the position. The responsibilities of the department head usually meant handling paperwork and coordinating the department’s ongoing business while serving as a conduit between teachers and administrators. Department heads did not attend policy-making discussions at school board meetings or nor did department heads receive rewards or compensation for holding those positions. It was unclear how much authority and power a department head had to revise curriculum or to handle issues affecting personnel and budgeting. As one said, “I can’t sit in on faculty evaluations. l 1 1 0 haven’t any power to change other teachers. There’s no extra pay. It’s a quandary I don’t like to be in.” While several other department heads seconded this teacher’s impressions, department meetings were nevertheless the most common mechanism for individual teachers to present ideas for curriculum reform related to a single content area. Friday Faeulty Meetings The last type of scheduled assembly at Western High that I will describe is the Friday morning faculty meeting. These meetings were held every week with all the teachers gathering in one teacher’s classroom. The principal called the meeting to order ten minutes prior to the start of classes. The entire meeting lasted about ten minutes. The principal opened each meeting by announcing upcoming activities affecting the students and faculty. Teachers also made special announcements. People were very conscious that “the bell was going to ring.” There was very little time to discuss controversial issues or to have a lengthy or substantive discussion before the faculty meeting ended. The principal or a teacher would adjourn a faculty meeting by saying something of this nature, “I’ll put a note in your mailboxes,” or “I’ll get back to you all later on that.” Advisory Committee meetings, Teacher Talk Times, department staff meetings and the Friday faculty meetings were the four formal communication channels in place at Western High. Each meeting was scheduled on a fairly regular basis. Each had a specific membership. Each followed a loosely-constructed agenda designed to handle different aspects of school business. All were alike in that they provided the only structured, regularly scheduled public forums for the discussion of issues affecting teachers and administrators at Western High. 111 Inf rmal n o n u mm ic l Other faculty communications were informal, spontaneous, and circumstantial. The principal might contact a teacher personally or leave a short written note in that teacher’s mailbox. Teachers communicated with each other in the same ways: “Can you see me after school about that exam?” or “See me about [a student with a discipline probleml” were typical of a teacher’s comments to another teacher. A faculty member might also, without advance notice, stop by the principal's office during a planning hour or lunch period. Sometimes the principal ate her lunch with several of the faculty in the teachers' lounge. There, conversations centered on personal lives, television shows, individual students, and other teachers. Then there were the countless teacher interchanges in hallways, lunch rooms, and the smoker's lounge. The front office area was the central location for informal teacher meetings before and immediately after school. Teachers congregated around a large counter with teacher mailboxes on the side, in earshot of secretarial staff, students, parents, and school visitors. This area, then, was not conducive to lengthy or private conversations. It was a scene of such frenetic activity that the principal often closed her office door to block out noise when she had meetings with parents or teachers. "Going to the front office" was a teacher euphemism for “talking to the principal.” Similarly, a statement like “I’ve been called down to the front office” meant that a crisis had developed that demanded immediate attention from one or more teachers. Conversations between teachers and administrators occurred often during the teaching day. However, they were always brief and hurried, with little leisure for the meeting participants to pursue and reflect on ideas at length. However, like the formal meetings, these informal, unplanned teacher interactions served as mechanisms by which the school conducted its business. If teachers hoped to introduce new ideas into the school system, they had to work within this organizational setting. Any Western High School teacher acting as a change Oll An Inc Car OI; 1 1 2 agent had to overcome the difficulties of communicating with administrators and other teachers when the distances between them were great and the time to do so was brief and apt to be out even shorter. A teacher change agent had to exert even more effort to communicate with others during the few opportunities available: through informal conversations, or in Advisory Committee, Teacher Talk Time, department, or faculty meetings where agendas were fluid and where habits of discussion were well-entrenched. Every new idea had to be introduced into the organizational structure through one of these channels. By “organizational structure” I mean the relationships and interactions of employees at the school: the faculty members and administrators. Some of these individuals were of particular importance to this study and I describe them here. THE CAST OF CHARACTERS There were thirty full- and part-time teachers at Western High. About half were over forty and had been teaching for more than seven years at this particular school. The faculty was evenly divided between males and females and all were white. Some of the teachers at Western figured more prominently in this study than did others. One of them was the focus of this study: Carla Ensign. l singled her out, for she was a key figure in mobilizing other teachers to adopt inter-disciplinary teaching. Another crucial figure was Diane Adams, the principal, whose position warranted her inclusion in any plans to make changes in the school. Other teachers became involved in Carla’s campaign and l have identified them below, masking their names through the use of pseudonyms. I also disguised the teachers’ places in the organizational hierarchy: 1 1 3 Diane Adams The principal Carla Ensign The teacher change agent who proposed that Western High adopt IDT Linda Shaffer A department head, and a personal friend of Carla’s, one of the first to support IDT Chris Sajak A teacher Carla actively recruited Jeff Daniels Another teacher whom Linda recruited Thirty-two other administrators and teachers, not mentioned by name. In the next section, I introduce Diane Adams and describe her role as the primary decision-maker at the school. I also describe how she perceived her position as an authority figure and how teachers perceived her. I follow this with an introduction of the change agent, Carla Ensign, her role in introducing change, and her position among the other teachers at Western High. The rest of the cast of characters will be introduced as they appear in the chronology of events related in subsequent chapters. THE PRINCIPAL AS DECISION-MAKER Any new idea proposed and implemented in a school implies that the principal agrees with it, at least tacitly or indirectly. In most schools, everyone--teachers, parents, and students--sees the principal as the most visible arbitrator, mediator and decision-maker (Brookover et al., 1979; Edmonds & Fredericksen, 1978; Rutter et al., 1979; Weber, 1971). The principal can support innovation or create obstacles to it (Leithwood, 1982; Leithwood & Montgomery, 1982; Stallings, 1981). Diane Adams commented that “we don’t have so many hoops to jump through here,” suggesting that changes could occur without, as she put it, “the red tape and hassles” that characterized the administration of public schools. A teacher’s proposal came to Diane’s attention and could die there. By virtue of the authority vested in the position, teachers recognized the principal as having more power than anyone else in the school: “She is the one who has 1 1 4 to make all the decisions.” This power also gave Diane Adams the undisputed right to exercise control over school resources--how finances were allocated, whom to hire, when to loan classrooms to outside groups, etc. “She’s responsible for the day-to-day operations of the school,” said several teachers and school staff. Despite the clear perception that she could mandate changes in the school, Diane seldom did. Cautious about abusing her power, she rarely made decisions without canvassing teachers for their opinions beforehand. She herself was clearly aware that her position was not a license to do as she pleased: “If I could have my way, I'd have greater influence and ability to make changes, especially in personnel." Diane preferred to let decisions evolve out of a group experience, rather than to make decisions alone. She was reluctant, she said, to be dictatorial and admitted to being concerned that if she made decisions too quickly she would invite criticism and disapproval. She mentioned a time, early in her principalship, when this had occurred. Mindful of this experience and the repercussions, she no longer made decisions without full faculty input: I think I made some mistakes [back then], some serious mistakes in the beginning, like changing the grading system, how we figured grade percentages. .To me that seemed like an academic decision at Advisory Committee and I think we still could have made it that way, but I think I should have discussed it with a wide variety of people, then I should have made it. So now I try to bring as many people as I can into the process. She said that she preferred to check with certain teachers whose opinions she considered representative of the faculty’s before she set meeting agendas for Advisory Committee and Teacher Talk Times. At those meetings, if teachers seemed overwhel- mingly in favor of a proposal, she accepted it. She used statements like, “Are we all in agreement that we’ll try this next semester?” If she sensed that there was no consensus about an issue, Diane deferred it: ”Why don’t we talk about this again at our next meeting?...Anybody have any problems with that?” Teachers and other school staff 1 1 5 seldom voted formally to approve or disapprove proposals and the minutes of meetings reflected the consensual decision-making tradition that was the norm at Western High. Diane acknowledged that she much preferred this more deliberate, group-centered leadership approach, rather than having to make decisions alone and in haste. “You know it wouldn’t work,” she said, “if I made decisions too soon, before the faculty is ready for them. I much prefer if they come from the grass roots level.” While Diane avoided forcing decisions on the faculty, the teachers still perceived her as the party responsible for forcing teachers to accept her decisions, even unpopular ones. “It’s her job as principal to make that decision. We don’t always agree with it, but there it is,” said one faculty member, recalling a decision the principal had made to allow outside groups to use Western’s classrooms at night. Some teachers were indignant with what they called Diane’s “failure to deal” forcefully and immediately with some issues: “I told [Diane] that [one of the members of my department] was not going to attend an in-service day’s program, but she never did anything about it.” Some of the teachers deplored Diane’s reluctance to open herself to criticism: "She tries to give everybody what they want," while others felt she fought a losing battle, "I don't think you can make all of the people happy all of the time, as she tries to do." Another teacher described Diane this way, “I don't think she is a strong leader, but I do think she is a strong woman." But despite having reservations about her leadership style, teachers were aware of Diane’s willingness to entertain new ideas, especially those which claimed to improve student learning. One teacher summarized what many teachers felt: I think, in general, Diane’s perceived very positively by the faculty...She is trying to make change, too, as principal of the school. She is trying to keep track of it. She is looking at the literature out there. She is keeping herself informed on the trends. She's brought some of those changes to the school. I think Diane is really good at listening to people, listening to their concerns, trying to talk through her reasons for things. 1 1 6 Many of the teachers, Carla Ensign among them, considered Diane to be a supporter, at least initially, of changes they proposed. “I went in [her office] like a salesman. If you hit her the right way, that’s how to sell your idea.” Another teacher echoed the sentiments of several others when he said, “I feel she has always given me what I wanted.” Other teachers felt that Diane tried to please too many people, and eventually this would create conflict: "It's a 'yes' here and ’yes' there, but in no place does it all work together. Sooner or later all those ‘yesses’ are going to collide." Diane was quick to point out that certain teachers had greater influence with her than did others. When asked who those teachers were, one of the first she mentioned was Carla Ensign: “I trust her to know what is going on in her field and to know what is going on in her department.” On another occasion, Diane described Carla this way: There are emerging leaders in the school and Carla Ensign, she is there. She's put in enough time to pay some dues, so that people start listening to her now. Carla does a good job of bringing people along... by continually educating them. I notice in Advisory Committee, when she would first bring up things, most people would say, “Oh, go on, that's not how we’ve always done things.” But [Carla] doesn’t let go of things. She is...not just a person [involved]...in the academic area. She’s done a lot of extracurricular things. She's in the National Honor Club. She tutors children at school. She has children of her own. More people relate to that. Diane’s remarks are indicative of common perceptions about change agents in schools. These innovators have credibility with administrators and faculty and are very visible to people in the organization (Fullan, 1992; Perloff, 1993; Rogers, 1981; Sarason, 1982) To summarize, then, the principal at Western High School was the person primarily responsible for authorizing change. Teachers saw Diane as the person who could help them achieve their own goals, yet were sometimes frustrated by her slowness to mandate changes they wanted. As principal, Diane preferred to use consensus rather than autocracy to make decisions based on her previous experience with making 1 1 7 controversial decisions. She was responsive to teachers who offered her proposals for change and counted one teacher, Carla Ensign, in the cadre of teachers she trusted. THE TEACHER CHANGE AGENT According to many of the faculty at Western High, Carla Ensign was “the first one to tell us about IDT.” She was “the first to tell” the faculty “that our students would not all be going to college and there would be a change in the way we did things. She was a forerunner for change for the rest of us.” In some respects, Carla Ensign did not conform to the profile of the typical teacher at Western High. She entered secondary school teaching after a career in management at a large university. “I learned to handle both men and women in top-level positions,” she said of her earlier experiences. She came to Western where at least half the teachers had never had any other profession except full-time teaching and where most had been teaching for several years or had been hired just out of college. She was the mother of two learning-disabled children in a school where there were no special education programs for children with learning problems. Skilled in research methodologies, Carla brought a unique perspective to Western, coming to meetings, as one teacher described her, "armed with facts and figures.” Carla’s reliance on data sometimes helped to win other teachers over to her opinions. It also underscored her persuasiveness. As a department head explained, Carla brought “some new experiences from both management and the outside...not just problems but solutions, too.” Her propensity to make suggestions for all aspects of student and faculty life at Western were well-known to other teachers. As one teacher said: [Carla] brings some experiences that a lot of people here don’t have. Working in a noneducational setting, getting involved in a management position...Outside of an educational setting, you are held accountable for some things. I think it is an interesting perspective that we could use more of around here. 1 1 8 Another teacher said: I think [I admire her] because Carla is a new teacher who has put in atremendous amount of time in the real world, whereas most of us have never done anything else in our lives. We came out of college and we went into classrooms. Carla has spent a lot of time in [research labs]. l think...the reasonl respect her is that she’s got such knowledge about real life. Being “from the outside” suggests that Carla as a teacher change agent had to prove herself capable of meeting the standards and expectations for teachers at Western. “I’ve picked up some ideas from teachers I didn’t particularly think of as great teachers,” one teacher commented, “but I...feel much more comfortable with an idea from someone I know who’s been accepted.” Another teacher in Carla’s department, observing firsthand the changes Carla was trying to make there, said, “A person has to be acceptable to be a positive change agent, acceptable in [another’s] eyes.” Other teachers conceded that Carla was a good teacher; she did all the things that marked a good teacher at Western High, including volunteering for extracurricular tasks. She attended athletic games and cheered the home team. She arrived early and stayed late to help students. She was a member of Advisory Committee, Teacher Talk Time, and served as her department’s chairwoman. She helped with special projects, fund-raisers, and special events being sponsored by the school. Other teachers saw Carla as being active, not only in her own classroom, but taking to heart the interests and needs of the school as a whole: She was willing to sign up for her share of the work. She is a chaperone for special student activities. She comes in early to help tutor students. She is an excellent teacher, well-versed in her discipline and in community concerns. She attends meetings regularly. She comes prepared for class...[and is] very demanding on herself. Thus, when Carla demonstrated her willingness to undertake responsibilities shared by other teachers, she underscored her credibility as a teacher, worthy of attention. While 1 1 9 Carla’s capabilities as a teacher were unquestioned, occasionally a teacher would seem surprised by Carla’s attitudes and reactions: “When Diane asked all the department heads to sign up for that conference on IDT, I thought, ‘Oh, boy. I have to give up my whole weekend.’ But Carla asked to go.” Carla herself understood that some teachers were uncomfortable with her making suggestions but claimed that their reactions were of little concern: Research is second nature [to me], I guess, and I know a lot of these people don’t trust research, especially educational research. I can understand some of that but, I also don’t feel very threatened. I’ve had a lot of success teaching, I’ve had a lot of good feedback from kids and from the administration and from other teachers, so I don’t have a lot of trouble. Carla’s actions as a change agent, then, were grounded in her willingness to do all that was expected of a teacher. Sometimes, however, she challenged some of the unspoken expectations about teacher behaviors. Teachers, for example, did not typically ask for help from other teachers (Rosenholtz, 1989) but Carla did so, with memorable consequences. Recalling such an incident, she said: Onoel went to [another] department’s meeting and asked them to give me some help teaching [certain lesson plans] to my students. They practically jumped down my throat. One of them even drafted a letter about me. No one else signed it, so it ended there...but it hurt. “Well, I don’t presume to understand your subject matter,” [a teacher] told me, “so don’t presume to understand mine.” As a change agent then, Carla had to strike a balance between defying the traditional norms for teachers and achieving the goals she set for herself regarding improving the quality of student learning. 1 2 O CARLA’S POSITION OF POWER Many of the teachers viewed Carla as a figure with considerable personal power even if she lacked authority. “There is an air about her that made her a great influence beyond her department... schoolwide,” said a faculty member. This perception may have stemmed from the teacher’s perception that, as head of one of the departments, Carla “had a legitimate base” for influencing others. Another teacher said, “I think [department heads] have a little bit more power because of the position they’re in, but there’s got to be a personality that goes with it.” A third said, "I think as a department head, [Carla] is listened to more than someone who is not." Carla herself knew that simply being department head was not enough to bring about the kinds of changes she wanted at Western High: “Technically, l have no authority. There is nothing I can do. I don’t sit in on classes, I don’t sit in on contract negotiations. It really is a thankless position that requires a lot of work for nothing.” Aware that being department head made little difference in a person’s ability to effect change, one of the teachers in Carla’s department remarked, “Carla has her supporters but feels very much alone. She really feels powerless, but everybody listens to her-- Diane, the other teachers--People do not resist her so much as the ideas she is presenting.” Another teacher described changes Carla had pushed for within her own department as being “an uphill battle” with two of the teachers opposed to Carla’s recommendation that the department revise its existing curriculum: I see a lot of people as being almost jealous of Carla, kind of like, ‘Where does she get her authority from?’ That sort of thing. [Some of the other faculty] feel that way. [Two] other teachers do, too. I think [another teacher] might see her as threatening, too...l think she gets frustrated, too. fSrlgenis’ stuck in the problem: Whom does the power emanate Carla did admit to being frustrated and dissatisfied with other teachers’ reluctance to consider changing their habits: “We have to somehow get others not 1 21 threatened by [change], and they are. You know the one thing that Diane asked [all teachers] to do this year [was] to write the outcomes for each lesson on the board. You'd have thought she was asking for the color of their underwear.” In studying Carla’s role as a “powerful” department head, I saw her being hindered by the same conditions as the principal. Diane found it difficult to mandate changes unless the faculty were favorable. Carla, in her position as department head, found the same: She could not force change even though others expected a person in her position to be able to do so. Since Carla felt that being department head did not give her enough authority to make changes happen, she hoped that change would issue from the person in the rank above her, from Diane. But, since Diane did not use her authority in this way, Carla turned to other teachers on the staff. Teachers I named in the cast of characters became potential adopters of IDT at Carla’s instigation. The strategies Carla used to convince these teachers to support IDT form the nucleus of this study and are outlined in the following three chapters. A PRELUDE Chapter Five, “Advocacy,” outlines the time when Carla actively campaigned for the adoption of IDT. During this period, Carla made use of the prevailing channels of communication at the school: she talked to the principal about IDT, engaged in discussions with other teachers at Advisory Committee, Teacher Talk Time, and department meetings. Carla frequently brought up the idea of inter-disciplinary teaching and its benefits with the result that she convinced one other teacher, Linda Shaffer, that IDT was the solution to many of the school’s problems with curriculum. Chapter Six begins with Carla’s disappointment that so few of the other teachers and administrators were willing to adopt IDT. As a result, Carla spoke up less frequently in meetings and narrowed her attention to a group of teachers who seemed more 1 22 receptive. This small core of faculty were disillusioned by their perception that the principal would never force change onto others. In league with Carla, the group plotted to circumvent the principal and to recruit two other teachers, Chris Sajak and Jeff Daniels, as members to their cause. This period marked a time when Carla was heavily involved in coordinating the activities of several teachers who were rapidly becoming a group dedicated to lDT’s adoption at Western High. I called this chapter “Alliance” for it signaled a time of coalition-building for IDT. In Chapter Seven, I describe the “Derailment” of the group’s goals and plans. This derailment occurred when the principal unexpectedly introduced a new idea of her own: the revision of the school’s long-range plan. Discussing and implementing this proposal sharply reduced the time available for strategizing about IDT. There were fewer resources available for the development and training of teachers in IDT. Although Carla and her band of supporters were still committed to the adoption of IDT, they were side-tracked in their efforts by issues of governance and decision-making that rose out of discussions about the long-range plan. During these lengthy discussions, attention to IDT dissipated and Carla’s group eventually dispersed. CHAPTER FIVE ADVOCACY The future enters into us. . .long before we know it, " Rainer Maria Rilke INTRODUCTION In this chapter I highlight some of the reactions of Western’s teachers to inter- disciplinary teaching. I then describe Carla Ensign’s activities as a change agent who tried to persuade others to adopt IDT schoolwide. Carla felt IDT promised to improve student performance and learning. At Western, she lauded IDT in meetings and in informal conversations with her principal and other teachers in the school. When Carla had first become interested in IDT, she felt she had the prinCipal’s support to dissem- inate information about IDT throughout the school. Later, when she found the principal to be less responsive, Carla turned to her fellow teachers, becoming the onsite expert in IDT. The ways in which Carla tried to communicate with her colleagues were consistent with normative behaviors for teachers at Western High but had mixed results. I close this chapter about Carla’s first phase of dissemination of information about IDT with her pointing to one teacher, Linda Shaffer, as her only real supporter. TEACHER IMPRESSIONS OF IDT The term “inter-disciplinary teaching” was familiar to Western High’s administrators and teachers. Both the principal, Diane Adams, and the teachers were aware of IDT through their own professional reading and from their contacts with other 123 1 24 educators, but few felt equal to the task of describing IDT fully. There was a welter of opinions about IDT among the teachers at Western High: I’m not sure about IDT. I hear a lot of people felt it is a ‘pie in the sky’ type of thing. But I don’t think everyone has a full grasp of it... I still don’t think people are clear on what it is. I felt a little uninformed about IDT. I’ve been looking at articles and talking to outsiders [about it]. Still others felt IDT was a theoretical model that might not translate to the needs of the classroom teacher. As one teacher said: The thing that I am concerned about is that nobody can define for me what it is. Nobody has a really good example; everything's...so vague that I have read about it...l've heard some examples that kind of scare me...lf [IDT] is acceptable, what does the future hold?...l worry. Is it so open-ended that there are really no guidelines to follow? But then again I see its benefit. I’m still searching for...a really good example or case study that...explains it. Some faculty members were cautiously optimistic about IDT and willing to explore its possibilities. “When you look at almost every recommendation [about improving schools], I can’t imagine everyone’s wrong. Most data say that it is the way to go,” said one teacher. Other teachers thought IDT had possibilities: "The notion of it is very good,” said one. “It forces you to think about where you are going and what you want your kids to do when they are all done with this." Another faculty member disagreed, thinking it was “a rehash of Bloom's Taxonomy...People look at it as just a rehash of saying the same thing with different words.” Several other teachers shared this opinion. For many teachers, the barrage of educational reform movements which they saw rising in 1 25 popularity and later fading away was a condition of professional life to which they were now inured. IDT was simply another new idea, masquerading as the newest and best solution for the problems plaguing schools. One teacher remarked: There is an article right now hanging in the Front Office about IDT and they quote a teacher who uses this one project as an example. And I ask, “How is this project different from a project you would have done under another guideline?” It's a good class project, but what makes it--why would you do [this] only in an IDT environment, compared to a standard classroom environment? If IDT was a passing fad, some teachers were certain that adherents to it would fall by the wayside when another fad became popular. "This is just another grand scheme. We now have to jump on this bandwagon, until the next one comes along," said one teacher. Still other faculty felt that the precepts of IDT were ones they already knew and practiced. The possibility that IDT might be adopted at Western caused them little anxiety, but they also recognized that IDT would pose a threat to teachers who did not share their lack of concern: There is resistance to It, because people look at it and they are thinking, “If I put all my time and energy into something, I want to see a return on it.” And then they start to think it is kind of dicey and there is a lot of work involved and they don't think they get a very good return and they kind of shy away. By reviewing the profusion of opinions about IDT among teachers, I do not mean to suggest that faculty were incapable of or unwilling to embrace changes that were proposed. Just the previous year, the teachers had experimented with flexible schedules for classes. They had also implemented a closed-circuit television program which all students watched each morning during one of their class periods. Individual teachers had proposed these ideas for improving the school at meetings of the Advisory Committee and in Teacher Talk Time meetings. Implementing these ideas affected every teacher. What distinguished these ideas from IDT was that the earlier changes were logistical changes, 126 not deep-seated transformations of the school’s culture, “the distinctive, tradition- based axioms, values, and outlook of school personnel” (Sarason, 1982). The flexible schedule and the closed-circuit television program were easily accommodated by most of the teachers and readily became part of the daily school routine. IDT, on the other hand, affected the content of teaching and learning and demanded collaboration between and among teachers before, during, and after each lesson plan. It demanded that teachers reexamine their understandings of what it meant to be a teacher. One teacher voiced this concern quite poignantly, “If I subscribe to IDT, doesn’t that suggest that I am not a good teacher, that l have to depend on other teachers to help me out when I come to that part of a lesson where they are supposed to teach instead of me?” In short, because inter- disciplinary teaching depended upon teachers being willing to collaborate with each other, it clashed with cultural norms in place in the school. Even without prior experience with IDT and with some anxiety about how it would affect them personally, some teachers at Western felt that lDT’s adoption was inevitable: “I have a real hard time with it. It will be mandated some day, like [other things].” As is true in other schools, most of the teachers at Western believed that the school’s administrators and policy-makers were responsible for educational reform (Hess, 1992; Lipman & Rankin, 1982; Sergiovanni, 1987; Sarason, 1982). Whether or not the teachers’ assumptions were correct, the faculty at Western expected the principal to decide whether the school would or would not adopt IDT; they thought it would be their responsibility to implement her decision. As one teacher said, “[Our present curriculum] may be superseded and when it is, then I will change." Another faculty member reasoned that certain conditions would have to be met before IDT could be implemented: 1 27 If [the administration] decided to move the school toward an IDT school, they would have to make it mandatory for the faculty to attend one of these work sessions and I think it would be nice if they had more explicit case studies that broke [it] down into specific examples in a classroom. Another teacher also felt that if IDT were mandated, the faculty would “have to have training in it” because “it is still really confusing to people who went through a school System that was so dramatically different [from an IDT school].” Though they did not voice it as such, the teachers felt that some administrative muscle would be needed before IDT could be implemented and institutionalized. However, as I mentioned in Chapter Four, it was very unlikely that the adoption Of IDT by administrative mandate would ever occur at this school. To create support for a change, especially one of the magnitude of IDT, a change agent like Carla Ensign would have to persuade the principal to force the rest of the faculty to implement it, something that Diane was unlikely to do. GETTING ADMINISTRATIVE SUPPORT Diane’s “support” was interpreted differently by each teacher. For one, having “the principal’s support” meant “getting money” for a special class project. For another, support meant “an additional planning period.” For a third, it was the principal’s willingness “to fix the teaching schedule” to allow a teacher to teach a particular class. One teacher described such support as a lack of administrative interference, as “letting me do my own thing.” Teachers often made Diane aware of a project they wanted to sponsor or an idea they wanted to test in their own classrooms rather than formally asking her permission. 1 2 8 Some teachers felt that individuals who “got what they asked for” had learned how to communicate with the principal. These individuals had found it was easy to get Diane’s support because “she tries to please everyone” and “it is hard for her to say ‘no’.” Some teachers had learned to make deals with the principal: In exchange for promises that new endeavors “would help students,” Diane gave these teachers permission to launch certain projects or made exceptions to school rules to help out the teachers. “She has always given me what I wanted,” said one department head, “But then, I always do what I am expected to do.” One or two of the teachers noticed that some departments and some teachers, including Carla Ensign and Linda Shaffer, “got what they wanted because they had asked outright.” A teacher asked to comment on how teachers persuaded the principal said this: “Some people just push for things.” When a teacher “asked outright,” or “pushed hard” and was turned down, Diane usually said it was due to a “lack of money.” The large number of fund-raisers, grant- writing projects and other income-producing projects being sponsored by individual teachers or entire departments in the school suggests that money for innovative projects was scarce and the principal was justified in using this reason to deny a teacher’s request. Teachers seemed to accept this.‘ The teachers, especially the department heads, were aware of the approaches most likely to achieve the results they desired when they talked to Diane. Learning how to communicate with the principal was part of their socialization as teachers. Veteran teachers explained to new teachers who wanted advice on “how to approach Diane” to “be IAlthough the point of this study is not to investigate the persuasion strategies of the principal, it is worth noting that Diane used certain approaches to influence teachers. One approach was to deny requests because there “was no money.” Another was to let meeting discussions flow without overt direction from her. She, too, had learned where her authority ended and when she had to rely on different strategies to persuade teachers to adopt other courses of action. 129 careful to plan” their approach and to “present an idea without much fanfare,” to be “low-key.” One department head said, “The most effective way is to think through your position, anticipate consequences, and give [Diane] a list of things that may be produced by whatever thing you are trying to effect.” Another faculty member embellished his colleague’s comment by saying, “I try to ask for things in a cool, nonthreatening voice.” A fourth summed up her success using these methods: I have Diane’s ear. I write memos and letters. I put news positively, sandwiching bad news between good, saying how grateful I am for whatever, and I sign the [memos], “Respectfully submitted”...l go in [her office] with a real quiet voice, notes in my hand. Occasionally I just talk to her. Diane knew that the teachers carefully planned their requests to her. She recalled one instance where a teacher approached her with the hope of team-teaching a course with another teacher in another department: [The teacher] came to me with the idea. I thought it sounded great. I said, “First you have to take it back to your department because we have to make sure this counts [as a course requirement for graduation] and that your department agrees that it should count for one of the regular classes”....[That teacher] said two of the other teachers in the department weren’t overjoyed, but that, yes, they would gp along with it. [So we] put [the course] in...l was kind of excited about the change. [That teacher] and I told [the office staff] that when we registered kids, we should kind of push [that course], tell students about it when they registered. At Western, teachers who could justify requests by assuring Diane that “other teachers liked the idea” were more apt to get what they wanted than were faculty members who asked for something but had not gotten support from other teachers. Part of the teachers’ knowing how to influence the principal was in learning what had happened to teachers who had not acted “appropriately.” Teachers vividly recalled stories of individuals who had argued publicly with the principal: 1 30 [One teacher] was a thorn in Diane’s side. She was a disciplinarian and her ideas and Diane’s ideas on how to administer discipline were miles apart. I think Diane thought she could control [the other teacher]...by putting blockades in her path, like moving her class out of [one room] and into a [much smaller] classroom. [Diane could] set up situations and it got to [that teacher]. In breaking the unwritten and unspoken rules for appropriate teacher behavior, people ran the risk that Diane might retaliate, bear a grudge, or turn down future requests. “You don’t know what somebody can do on the surface that may crop up six months down the road or a year or whatever. I don’t always think you can do things [as that teacher did] and come out unscathed,” said one faculty member. If a teacher confronted the principal aggressively, shouted out in anger, or put Diane “on the spot,” he or she only succeeded in reducing the likelihood of getting what was wanted. But one or two teachers felt the consequences of breaking the rules outweighed the risks of angering the principal: I think that [one teacher who publicly argued with the principal] perceives that she won some ground on it....When [the teacher] went storming into [Diane’s office] and said things that most people would think were cruel, uncalled for, inappropriate. Some would even say “insubordinate.” But [that teacher] was going for the greater good and felt that the end was important. Well, then, [her action] was worthwhile....She thinks she won some ground. Teachers acknowledged that there was a fine line between acceptable and unacceptable behaviors in interacting with each other as well: “You have those kind of people who don’t mind speaking up and maybe losing friends to get a point across,” said one teacher. Another staff member described the balance between abiding by the norms and breaking them when he said, “It’s like carrying a carton of eggs. You kind of treat it real sensitive.” The school, like most organizations, was a political arena whose administrators and teachers constantly negotiated and bargained with each other 1 31 (Sarason, 1977). In presenting a new idea, then, a teacher change agent might upset the status quo and the stability of interpersonal relationships. Teacher change agents had to present new ideas in ways that did not offend others though still achieving the desired end (Gottlieb, 1966; Schein, 1978; Van Maanen & Schein, 1977). Teachers at Western were very much attuned as to which norms might be broken without severe repercussions. Teachers presented requests so they seemed compatible with organizational values to offset the chances the requests might be denied. One staff member who had been turned down repeatedly disagreed with those who thought it was easy to influence the principal: “[People] have to work very, very hard to get things approved by the administration...They [learn to] tie their own goals under disguise to the administration’s. They don’t go one-to-one, they go through committees.” To summarize, teachers had learned which activities, behaviors, and attitudes were appropriate for communicating with the principal, and how teachers were expected to act when making a request from her as an administrator (Berger & Luckmann, 1966, cited in Rosenholtz, 1989). They had learned to defer to the principal for all matters of decision-making outside their own classrooms. They typically used a quiet, subdued approach and went to meetings with her prepared to demonstrate that they had well- prepared plans to carry out their ideas and that their ideas had other teachers’ support. Having learned how to influence the principal, teachers had come to accept these approaches as normal and typical. The range of normative behaviors depends, of course, on the organizational context (Schein, 1985). However, one can safely say that Western’s teachers and administrators perceived certain influence strategies as fitting the norms while others did not. When teachers bent the unwritten rules for acceptable communications, such as by arguing with the principal, these teachers risked incurring administrative disapproval and suffering the consequences. 1 32 Against this backdrop was Carla Ensign, a teacher who knew and understood what these normative behaviors meant when she campaigned for inter-disciplinary teaching. CARLA’S INFLUENCE STRATEGIES As a teacher and a department head, Carla was very visible to the principal. She talked to Diane nearly every day, “was in her office a lot,” and made it a point “to see Diane just to talk” about “whatever was going on in the department.” Carla used her planning periods to see Diane and visited with the principal at school assemblies, at athletic events, and at student dances. Carla’s perception was that these frequent contacts helped make Diane “my supporter” and “receptive to my ideas.” Carla said, “Diane [treats me] very positively. Any feedback I have gotten from Diane, that’s what I would say.” Other teachers shared this perception: [Carla] doesn't let go of things and she gets what she wants. She knows how to, I don’t want to say “manipulate,” but she is very good with PR. She is one of the first to bring up things. She is a leader. She got new equipment in her department’s classrooms. She’s been able to go to different workshops...She's been encouraged by the administration. While some of these teachers saw Carla as having influence with the principal, a few of them were aware that she risked more than other teachers when making a proposal or suggestion. As one administrator commented, “Carla is not afraid to raise her hand and say ‘I disagree.’ This is very hard to do in a group of peers.” Her fellow teachers also noticed that Carla was "not afraid to speak up, be more dominant, not...soft 1 3 3 and accepting.” Others saw Carla’s methods as overstepping the boundaries of acceptable teacher behavior. "She's aggressive. She frightens me,” said one faculty member. A second teacher remarked: I've heard her say, “We have to make everybody do it.” In education, you tend to be sort of mentally self-employed, so being told what to do is not a comfortable thing. I think you have to...speak softly and carry a big stick. [That] is more effective with educators. I've seen [reactions to Carla] in Advisory Committee. Some people are not comfortable with [her]. Faculty members were aware of the differences between Carla’s communications approaches and those used by other teachers. One faculty member mentioned that Carla was “in the administrative office a lot.” One teacher noticed that Carla “gets here early and goes to the front lobby and talks to people." Carla sought opportunities to talk to other teachers as often as she talked to Diane. "Carla’s a nonsmoker but she visits us (the teachers who smoke) in the teachers’ lounge sometimes at lunch," said one of the faculty who said he rarely socialized with others. Carla could often be found talking to other teachers between classes and on her planning period, when others stayed in their rooms. She cultivated a wide circle of faculty and office staff acquaintances. Her closest associates were not only teachers in classrooms adjoining hers, people whom she saw several times each day, but also teachers in classrooms in corridors farther away. One of these classrooms was Linda Shaffer’s. Carla made a special point of walking to Linda’s side of the building and seeing her daily. Linda said: “I talk to Carla a lot. We exchange ideas. She roams back and forth, before and after school.” Reaching other influential individuals on a regular basis is a necessary function of a change agent (Porter, Allen & Angle, .1981; Rogers, 1981) and Carla did this very well. She described herself as “very visible” and “pretty good at influencing” the principal, because Diane seldom interfered with Carla’s attempts “to revamp her 1 34 department’s curriculum.” This last statement refers to Carla’s attempt, about three years ago, to rewrite two of the department’s traditional classes into a curriculum that very closely resembled that of inter-disciplinary teaching. This curriculum change was now in its third year of implementation. Carla described this attempt at making a curriculum change in this way: In my department, there was nothing when I came. There was not even a guideline. [A fellow teacher] and I...just kind of worked out together what we would do...We started to go to conferences [in our subject area] that year...This program is what we worked on through one whole summer. [A new teacher] and l were the ones who developed the program. Carla did not mention in this conversation that she needed permission from the principal to launch this curriculum revision, but the principal remembered Carla coming in to her office and frequently talking to her about using IDT in this way. “I felt like [Carla] knew what she was doing in her department, the way things were going in her subject area,” Diane said. Carla had been in frequent touch with the principal, keeping her abreast of developments as Carla and the other department teachers revised the new curriculum. WINNING AND LOSING ADMINISTRATIVE SUPPORT Satisfied that the department’s present curriculum could be revised along IDT lines, Carla considered this sufficient evidence to urge other faculty to revise the curriculum in every department throughout the entire school. In this, she seemed to have the principal’s tacit support, believing that Diane shared her own growing interest in IDT. Diane posted IDT-related articles from professional journals on the teachers' bulletin board. At teachers’ meetings and in Advisory Committee, Diane mentioned books she was reading about IDT. She encouraged teachers to discuss it at Teacher Talk Times, 1 35 and “put IDT on the agenda” for Advisory Committee meetings. To the teachers, it appeared that Diane was informed about IDT and was interested in seeing it adopted schoolwide. The principal was also willing to release interested teachers for out-of-state workshops and conferences on IDT and to use school funds to pay the teachers’ expenses. When the teachers returned, she asked them to give reports about IDT at the next school meeting, usually at a Teacher Talk Time. Carla attended one such workshop, along with several other teachers, and found it useful to hear a speaker who had used IDT teaching methods in her own classroom: There was a teacher there who was helping with the workshops and she was very successful in inter-disciplinary teaching. She had a good formula for it and made it very plain so that it was clear to understand. It seemed to me that that was what we were trying to accomplish. So I began to look into it more. When Carla returned to school she experimented with preparing a lesson plan for a single unit with another teacher. Though their schedules could not be arranged so that Carla and the other teacher could actually teach the class together, both teachers were pleased by the results of their shared planning experience. A schoolwide adoption of IDT meant revamping all thirty teachers’ lesson planning and class periods and revising student schedules, the academic course calendar, and the student entry requirements for classes. But Carla thought IDT could work on this large a scale. “I saw how IDT worked and l have no reason to think it couldn’t be done by every teacher here,” she said. With this goal in mind, she turned first to Diane. Carla asked for school funds to attend another conference, this one a national conference on IDT. Diane was willing to use school funds from the continuing education budget to finance the trip. When Carla returned from the conference, she was even more desirous of a schoolwide conversion to 1 36 IDT and wanted to share her newfound information and knowledge with the rest of the schook I was very excited about it when I got back. It was a very good conference and I got to see several situations [in other schools] where [IDT] had worked. They weren’t even calling it “IDT” but where this new method was working, well, a lot of schools were actually calling it IDT. They had that program. However, when Carla returned to school, she was disappointed to learn no one was interested in her conference experiences: "I went alone and I had nobody to talk this over with. l was so pumped when I got back and nobody was too interested in it at that point." To her surprise, the principal did not appear to be interested in her experiences either. Carla said, “My understanding was that l was going to bring back the information that I got and share that with the rest of the faculty. That is not what happened, not how it was at all.” Carla expected to give a substantive report to the faculty: “I asked [Diane] for the time to make a presentation and it was not given to me....l misunderstood my role, being sent to this very expensive conference.” Carla had interpreted Diane’s willingness to send her to the conference as a sign of endorsement of IDT. To be denied the opportunity for a public platform for IDT when she returned was disappointing. In Carla’s view, there was no accounting for Diane’s lack of interest. Carla said, “[The conference programs speakers] were very clear and frank about what doesn’t work and I thought [Diane] would be interested in knowing that. She wasn’t.” There were any number of possible reasons why Diane may have denied Carla’s request to make a formal presentation. Perhaps Diane felt that if Carla made a presentation on IDT, the teachers would assume Diane was giving her approval to IDT. Diane may have felt that the timing of such a presentation was premature. Perhaps she simply agreed to Carla’s request to attend the conference, but did not expect Carla to pursue IDT in such a 1 37 determined fashion once she returned. Perhaps Diane was simply too busy to arrange extra time in the meeting schedule, for other crises were developing at the school which demanded her attention. But whatever the reason, Carla interpreted Diane’s action as an indication that the principal no longer supported IDT. ADVOCATING FOR THE ADOPTION OF IDT When the principal’s invitation to make a formal presentation to the faculty did not materialize, Carla began to spread the word about IDT on her own. Carla’s audience was broad-based. She talked to administrators, faculty, coaches, librarians, and school fund-raisers. She did not discriminate in her audiences, nor did she appear to have a specific plan or a clear scheme for reaching all the teachers at Western High. “We would just talk,” one of her listeners said, “Carla always had something to say about IDT.” She conversed with teachers who gathered in the front office before the start of school and brought up IDT at lunch and before and after classes. Carla also used Advisory Committee meetings and Teacher Talk Times as occasions to talk about IDT, for the freewheeling nature of the meeting discussions made it easy for anyone to interject items of personal interest, even if those items did not appear on the written agenda. Carla rarely missed one of these regularly-scheduled meetings and she offered unsolicited information about IDT whenever she did attend. Carla became the school’s public proponent and flag-bearer for IDT. At first Carla’s comments about IDT were general in nature, simple exhortations to reform: “IDT can work. I’ve seen teachers in schools using it....l can tell you it is working. We have got to do something [like it] here at Western.” 1 38 She created a lot of awareness about IDT at Western, especially among the department heads in Advisory Committee: “Carla knows a lot about IDT. She was the first to say that schools were changing and that we have to be prepared to change, too.” Even one of the school’s bookkeepers mentioned that “Carla is the person I think of when I think of a ‘change agent’ because she wants that IDT thing.” At this time, Carla appealed to the teachers’ concern for the school and for the students. "She said we should try it because it would be helpful to our students,” one teacher recalled. Sometimes Carla compared students’ performance at Western with those in other schools that used IDT for their curriculum. When one teacher asked Carla how she knew if IDT worked, she responded, “A guy in Arizona called [IDT] the ‘concrete track’ as opposed to the “abstract track,’ but he found that, after three years, the concrete groups were doing better than the academic groups and now that group wanted more concrete [applications], because [the concrete group] was doing so much better on the standardized tests.” If teachers at Western adopted an IDT curriculum, Carla implied, they would “be doing good for their students.” This kind of argument appealed to Western’s teachers who wanted to believe their students’ academic achievement was on a par with those in public schools. Carla’s general exhortation, her frequent mention of IDT, and her appeals to school pride swayed some teachers toward adoption of IDT. ”She pushes us, little by little, to change. I'm a lot more aware of things she has talked about, but haven't been able to quite apply it. I am changing my thinking but haven't yet changed my plans or my classroom activities," said a teacher who summarized the comments of several others. Some of the teachers began asking for “concrete examples” of how to use IDT in all subject areas. Carla tried to oblige: “Well, you,” she said to one teacher, “would teach the mathematics part of one unit and you,” she said to another, “would teach the 1 39 economics. And the Language Arts teacher would teach report-writing [to the students] as part of the same unit.” Offering “examples of IDT in action” was a way Carla could counter the abstract nature of IDT and “make it understandable” to other teachers. CONSEQUENCES OF ADVOCACY Carla’s approach to advocating for the adOption of IDT had mixed results. One teacher absorbed what Carla had to say and interpreted it in his own words, with regard to his own teaching: My understanding about IDT is that, basically, you have to decide for each course what you think is important for the students to learn and what you think is important that they are going to leave your class with, not all these little other things that they may pick up. If you can choose four or five major ideas, then gear your course around them, making sure you are reinforcing these four or five ideas, I think that’s basically all IDT is...That, to me, is what I’ve tried to do...[to] not worry so much about did I cover thirty-two chapters, when they are only going to remember fifteen of them anyway. A few teachers showed some cautious enthusiasm and were willing to try IDT as single lesson planning unit, working with one other teacher. One said: I went to [another teacher] and asked her to help me teach a lesson plan that I wanted to show my class. She was so helpful. We decided that I would take her second period class and teach them [my part of the lesson] and she would take my second period class and teach them [her part of the lesson].” Another teacher planned to “teach writing to [a colleague’s] math class, while that teacher taught his” class. It would be helpful, some of the faculty told Carla, if they had sample lesson plans developed by teachers in other schools that could be used as models. On more than one occasion a teacher said, “I would like to think more about [IDT]. If I could just see how it is being done in other schools, that would help.” Another teacher, like several in the 140 high school, said he was “willing to experiment with new ideas like IDT” but preferred to “use some real lessons” lifted from other schools, not “some stuff [he had] to think up” on his own. Carla began to search for model lesson plans and found “a really good one.” A nationally known educator had published an IDT model and was willing to sell it to school districts. It was prohibitively expensive. Carla checked local schools and read the trade literature for less expensive models, but found none that Western teachers could readily use. She did find one or two local educators who were willing to come to Western and explain “how they did IDT at their schools.” But these educators were also experimenting with block scheduling, integration of classes, magnet schools, quality school improvement, and a host of other educational reforms. These educators came from public schools which had bigger budgets and more resources than were available at Western. Their school cultures were different from Western’s and many \of Western’s teachers, listening to these educators, concluded that there were too many obstacles at Western to implementing IDT. Although Carla did try to emphasize the replicability of the models used by the teachers in the conferences she had attended, Western’s faculty did not seem impressed. They listened politely to Carla when she talked about IDT at meetings and occasionally asked questions but candidly admitted they would not know how to revise a class to fit IDT. As one said: 1 41 I’m not sure what direction I’m going. I’m afollower, but I don’t know who to follow. I try to follow Carla a little bit, and help her as much as possible, but where do I go next?...Sometimes she wants it both ways. It doesn't work that way for [my courses]. One idea is to get departments to work together, and so in [my classes], I teach [another subject area] right in [my own lesson] itself right as we go along. I thought that was IDT. Well, [Carla] said we should teach the [inter-disciplinary portion] right at the begin- ning of the year and don‘t even call it by [its course name] until we teach [it]. But then it is not IDT. So there are a couple of ideas I haven’t made sense of yet. Furthermore, the whole concept of IDT still intimidated other faculty, who remained unconvinced that it should be adopted in a schoolwide basis. These teachers seemed very reluctant to investigate IDT further. "I haven’t been convinced and, until I am, I won't do it. Carla...is convinced, but of course, she teaches in a discipline where the subject matter changes," said one teacher who taught what she referred to as a “finite” discipline. “[My classes] don’t change like some fields do, like the sciences or business or computers,” she said, “So...IDT doesn’t really apply to me.” At first Carla shrugged off such teacher criticism, but it was becoming more upsetting for her to hear some of the teachers’ reactions to her and her message. One department head aggressively confronted Carla during an Advisory Committee meeting. “You stay out of my affairs and I’ll stay out of yours!” cried the teacher. “I don’t think [Carla] knows what is right for this school,” she said later. Carla referred several times to this argument. “I sure threatened Ms. back there,” she said. More than one teacher equated being “against IDT” with “being against Carla.” Carla often spoke of her frustration at being the only advocate for IDT at the school: “I’m pooped....l have no idea what is going to happen next year. But we are going forward anyway.” On another occasion she said, “I have to be careful. I’m seen as standing for something.” Being a change agent in a school implies that it will be a positive, rewarding, and desirable experience, but there are perils associated with the role that a teacher may not 1 42 anticipate. It was easy, as Carla discovered, to make other teachers feel threatened, even unintentionally, or to tread on someone else’s turf, or to damage personal relationships. Despite her willingness to take up the standard for IDT single-handedly, there were still emotional burdens to the change process that she sometimes found difficult to bear. By this time, Carla sensed that the principal was “still lukewarm” on IDT and, though there were a few teachers interested in it, most, as she put it, “were still dragging their feet.” Carla gradually stopped her enthusiastic endorsements of IDT at meetings and provided information about IDT only when a teacher asked. "Enough people have been to conferences now that I just kind of support the positive things that they bring back..in conversations and when they have sought my advice on how to incorporate this into their classrooms. I have tried to give suggestions," she said. ASSESSING THE SUPPORTERS AND THE OPPOSITION Throughout this initial phase when Carla was advocating IDT so rigorously, she continually evaluated the receptivity of other teachers to IDT, dividing them into “supporters” or “resisters.” When asked who these teachers were, Carla listed them by name: Well, there’s [three teachers]. Andthere’s [another teacher]. I have no idea what he is doing, but I'm sure he doesn't want anybody to tell him what to do. [A fifth teacher] is not one to look to change, but I am sure he will just naturally fall into it. I guess... that [a sixth] is working on IDT and I think [a seventh] would like to take on things in his area...[Some teachers] have latched onto the idea that [they’ve] heard it all before...and [IDT] is threat- ening to some. I think they think it is alot of work, which it is, and they aren't willing to give that work....and there are some people who have been at the school for 20 years and they just want to stay down. 1 43 A few teachers, she thought, showed signs of support. They asked her questions about IDT, wanted more information, and sought her advice and recommendations on planning lessons using IDT: There’s Linda Shaffer. I guess you could say that [she is the most] supportive. [Another teacher] is every supportive person [but] not a discriminating supporter. Everyone who asks her for support gets it and it is a very important role she has. But I would say that the people who are involved in [IDT] are Linda Shaffer and Linda Shaffer. The teacher Carla mentioned as being most supportive of IDT was a department head on warm and friendly terms with Carla even before she became interested in IDT. Linda said, "Carla made me much more open to inter-disciplinary learning. I tend to be a person who Is very set in my ways." Carla considered Linda to be an "early adopter” of IDT principles, one who “needed little persuasion” to convince her that there were possibilities to improve student performance if the school adopted IDT. Linda attended Advisory Committee meetings and many teachers referred to her as a “force” in the school, one who “helped show others what could be done.” By supporting IDT, she might influence others. Linda became interested in IDT through her numerous talks with Carla, but did not show any real enthusiasm for it until she experimented with it in the design of one of her lesson plans: First of all, I followed a unit [Carla] had written to see how to do it, not for the content, [but] because I didn’t understand the content, but I borrowed it for the format. I then wrote my own unit and took it to [Carla] and asked her if I was right. [I know that IDT] is not viewed as right nor wrong, but I asked her if I was on the mark. What she gave me was very, very helpful. From there I started doing some units with my student teacher and with [another teacher in my subject area]. So I converted those two because Carla helped me. Converted isn't the right word but [that teacher] was. I hold [Carla] responsible for that. 1 44 Once Linda had evaluated the results of this experiment, she talked about it to others. Teachers in Linda’s department were more inclined to try IDT because they respected Linda’s experience and her credibility as an outstanding teacher. “If Linda says it can be done, then it can be done,” said a teacher down the hall. Linda described herself as “fully convinced” of the potential for IDT, and was willing “to try more lessons planned this way,” but was less willing to be seen as a model for other teachers: That's hard for me, because I am still in the learning process...l'm like a sponge that is only half wet. I would like to get fully wet, OK? I would like people to be less closed-minded. I don't care if they don't try it. I don't care if they don't use it all the time, but stop condemning everyone who is. See It for its good parts. There are parts of it that we can pitch out that we don't want to use. Linda talked about her own understanding of IDT and how she made sense of it by testing it in her own classroom. Linda’s experimenting with IDT by developing a new lesson plan without using models prepared in other schools reinforced Carla’s belief that IDT was worth adopting by the whole school. She counted Linda’s success as a significant achievement and considered Linda to be her most valuable ally. But despite gaining this ground, Carla realized that the implementation of IDT at Western would be neither rapid nor simple. It would require changing the attitudes of teachers, overcoming their caution about trying something new, marshaling the forces of those who supported IDT and reducing the number of resisters. "It's not something that is going to change overnight,” Carla said. ”Nobody is going to say, 'Here is a program to follow.’ You've got to kind of do it yourself and people are afraid of that." 4 REFLECTIONS ON ADVOCATING INNOVATION: SUMMARY Throughout this initial phase of disseminating information about IDT and campaigning for its adoption, Carla considered the administrator to be the ultimate decision-maker about curriculum matters at Western High. Carla expected schoolwide change to be mandated at the top. In pleading her case for IDT, she often talked to the principal, asking for school funds to attend more conferences on the topic and offering to make a presentation to the faculty. When the principal was unsupportive, Carla turned her attention to other teachers. Her own enthusiasm still high, she broadcast messages about IDT in public meetings and in private conversations, regardless of the attitudes or opinions of her audience. She frequented the places where teachers congregated. She tried to find concrete models of IDT that the teachers could use, ones that would closely approximate the teaching patterns at Western, but without much success. When the teachers reacted to her, sometimes harshly, she changed her approach and concentrated only on those teachers who asked her for assistance. She became, as she said, a “passive” advocate, content to let others discover IDT at their own pace. In this phase of advocating for the adoption of IDT, Carla found some teachers were affronted when she asked for their help in planning her IDT lessons, and this hurt. But, for the most part, little that Carla said or did during this period of disseminating awareness about IDT exceeded the norms for teacher activity and behavior at Western High. In the second phase, however, all this would change. In Chapter Six, “Alliance,” a time of intense interest in IDT, I describe how Carla’s focus narrowed to a few teachers. These teachers discovered they had similar goals and opinions about administrative leadership and the school’s ability to change. As a group, the teachers 1 46 conspired to circumvent the principal and resistant teachers and to meet secretly to push for IDT in their own way. In doing so, they began to question unspoken rules and assumptions. They began actively challenging established norms at Western High School. CHAPTER SIX ALLIANCE But...it goes a little against the grain. --Dryden, ALUQQJQQ, 1673 INTRODUCTION In this chapter, I continue to outline the actions that Carla Ensign took to persuade her fellow teachers to adopt IDT. In the beginning, Carla advocated for the schoolwide adoption of IDT. She took it for granted that the principal would be a strong supporter. When Carla learned this was not the case, she continued her campaign, but redirected her energies toward fellow teachers and other school staff. She appealed to the teachers’ professionalism, and tried to find experts and models from other schools to answer questions about IDT. The teachers at Western High had mixed reactions to IDT and Carla netted only one ardent supporter. This was Linda Shaffer, who adopted IDT because she saw its success in experiments in her own classroom. In the next phase of the innovation process, Carla takes a more deliberate and restrained approach, and narrows her audience from the entire teaching body to a select few. Carla joins forces with a group of teachers who are determined to force IDT into the curriculum despite resistance from other teachers. I began to think of Carla’s small cadre of teachers as a political enclave: a band of like-minded individuals informally dedicated to the same cause but without a formal charter or a legitimate source of power. In this chapter, I describe how this enclave was formed and how the teachers worked with Carla to generate more support for IDT. 147 1 48 THE DISAFFECTION BEGINS “When you look at the...facts, we’ve got to do something,” Carla said. What that “something” was became clear after the principal, Diane Adams, at Carla’s urging, asked all department heads to attend an out-of-town conference on IDT at the school’s expense. Because their principal requested their participation, five of the department heads registered. The other three did not, pleading family commitments and medical emergencies. Of these, two were self-proclaimed resisters of IDT. The department heads who did attend spent time at the conference in close proximity to each other, sharing their thoughts and reactions to the speakers and programs. Linda Shaffer, in particular, was very excited about the conference. Her curiosity, already aroused by her initial success with an IDT lesson plan, was stimulated even more by the conference speakers, teachers who provided many insights into using IDT in their classrooms. Linda said she “understood more” about IDT as a result of attending this conference: I don’t think any one of us [at Western] was told how to use IDT. And I think that is why my department is spinning its wheels. We don’t really know what [it] really means. We don’t really know; nobody ever came in and really showed us how to put our two curriculums together. I think we [now] could go in and teach history with literature...and that’s inter-disciplinary instruc- tion, but it never struck me that that’s what it was. It’s the simplest thing in the world! The other department heads who attended the conference shared Linda’s opinion. Much of their conversation throughout the conference centered on their frustrations with the present curriculum at Western and its limitations: “I’d really like to see us do something so what kids learn in one class they can apply in another...They don’t translate from one knowledge base to another,” was a typical remark about the traditional curriculum in place at the school. Each department head also admitted to private 1 49 curriculum in place at the school. Each department head also admitted to private misgivings regarding the principal’s effectiveness as a leader and shaper of the school’s future. “I love her as a person. But I don’t think she has a good grasp of leadership,” said one member of this group. “I concur,” said another, “She has so much on her platter. It must be hard and she doesn’t have any backup. The assistant principal has her hands full, too.” The teachers agreed that “Diane’s leadership” style was “not strong enough” to withstand the pressures that some faculty and staff members placed upon her: “She caves in too easily. She said ‘yes’ to everybody...The last person to walk in the door gets what he or she wants,” were representative of the teachers’ remarks. The teachers recognized that the principal depended on the faculty in order to change things at the school but felt that she was “unable to get the support from among the faculty.” The group members’ conversations revealed their anxieties about the principal’s ability to “be a leader,” to “make decisions” that, in their words, “push[ed] the school” forward. “To me [her leadership] is a nonnegotiable. We’re stuck with it,” one teacher said. Another teacher vividly remembered a time when Diane publicly admitted that she did not enjoy being in the forefront of change: “...I was at the faculty meeting where she said she was not a Ieader...l was shocked,” this teacher said. In reflecting on the group members’ remarks and their discussions at this time, I realized that their view of leadership was synonymous with decision-making; they expected their administrator to exercise her authority to coerce teachers to change. In contrast to their own inability to effect change, these teachers saw the principal as having this power and, implicit in it, the responsibility to make decisions that the teachers presumed they could not. This belief in the principal as powerful is certainly not uncommon: many teachers assume that school administrators have more power than 150 they themselves do (Fullan, 1991; Hartzell, 1994). Of course, Diane’s personal leadership style was more reflective of a participatory manager than an autocratic one; she preferred to use her authority to ratify changes after the faculty reach consensus on issues, not before. As department heads, these teachers were ironically in the same situation as she: They depended on the faculty in their departments to commit to changes that were suggested, but were themselves powerless to compel that commitment. While Diane’s management style may have made her popular with teachers who preferred to be “left alone” in their classrooms, and while it may have been easier on some teachers who wished that change would evolve “slowly and naturally,” the group of teachers at this conference viewed this way of generating change as “too slow.” They faulted the principal for not confronting teachers who “grumbled about any new idea” and for not “doing something about other faculty’s negativity.” One teacher at the conference summarized comments from her colleagues there when she said, “Don’t you think it is time [for the principal] to say to some of these people here, ‘If you don’t like it, please go, so the rest of us can get something done?” The conversation then turned to how such change might happen. Almost as an afterthought to their conversations, this group of teachers decided to propel IDT through Western High on their own. This commitment began disjointedly and with little focus: “We could do something about this [meaning using IDTj,” one said, and the others nodded agreement. At first, their conversations were informal and undirected rather than purposeful and systematic. Talk about leading the change would touch on this topic, shift away to other issues, then shift back. “Let’s just do it,” said one, meaning that the group should, as they put it, “just take over.” The group pondered at length how they might “find time in their schedules” to create opportunities for the cross-disciplinary planning that IDT 1 51 entailed. These ruminations were mostly “thinking out loud” rather than specific plans, as this comment shows, “We’ve got to do something about getting together to plan with each other.” Carla suggested that “to get [the other faculty members] going” the group should “identify those teachers who might be receptive to IDT.” The group members “put their heads together,” concentrating on making a list of all the teachers at Western and dis- cussing each teacher’s predisposition toward innovations in general and toward IDT in particular. They slotted the faculty into three categories. “Jumping on the bandwagon and doing it immediately” were those teachers most responsive to changes proposed. The second category included the teachers “who will resist [change] and those are dead but don’t know it, so we won’t even waste our time.” The last group included the teachers who were “possibles,” the category “you can work with.” Every teacher’s name at Western High was on one of these lists even though the group members disagreed in their impressions of some teachers: “I’d put [a teacher’s name] in that ‘possible’ category. She spouts first, then changes her mind,” said one, reviewing the names. Carla named three teachers well-known to the group because these teachers “immediately resist any proposals” that are offered, “no matter who submits the proposal.” Linda agreed with Carla, “Because every time you try to get [those teachers] to discuss anything, they are the ‘This is foolish’ people.’” Some teachers were cited for the intensity of their resistance whenever a new idea was proposed: “Look how nasty [a certain teacher] is when she really feels strongly. I mean, [the teacher] doesn’t come across diplomatically but as nasty and arrogant,” one group member mused. The members of this group lingered especially long over the teachers they felt were resisters more than teachers in the other adopter types. One of the group members 1 52 echoed the opinion of another teacher, not a member of this group, in her depiction of teachers who resisted innovations: They are like wolves. The minute anything comes down or there is any idea of what is going to happen, they...don't want to do it [Diane’s] way or whoever suggests [the idea]. They pan it every time. They don't give any leeway, even to get it off the ground. Just a constant bickering ceremony...Then there are your [teachers] like and . I've known [the first] ever since I've been here and he has been complaining ever since I’ve been here. I don’t know if it is because [of Diane], if [there were another principal] if he’d be the same way...Most of [the resisters] keep the bitching mostly within their group, they won't usually seek out others, unless it is really, really bad. Linda Shaffer, heavily involved in this group’s discussion of resistant teachers, concurred with their summation of their fellow teachers’ attitudes toward change. But she also noticed that “this [list of resisters] is such a small group. There are just six of them. Why do we let any of them intimidate us?” Another of the group members answered, “T hey can be loud.” A second group member said, “They can be very nega- tive.” A third pointed out that the resisters “don’t have a following, so who cares? I think that’s the position we have to take. Regardless of what you say, we are allowing them to intimidate us.” A lively discussion developed among the department heads as to the collective strength of the resisters: “Are there any times when [the resisters] get together, maybe not all at once but any time to reinforce each other?” asked one group member. Her colleague responded: “Three do, and [one resister] will never do anything that [two others] don’t approve of.” The teachers attending this conference began to feel a growing antipathy toward the resisters as the source of their frustration, for they felt the resisters impeded progress on departmental and schoolwide changes. Even though this group felt that 1 5 3 “there were [only] six resisters...who...were minimal,” who “lacked influence”...and “a following,” it was apparent that the resisters had great influence on the innovators, on the principal and on the rest of the school because they tended to be “loud”... “intimidating”...and “negative.” TAKING STOCK OF THE “POSSIBLES” The teachers at the conference spoke of resistant teachers on the staff as “a nonnegotiable.” They believed that the resisters would “never be persuaded” and that “even obvious things” would not “change their attitudes.” The group members determined to ignore them and to take the initiative to seek out faculty who were “impressionable...who will move over [as potential adopters] into IDT.” They identified faculty members in their third category, the “possibles,” as those teachers who displayed some curiosity and open-mindedness about IDT and seemed willing to give it a fair hearing. “She’s in there,” said one of the group members, referring to a teacher in his department. “And so is __[another in the same department].” Two teachers whom the group identified as being receptive to change were Chris Sajak and Jeff Daniels, although there was some discussion as to whether two were resistant to or possible adopters of IDT. “I don’t know about Chris,” said one group member. But Carla and another group member reassured the first, “Chris will pick up on IDT. He’ll never give it a name. He’ll never do any of that but he’ll incorporate it [into his teaching].” The conversations continued with more assessments about teachers who were willing to entertain ideas for change: “[One faculty member] is already doing IDT. She’s way ahead of us. She’s already doing it and has been for years!” Another group member 1 54 expanded on this opinion, “But she’ll never adopt it all the same.” One teacher was “not a game player.” Another was “too new.” A third “could be persuaded,” then Linda added that this individual had shown real interest when Linda experimented with her IDT - lesson plan. “She and I did IDT together. She’s up there,” Linda said, referring to that teacher’s fit into the “possibles” category. The list of potential adopters of IDT grew quickly. The group members then began suggesting ways to persuade these teachers to adopt IDT. Typical comments the group members made were to “get [one teacher] wrapped up in this” for then “he will be so caught up!” or, for another, “Don’t give [IDT] a name or anything. [That teacher] doesn’t want a name. He wants a style.” It was Linda who first suggested that the group members should take deliberate action to persuade each of the teachers who might be inclined to use IDT: “Something we ought to consider is a series of strategies for individual people,” she said and this sparked a long discussion with the other group members as to the best ways to do this. One teacher said, “I think most of these people could be swayed...[A teacher’s name] is already doing more of it than she gives herself credit for. What they need is a model....and what they don’t need is a faculty meeting where we do a “Here’s how I do it in my class’ thing.” One of the other teachers in the group said, “You just make [IDT] so appealing...Why don’t we make it so appealing that people are attracted to it? We make this fun, people will just be attracted to it.” The group discussed what might make IDT appealing to each of the teachers on their list of “possibles.” To convince one teacher, they thought, it might be wise not to “refer to IDT as such,” for another, “to get models [of lesson plans].” A third teacher might be convinced if they “simply asked him to help.” A fourth and fifth might be persuaded if they “made [IDT] fun” and another might be convinced it the group “gave 1 55 her credit” for the IDT concepts she was already using” in her teaching, ones she did not seem to recognize as demonstrating IDT principles. The group soon abandoned this discussion for customizing IDT for every potential adopter and shifted their conversations to other topics. Perhaps it was a relief at this conference for the group to air their discontent with the principal’s leadership style and to deplore the presence of resisters on the faculty. It appeared to me that the group members enjoyed voicing their grievances. These conversations may have been a way to reduce some of their frustration. Yet I found it interesting that the group members were all in close agreement regarding the rest of the faculty’s receptivity toward change in general and toward IDT in particular. Furthermore, they all were united in their perceptions of resisters’ reluctance to entertain any change proposed. The group took Linda Shaffer at her word when she said that there was little hope of changing the minds of resisters, but undecided or neutral teachers might be persuaded. It also appeared that the group members could easily identify ways to influence these teachers. THE FORMATION OF AN ENCLAVE I pause here to reflect on the nature of the discussions and their consequences among the group members who attended the IDT conference. I could sense that the group members felt a growing allegiance to one other. A spirit of missionary zeal and enthusiasm seemed to spark their discussions about IDT. This determination to improve their lot at Western High was balanced against their perceptions that the principal “was no leader" and that the “resisters would always be there.” I watched as the teachers in the group drew closer, sharing their confidences with each other and forging a bond that continued with little alteration for the rest of the school year. This enclave, as l was 1 56 beginning to think of them, became the focal point of my study, for the group members began to relate closely to Carla and to share in her efforts, becoming a coalition for the leadership of IDT adoption at Western High School. By the end of the conference, the enclave members showed signs of dividing leadership roles, especially between Carla and Linda. Of all the teachers in the enclave, it was Linda, “the natural organizer,” the “teacher who gets things done” who would become the person who shared most of the responsibility for leading the enclave with Carla. It would be Carla who tried to “find ways the group could meet together” to discuss IDT. It would be Linda who articulated “what needed to be done next” to enlist supporters. It would be Linda who presented the enclave with details of planning for gaining other teachers’ support and Carla who offered suggestions to change the governance structure of the school to make it more amenable to inter-disciplinary teaching. Lastly, it would be Linda and, to a lesser extent the rest of the enclave, who would provide emotional support for Carla against the “attacks” of the resister teachers. When the group of teachers had returned to the school after the conference, Linda consulted with Carla and approached the other enclave members with a plan for enlisting potential adopters: We won’t overuse [a teacher who was very willing to consider IDT but was involved in many school activities]. We can ask [one teacher] because he is well-respected but [another poten- tial adopter] is too outspoken and [two more teachers] are too resistant to change. [Another teacher] thinks nothing will ever change around here while we have the present administration. I say our suggestion is to have people in a meeting of a group of us who went to the conference. At first I didn’t think [a teacher] should be in it, but now I think he should be. And I’d suggest [another teacher] because he doesn’t initiate stuff but he is positive. I think if they got on acommittee with other people, that would really be helpful. Those are the reasons why I suggested those names. 1 5 7 The two teachers Linda suggested were Chris Sajak and Jeff Daniels. The enclave accepted her judgment. This division of responsibilities in the work of the teacher change agent and the plan to enlist two more teachers stirred scarcely a ripple in the tide of other events occurring at Western High. To address these issues, I look next at what was happening to the principal who figured so prominently in the enclave’s discussions. THE PRINCIPAL’S PERSPECTIVE Unaware that a coalition of teachers was developing in the school, Diane Adams was preoccupied with new crises arising every day at Western High. There was an unexpected increase in expenditures for office supplies. There were a greater than usual number of student suspensions and expulsions that term. Diane was so busy that she cut short Advisory Committee and Teacher Talk Time meetings which she usually attended and left early from others. She was frequently called away from department meetings where the teachers had especially requested her presence to deal with student discipline problems. So, while the enclave members perceived the principal as being lax in her duties as a leader, in reality she was handling multiple priorities and channeling most of her time and energy into making urgent, on-the-spot decisions that affected the entire school. “It’s been a hectic time,” she said of this period. “Sometimes I’m glad there aren’t any more hours in the day.” When questioned about the possibility of a few teachers working on IDT, she responded, “It is so encouraging to hear their enthusiasm, and see their interest...it seems like [a principal] could just dictate [innovation] from the top and say, ‘let’s do this’ and it would happen, but...people have their own little franchises...and they do what they want to do anyway.” When asked how she felt about 1 58 IDT, she said, “I get impatient for things to be over, but I know I have to. wait, to wait for the process.” Her statement would have surprised the enclave members, who assumed that Diane was fearful of leading the movement for IDT,'whereas Diane would describe her stance about IDT as letting it “come up from the grass roots.” In fact, Diane gave no indications at this time that she sensed any frustration on the part of the teachers and spoke of events in the school with the same optimism that usually characterized her conversations. Because of her preoccupation with other priorities, Diane seemed to spend less of her own time on IDT. Fewer articles about IDT appeared on the bulletin boards. Diane referred less and less to IDT in conversations with teachers. However, when Linda Shaffer asked her if the group members could make a presentation about the conference at the next Advisory Committee meeting, Diane agreed to let them do so. THE RESISTERS’ PERSPECTIVES The question of confronting resistance was always an influencing factor in Carla’s efforts to advocate for IDT on her own and later in the enclave’s discussions after the conference. When Carla campaigned that all teachers adopt IDT, the reactions of some of the teachers had a strong effect on her. One teacher had challenged her publicly and painfully in a public meeting. Others, even in her own department, were less volatile than that teacher but still seemed apathetic. This disparagement and indifference lessened Carla’s initial intensity and dampened her ardor to some extent. Although discouraged by such events and circumstances, Carla never considered the resistance to be more than individual and piecemeal responses to change. At this point in the enclave’s development, however, Carla and the enclave began to look at the resisters as a collective 1 59 and powerful force. They talked about resistant teachers as an organized group, “the ones who always complained” and “never wanted to try anything new” and whose “teaching suffered” as a result. In actuality, the “resistant teachers” at Western High were never party to any united effort to avoid IDT. Many of them described themselves as neutral, and “very tentative” about adopting innovations. They did not describe themselves as resistant to change. One teacher said he had a “wait and see” attitude. Another teacher, far from being a “typical resister, real hard-core” as the enclave had characterized her, pointed out some experiments she had done in inter-disciplinary teaching with another teacher down the hall, although, as she said, she would “just as soon not try any more.” Contrary to being traditionally and consistently antagonistic toward new ideas, one teacher said: “I hate to say it, but we could form a committee to study [lDT]...and see how it works. I’d be on it, although I hate things like that.” Some “resisters” seemed to like IDT, but resented the manner in which the innovation was introduced. As one teacher in the enclave explained: It you challenge [the teachers] and ask these probing kinds of questions, as Carla was prone to do, they might see things in a different way, but it is not always real effective. [A teacher namedasa resister] thinks that Carla comes across dogmatically. [The teachers’ opinion] isn’t always related to the change. [Resistance] can be affiliated with another kind of situation. When one like [Carla] tries to effect change, it makes a resister. I mean [one teacher] said approximately the same thing: that Carla comes on so strong and it’s her way or no way...so even things she does can be misinterpreted because [people] already have these predisposed ideas about her. Some resisters admitted to “not liking Carla’s style” and therefore, not liking IDT. Other teachers’ reactions suggested that the approach used to create awareness about IDT and to encourage teachers to adopt it might have triggered aversion to it. One 1 60 teacher did not like being “asked to serve on a committee,” for example, while another “did not like to work with other teachers” and “just liked to be by myself in my own classroom.” These comments suggest that resistance to IDT at Western High was never focused or premeditated; it was always individual and unorganized and might have stemmed from other causes than an aversion to IDT itself. The resistant teachers might greet new ideas with indifference or even with hostility, making comments like, “That won’t work,” or “That’ll be the day,” and they might scoff at suggestions to change, but they seldom acted in concert to prevent innovations from occurring at the school. At no time did they work together as an organized bloc against a proposal made by a teacher interested in introducing change. In labeling certain teachers as resisters, the enclave members may have acted defensively against a show of force (by resisters) which was unlikely to occur. But the perception of resistance, and its strength, were forces that pulled Carla and the other enclave members together. The expectation that other teachers would resist attempts to change had a powerful effect on the enclave’s conversations and plans. The enclave members spent a lot of time discussing the shortcomings of the “hard-core resistant teachers.” Anxieties about collective resistance compelled the enclave members to discuss strategies for approaching individuals who might be more agreeable to working on IDT. Some of these approaches involved taking liberties with norms for meeting and working with other teachers. AN AURA OF CONSPIRACY Teacher norms were centered on their relationships to their administrator and to one another. Teachers, for example, accepted that the principal should know what was 1 61 happening in the school and approve of it. This belief was deeply ingrained in the culture of the school. When Carla told the enclave members that she was “tired of going through Diane,” she was walking on dangerous ground. She admitted that she was “tired of the rules....that the biggest mistake [was] to wait for [Diane’s] approval.” The other enclave members, however, were unwilling seize the initiative and thought they should ask Diane’s permission, at least nominally, to continue working toward the implementation of IDT. “I think that [our enclave’s discussions] should be out on the table,” said one enclave member. Another felt obliged to keep Diane informed of future meetings of the enclave. “I haven’t walked in and talked to her about any of these things. We haven’t made the proposal that we create this group and have us in charge of it. I don’t mean us, the five of us, I mean the staff.” Linda, who made forceful suggestions which often led the rest to action, was very reluctant to have more meetings or devise any plans without the knowledge and approval of the principal. She saw the principal’s involvement to be tacit but nevertheless essential if the enclave was to continue. “I have no authority and I don’t want the authority either,” she said. “It’s got to come from her.” In the eyes of the faculty the appearance of loyalty to the principal and to established practices was an unwritten rule in the school that could not easily be broken. The enclave members thought carefully about the best ways to present their ideas to the principal so that they would not antagonize or threaten her. “I don’t know if she’d be supportive,” said one enclave member. “I think she’d be noninterfering.” Though the enclave still saw Diane as being the legitimate authority for approving teacher activities they gradually came to agreement to meet and work together without her knowledge. Over the course of several conversations, they outlined a plan to use the next Advisory Committee meeting as a joint presentation on IDT. 1 62 Discussions like these signaled a turning point in the ways that the enclave members began to use meetings at the school as venues for advocating change. At the Advisory Committee meeting the enclave hoped to induce other department heads to take some as yet unspecified action regarding IDT. “We could propose something for the future...to prevent [our ideas] from just sinking,” said one enclave member. Since there were two very vocal resisters to IDT on the Committee, the enclave’s dominance of the agenda at the next meeting would, they hoped, overcome the others’ resistance by sheer force of numbers. “I thoroughly believe that if we do this, [Diane would] support it. And the reason why she’d support it is because we have the majority of Advisory Committee. That’s what she is going to fall back on. She’s going to say it was Advisory Committee’s idea,” said Linda, thinking this was the best way to persuade the principal. Other enclave members added to her suggestion, “We could say that [IDT] will be good for the parents...for the students...for the school.” It was Carla who made the suggestion that “to get it going we have to go beyond the lines to do whatever we need or want.” The enclave spent a great deal of time in their next meetings preparing for the next Advisory Committee meeting. For the first time, a group of teachers at this assembly intended to make a planned and rehearsed presentation about a topic which affected every teacher and on which the principal had yet to make a public statement. The enclave members carried out their plans for this meeting much like a conspiracy. They held private planning meetings and discouraged other teachers from dropping by. This next Advisory Committee meeting was intended to give the enclave control of the innovation and to justify why the enclave members were taking matters into their own hands. Carla said: “We’ll say we are doing this for the faculty here. And we are interested in working on this from now until school starts to see if we can get 1 63 plans in place to do this. We want to have a [new] curriculum among people.” Another enclave member finished her thought: We want a core group of people who’ll study this, who will study among themselves. I even think we need an expert to come in here, if the group gets together and the group starts batting ideas around, and you might only meet for an hour, maybe something can get accomplished, or at least the start of something for the fall...But we don’t need something that get brushed under the table every second, and I don’t think we can wait for leadership, we have got to take it in our own hands. The enclave would “force Diane” to let them “call meetings” to discuss IDT, overwhelm the rest of Advisory Committee, defy resisters, and take the lead to make the changes they wanted. Enclave members entered into these plans with real enthusiasm. At the same time, the enclave members were unwilling to deviate too far from their usual practices. They wanted to acknowledge the principal’s leadership and authority. Some were unwilling to assume “more authority” than they had and fearful of “going too far.” THE REHEARSAL Mindful of these concerns, the enclave members met several times before the Advisory Committee meeting to plan their presentation. Linda opened meetings of the enclave with comments such as: I will tell you what I think we’ve got to do...One, I think we have to present what was given [at the IDT conference]...Whether we want to do a proposal about our professional development [on IDT] at this point or what, I don’t know. I do think we need to present this straightforward, direct, and then I think we need to make some kind of move. That’s what I think. What do you think? The group agreed that each of them would select one segment of the IDT conference that most impressed him or her and organize this into a short talk. Rather than the 1 64 usual extemporaneous talks given at Committee meetings, their presentation would be a joint effort, with a focus and a purpose beyond simple regurgitation of program highlights. In two private meetings, the enclave members rehearsed their parts aloud while other members critiqued them. The intention was, as one of them said, to “get across the idea” that “we are serious about this.” No detail was spared. They were treading cautiously on unfamiliar ground: “I think we should word it very carefully and that’s what I would like to do right now, is get the wording down.” In preparing their remarks, the group searched for euphemisms for “inter-disciplinary teaching” that were less likely to bring on a negative reaction: “Let’s call [IDT] ‘collaborative teaching’ and don’t even use the word ‘inter-disciplinary’.” One enclave member thought that if they talked in terms of “trying to get kids on the honor roll” that the group would have a better chance of convincing other teachers. They checked with each other for agreement about the best way to sequence the presentations. “I’ll go first and then you all go...l don’t care in what order,” said one. “I have to be careful that I don’t come on too strong at that meeting,” said another. The enclave members took written notes to use as guides. They planned to bring copies of handouts to give to the other meeting members and to use audiovisual aids to underscore their points and key ideas. The drama was like a delicate organizational ballet with two objectives: to publicize their feeling that IDT should be adopted schoolwide and to nullify the resistance they were certain would come. In the two weeks prior to the Advisory Committee meeting, the group members spent their time before and after school conspiring to keep their presentation plans a secret. If two enclave members met in the hall, they talked about the meeting in whispers. These chance meetings had the effect of forging stronger relationships among the enclave members and of distancing them from the teachers who had not been in 1 65 attendance at the IDT workshop. “[One teacher] stopped me in the hall after third hour and asked me how the conference went. I just said, ‘It was fine.”’ Over time, the group hardened their feelings about the resisters and stoked their feelings of dissatisfaction with the principal, although they still hoped “to have her on [their] side.” THE PRESENTATION When the day came for the Advisory Committee meeting, all five members of the enclave were present. As was usual, some members were absent. The five enclave members made their presentations to a reduced number of people: the principal and two other department heads, both already “possible adopters” in the enclave’s estimation. The one department head most vigorously opposed to IDT (according to the enclave members) was not in attendance. After the presentations, the other department heads in the audience asked questions and the principal, who had listened and nodded throughout, expressed her pleasure. “What else,” she asked, “might be done to get others involved [in IDT], maybe to have other teachers learn more?” The members of the enclave offered several suggestions: that she herself attend a similar conference on IDT, one aimed at administrators, and that other teachers be encouraged to go to conferences like the one the enclave had just attended. Diane seemed willing to entertain any such requests from teachers and asked, “Are there some other things we could do schoolwide? Or where do we go from here?” This statement seems to indicate that Diane was willing to continue to subsidize teacher interest in IDT, but it also suggests that she was unsure how to move forward from there. In an interview a few days later, Diane revealed how she felt about the reports from those who had attended the conference: 166 To me it showed a renewed interest to not waiting for [leadership] to come from the top...Carla is still continuing on with her changes in the department and at least she got confirmation from outside sources that she is moving in the right direction. Carla seems to be strong in thinking about how she wants to continue on...l guess I am trusting her that this is the right way to go...Same thing with Linda. She is not giving in to [resistance from other members of her department]....” Diane assumed that the department heads who were interested in IDT would take the initiative to experiment with IDT in their respective departments. She saw support for IDT gradually percolating in several areas of the school simultaneously. But the enclave members had given up all individual efforts to develop more support for IDT within their own departments. They were determined to find support another way, by recruiting two teachers outside their subject specialties, and making plans on their own. THE ENLISTMENT OF RECRUITS The five members of the original enclave gave much thought and discussion to the selection of these recruits. As I mentioned earlier in this chapter, several teachers’ names were put forward and later discarded from the pool of potential adopters of IDT. The enclave members wanted teachers who could “persuade other teachers” and who would “increase the number” of supporters for IDT. The enclave members were all department heads, so they wanted “just teachers” without this distinction. In particular, they wanted teachers who were “sort of neutral toward IDT,” to provide a balance to their own strong endorsement of it. They wanted teachers “who would be open to change” and “who would be positive.” Two faculty members seemed to fit the enclave’s qualifications: Chris Sajak and Jeff Daniels. 1 67 The enclave members, with Linda and Carla directing much of the discussion, planned their recruitment strategies as carefully as they planned their Advisory Committee presentation. The group debated the best way to approach each of the recruits. Aloud, Linda rehearsed how she might phrase this invitation: “We want to invite [Chris and Jeff] to join a group that is going to meet without Diane’s knowledge... I don’t know if I can say that!” Linda told Carla that if she invited Chris, “He’ll say 6 ’7! yes, because her way of phrasing the invitation was “very concrete,” and this would probably “carry more weight with him.” The enclave also decided the best way to invite the second teacher, Jeff Daniels, was to have Linda approach him, for with this approach, he would be more likely to participate. “How about if I said we wanted to spend the summer together?” Linda said, “We’re still going to meet [as a group interested in IDT] and we’d like some other people to join us?” Carla was also thinking ahead to the time when there might be more teachers involved with the IDT initiative. “If [Chris and Jeff] respond, you can open it up to others...Say our goal is to see if there are ways that the school can put into place some of the ideas that we got in a systematic fashion.” Carla also had a purpose for the enclave to continue to meet: “We have all this tremendous fire. And I don’t see that we are anywhere near ready to tackle this program.” Linda and Carla did invite Chris Sajak and Jeff Daniels over the next few days, using the softened approach they had all agreed was most likely to sway the two teachers. Carla reported to the enclave that she had asked Chris Sajak “to join her and some other teachers” in “planning for some ways to improve teaching” at the school, especially “in the areas of integration.” He gave her, she reported, a qualified “yes.” Linda, too, invited Jeff Daniels, asking him “to help her and a few other teachers to plan some lessons for next year.” 1 68 Jeff Daniels had a different recollection of the invitation: “[Linda] asked me to sit in on one or two meetings of the group who went to [that conference]. She said she “wanted some [teachers] on the committee...who would not say ‘no’ to ideas so fast.” Chris Sajak, too, remembered that Carla asked him “to attend some meetings to work on IDT,” but assumed the meetings with the enclave members would begin immediately. SUMMARY The enclave’s enlistment of recruits marks the close of this phase of the innovation process. Chris and Jeff figured prominently in the enclave’s plans for implementing IDT, but Linda and Carla were the two enclave members whom I followed most closely during the next stage of developments at Western High. It was they, more than the other enclave members, who plotted to continue the enclave’s work, and they who shared the burdens of implementing change among the teachers. In this chapter I described how a small band of teachers expanded Carla’s initial, single-handed attempts to introduce IDT at Western High. Born out of their own disenchantment with the culture of change at the school and with the principal’s perceived lack of leadership, this group of teachers joined Carla, who now had a sizable number of teachers with whom to share her feelings and ideas. This enclave set out to recruit others to their cause, to bypass the principal, and to control the IDT adoption process. The strategies the enclave used have now changed from overt, casual, and unrehearsed meetings to ones that are covert and carefully orchestrated. In the next chapter, I review the means by which the enclave searched for a structure within the school that would permit the implementation and institutionalization of IDT. CHAPTER SEVEN DERAILMENT This is the hour of Lead Remembered, if outlived, as Freezing persons, Recollect the Snow-- First--Chi/I--then Stupor--then the letting go--. --Emily Dickinson INTRODUCTION At the close of the previous chapter, Carla and the enclave were working together to introduce IDT into the school system, first by making a presentation at the Advisory Committee meeting and later by enlisting two teachers as recruits. This alliance of teachers began when several faculty members expressed dissatisfaction with the principal’s leadership style and with those teachers whom the enclave considered to be resisters to change. Although the enclave still conformed to the unwritten rules for teachers at the school, the members were beginning to bend these rules by meeting privately to discuss ways to take the initiative to make IDT the adopted school curriculum, although as yet they had no specific plans for achieving this. In this chapter, I outline the events at the school that intruded into the enclave’s plans. I attempt to tie together two separate but interrelated and simultaneously occurring strands of activity: the enclave’s continuing struggle for IDT, and a new priority--the principal’s review of the school’s long-range plan. Implementing IDT schoolwide was the enclave’s stated mission for existing; in order to succeed, the enclave members felt they had to operate without the principal’s knowledge. They intended to 169 1 70 keep interest high among certain teachers like Chris Sajak and Jeff Daniels and to use faculty assemblies to push the cause of IDT. But, in the eyes of Carla Ensign, the principal’s priorities eventually overshadowed the enclave’s efforts regarding IDT. In this chapter I provide an account of these two schoolwide innovations, particularly the long-range. plan, for this innovation dominated the thinking of the administrators and the teachers and created conflicts with the enclave’s plans for IDT. The conflict resulted in decisions to discontinue the governance mechanisms in place in the school and to replace them with others more amenable to meeting administrator and faculty goals. But the diversion of attention away from the mechanics of IDT and to implementation of a new school structure eventually brought to a halt any further discussions of IDT. THE CONFERENCE HIGHLIGHTS The Advisory Committee meeting where the enclave members made their presentation on IDT had the effect of creating more interest on the part of the principal and the two committee members who were already favorably inclined toward IDT. Their presentations left the enclave members feeling especially eager to begin planning openly for the use of IDT on a schoolwide basis. They offered many suggestions to keep faculty attention and school resources fixed on IDT. For example, the enclave members hoped that opportunities could be set up to let teachers “work on joint projects together.” One person said, ”I think we have to start small...l think we have to start developing little problems and see how it works, and how you do it, okay? That is my personal view. Everybody takes a small piece of it and brings it back. And from there, maybe it could develop into the next thing.” Carla reiterated her proposal to have the enclave members “continue to meet and to have some others join them.” Another person said, “The general gist seems to be that we would like to develop something that grows out of this and work on it over the summer.” A third enclave member, however, feared that waiting 1 71 several months, until the end of the school year, would retard progress: “I think it would be a terrible mistake to leave it be, but it’s better to at least come up with a project that we could work on during the school year.” Some discussion followed regarding the legitimacy of the group who “would be working on IDT“ and how “this group would be seen by the rest” of the faculty. One enclave member felt it was important “to let the other faculty know” that IDT was being discussed in Advisory Committee meetings, hoping that other teachers would assume that IDT had the principal’s approval. “We should go back to the departments and ask the [other teachers] to get going on this,” she said. When the teacher made this suggestion at the Advisory Committee meeting, Diane agreed. She wanted to be certain that other faculty knew she was willing to subsidize conference-goers’ expenses for attending similar conferences on IDT: “If those of you who went to the conference would, in your talks to people, see if there is someone interested in going [to other conferences], would you let me know?” Diane was also willing to “get a van [for other teachers] to go to...a conference” and promised “to find some funding for it.” The principal, it seemed, was still willing to allocate school funds for IDT purposes. PROBLEMS OF IMPLEMENTATION The enclave members were clearly interested in finding the extra planning time for rethinking curriculum changes that IDT entailed. Linda Shaffer had reformatted one of her own lesson plans using IDT while she was still teaching lessons using the current curriculum, but no other teachers had done so. In trying to find space in the teaching day for such cooperative planning, Carla said, “I was thinking that [one of the experimenting teachers] has an extra prep period and she has been able to accomplish an amazing amount of things...l know that is one of the goals [of the school], to reduce the number of preps [because they take a teacher away from the classroom]. But if we are able to [have more prep periods], we can get more planning and that kind of thing.” 1 72 More planning time for IDT was essential to the teachers, but it was not the only need they had. One teacher, for example, mentioned the need for additional training, if teachers were interested in learning more about IDT. “The [school’s] money should...go to professional development days and [to] figuring things out and talking about what you want to do.” But discussions pertinent to these issues lagged and soon the enclave members talked of other matters. The enclave members did not offer suggestions for how to reorganize class schedules in the existing work day. But the members knew the tight curriculum schedule already in place at the schools did not allow for teachers to experiment easily. While it might have been relatively easy for one teacher to take advantage of another’s written lesson plans, or to borrow a textbook and teach an inter-disciplinary teaching unit herself, it was far harder to find time for two or more teachers to develop academic courses for a full academic year. Finding time to plan together, locate convenient meeting places, and add to their teaching load was more responsibility than most teachers wanted to assume. “I hardly have time to think about tomorrow’s class,” one teacher said, “much less to think about IDT!” Linda Shaffer took the initiative to say she would work with another teacher in a dyadic experiment with IDT. She explained how the two of them would integrate their classes in this manner: [He] will take my first hour class and I would go into his class and teach them [my subject]. Now that to me is inter-disciplinary teaching....lf I can come up with something for my class to be doing while he is in my class, he would work with my class and I would go in and work with his class...but to try to [organize] a program by myself, without really knowing how it would work or how you do it, well, I don’t know how. [This same teacher] has been interested in [IDT]. He wants to do this thing in [his class] where the kids have to solve a...problem and then they have to present it to a board of people who are not [knowledgeable about the topic]. I went to him and said “What if you worked on the problem part and I came in and taught them how to [present it].” This personal approach to tackling the problems of IDT was one attempt to find time for experimentation between two willing and self-confident teachers. But other teachers at 1 73 Western, so used to working independently in the classroom, were often unsure how to work with another teacher in a shared curriculum, and they wanted reliable advice and lesson plans from other schools they could replicate in their own classrooms. “I should have a tool kit,” one said. “To try to integrate a program by myself [is hard] without really knowing how it would work or how you would do it. I don’t have a clue in the world how.” Another teacher shared this opinion: Probably the biggest stumbling block with inter-disciplinary teaching is having the tools and the know-how and the process of bringing it all together. That’s probably the hardest thing in getting this off the ground. I’m sure most parts of it sound like a good idea, but, gosh, how do you go about it? It just seems so overwhelming, you know?...We need a way of organizing it. The teacher who agreed to work with Linda Shaffer had written away for some sample modules and felt the strain of teaching others something he wasn’t sure of himself, “I hope those teaching modules get here!” he said. Being confined to the classroom, lacking an additional planning period and not knowing how to work collaboratively prevented many of the teachers from experimenting with IDT. REFLECTIONS ON THE ENCLAVE’S IMPLEMENTATION OF IDT The enclave members talked about the results of their presentation at the Advisory Committee in short conversations, with and without the principal, for several days afterward. In reviewing the comments and suggestions about how to implement IDT, it seemed to me that the enclave members knew that they wanted the faculty to adopt IDT, but did not present to the principal or to Advisory Committee a practical and realistic plan to implement it. The enclave members may have reached their peak of activity with their presentation to the Advisory Committee. They knew there was a problem with scheduling, teacher comfort with new subject matter, replicable models, and funding, but the enclave’s proposals and suggestions to Advisory Committee were tentative and often skirted the real needs of teachers. 174 Traditionally, the schoolteachers had presented their problems to the principal expecting her to find solutions. Once they made themselves public, the enclave members may have felt that “voicing the need” for additional planning time was the extent of their responsibility. Now that she knew about their need, the enclave may have felt that it was the principal’s responsibility to take over the details of implementation. The principal, who had tried hard to find ways to meet teachers’ requests in the past, did not give any indication that she could or would reorganize the teaching calendar. The costs of providing at least thirty additional planning periods meant the school needed five more teachers, a prohibitively expensive undertaking that the enclave members had not investigated. Many of the enclave members’ other suggestions for encouraging more teachers to become aware of IDT and to start using its concepts never materialized. Some of the suggestions died before the activities could fully flower. Plans to develop in-house models did not succeed. Some attempts to try IDT were abandoned as the spring semester approached. Linda Shaffer’s plan to work with another teacher (described above) was canceled a few weeks later when the time they had planned to jointly present their class was rescheduled for a school assembly. A teacher interested in attending an IDT conference similar to the one which so invigorated the enclave members canceled her plans to register when she discovered the conference dates interfered with the dates for spring break. A variety of circumstances, emergencies, and schedule conflicts seemed to hinder teacher efforts to adopt IDT. It appeared that the vicissitudes of implementation were more difficult than the enclave members had expected. INTRODUCTION OF ANOTHER INNOVATION: THE LONG-RANGE PLAN While the enclave members were searching for ways to integrate classes using IDT models, Diane Adams, the principal, was also attending to another schoolwide concern: the review of Western High School’s five-year plan. Like most schools, 175 Western’s written plan included a mission statement, goals, objectives, and activities that were intended to drive the organization forward and give a focus and direction for academic activity. Every five years a team of administrators, board members, teachers and outside consultants reviewed the written plan just prior to and immediately after a certification committee’s visitation. Diane introduced the need for a review of the school’s present plan at one of the Teacher Talk Time meetings, just three days after the enclave made their presentation in Advisory Committee: [I’ve] had a five-year suggestion from the [school board] Evaluation Committee to review [the long-range plan], but I wondered about the structure for dealing with it. The [Teacher Talk Time] members have been great in being open to new ideas. We’ve got to look at the school...l wondered if each person in [Teacher Talk Time] might chair one part of [the plan] and then on [teacher in-service] days, every person on the faculty would join one of those groups. For example, the school’s survival, salaries, curriculum. Do you think a structure like that might work? And then maybe we would get out at noon and for the rest of the day, say, people would have department meetings and then from two to three [o’clock] everybody in the school would meet on some committee to discuss the plan. Diane was acutely aware of the need for teachers to find time to review the plan in addition to meeting their teaching demands. Knowing how limited this time was, she also asked Advisory Committee members to “look [the long-range plan] over” and “see what [they] think about it” or “what they might do” with it. Almost every school teacher at Western was aware that the school had a long- range plan and that it was written down; however, few teachers, if any, could recall what was in it. When the principal asked the head of the Advisory Committee to “schedule more meetings” expressly for members to “discuss the long-range plan,” committee members had to “dig out their copies” of the school’s mission statement. Some teachers discovered they had outdated copies or copies with wording that did not match the copies of other teachers. “It’s almost like we don’t even have [a mission],” one of them said. 1 76 Many of the Advisory Committee members complained about “taking up time discussing” the plan, especially in meetings where the principal was absent. On more than one occasion, they agreed to “adjourn early” rather than “spend any more time” on the long-range plan. This feeling of time wasted was shared by several other teachers who considered it the principal’s, not the faculty’s, responsibility to see that the school had a plan. They saw the finished document as having little, if any, effect on their day- to-day lives. “Who knows, who cares about the plan except for the Administration?” said one faculty member. “We’re supposed to discuss it. So what the hell does that mean?” But one or two other teachers felt that there was a need for a schoolwide plan to determine policy, particularly as it regarded teacher activities and a schoolwide curriculum. “There is a feeling that we are adrift. There is no direction to the school. We respond to events rather than to look down the road and achieve goals we have set for ourselves,” said one teacher. “I would like to see us complete things we begin. We always seem to start lots of things but don’t end them,” said another. Several teachers were concerned because they felt the principal was ill- prepared to oversee the planning process. “When the chief administrator for ‘vision and mission’ at a school announces that ‘we don’t have a vision or a mission’--why, if you have no vision or mission, you have no framework,” said one teacher, quoting the principal at a faculty meeting. “There are things that really need to be done. You have to have a plan in place, and there isn’t one.” 1 Carla Ensign shared this teacher’s view. She saw the school’s present plan as being the first of a series of hurdles which had to be met before the school could convert its present curriculum to one more conducive to the adoption of IDT: “If we can get this plan going,” she said, “we have a better chance [at implementing IDT].” The review of the long-range plan may have seemed to her to be beneficial for more teacher acceptance of IDT. For this reason, she seemed to enter wholeheartedly into discussions about 1 77 revising the present plan. At meetings of the Advisory Committee and at Teacher Talk Times, she responded to the principal’s urging faculty to “think of a structure” to review the long-range plan and “to make some suggestions how we can go about it.” Linda Shaffer shared her attitude, although Linda contributed fewer suggestions as to how the school’s structure might be changed. I mention the long~range plan as a factor that figured prominently in the flow of the events regarding the adoption of IDT at Western High. The planning process and its attendant activities began to intrude on the change agents’ own plans for IDT. Gradually, the school administrators and faculty spent more of their time in meetings discussing different ways to reorganize school committees, school governance issues, and the purposes of Advisory Committee and Teacher Talk Time meetings themselves. The enclave’s efforts to talk about IDT peppered the discussions about the long-range plan and, at the same time, were influenced by them. Thus, I describe both the enclave’s activities and the progress on the planning process, for the two evolved simultaneously and affected the same organizational players. PLANNING TO PLAN The principal herself seemed unsure how teachers should become involved in reviewing the long-range plan. When Diane first proposed the review, she suggested that each member of Advisory Committee “discuss it in a department meeting” and “bring the results back” to her. The department heads seemed reluctant to do this, uncertain where their responsibilities lay when a single department reviewed the long- range plan for the entire school. As one department head remarked after the meeting where the principal made this suggestion: “Isn’t it going to be a waste of everybody’s time [in each department] to review the whole thing? I don’t know how this will fly.” Another department head said, “My group won’t stand for it. They’ve got enough on their platters right now.” The principal next approached a department head and asked him 178 directly to “review the school vision” with his department. He responded by saying he would “be glad to, but didn’t have the first idea how to go about it,” and that he “didn’t know what [the principal] meant when she said ‘review the school vision’.” Some department heads seemed to resent taking the time in their department meetings and complained about “times for department meetings that were already too short.” Some felt that “the principal should provide some guidance” as to “what the mission of the school is" even before teachers “go to work discussing it.” It seemed to me that the department heads, as well as the teachers, were unused to the notion that they might be involved in long-range planning on a schoolwide level, rather than on a departmental level. Their previous experiences with planning had been to write goals and objectives for their own classrooms and contribute them to the course schedule published by the school each year. “Writing those goals and objectives is already bad enough,” said one of the teachers. But there was also a growing number of teachers who agreed that the vision and mission of the school should “channel individual department” activities and generate the force behind departmental goals and objectives for every teacher. One teacher said: The vision thing the school is working on is going to dictate how my department would [work] also, what we see as important in the school. You take special needs students, or if we think technology is important in the school, that that would be one of our [goals], but if IDT is part of the school vision, then the department vision should follow the school vision. The administrator and the faculty both seemed to feel that there needed to be some mechanism to review the school’s present plan and, at this time, such a mechanism did not exist. There were no meetings, assemblies, or processes in place for the entire faculty and administration to address schoolwide issues of this nature. In this regard, the dilemmas facing the teachers in their review of the long-range plan were very similar to the dilemmas the enclave faced with the adoption of IDT. 1 79 COMPARING THE TWO INNOVATIONS Just as interest in and discussions about the school’s planning process were assuming schoolwide proportions, so too was some teachers’ interest in IDT. The principal was supportive of both IDT and the long-range plan, but saw it as her “administrative responsibility to get the long-range plan off the ground,” to see that all the school’s stakeholders had an “opportunity to look at and comment on” the plan, and then to write and publish the final report. At this time, both innovations, in addition to other school business, were being discussed in the regular meetings and informal conversations teachers and administrators had at the school. The planning process and IDT had something else in common: Both required that administrators and teachers have some knowledge and experience with schoolwide planning. Teachers had to know how to implement IDT before they could use it effectively; teachers and administrators had to know what they wanted in their long- range plan before they could publish it. But few teachers or administrators were experienced with planning long-term changes that, if implemented, would affect the entire school. Most of the teachers’ experiences with planning were lesson planning in their daily classes or in planning a new course to be offered the following semester or the following year. Diane had not yet assumed the principalship when the school’s previous long-range plan was discussed and adopted by the school board: Her own experiences with long-range planning were similar to that of the teachers, although, as principal, she may have felt more responsibility to see that the long-range plan was reviewed than she felt toward IDT. The principal and the teachers would both struggle to find ways to incorporate new ways of thinking about IDT and about schoolwide planning into the school’s existing culture. 1 80 THE ENCLAVE’S INSUBORDINATION Perhaps Carla was beginning to sense that the principal’s interest in the long- range plan and other crises demanding her attention were distracting Diane from the enclave members’ request that more school resources be allocated to IDT. I sensed a desperation in Carla at this time, a feeling that time was running out. It is possible that Carla felt that the long-range plan was beginning to rival IDT for teachers’ attention. Carla may have felt that the long-range plan, rather than serving as a vehicle to smooth the path for IDT, was diverting attention away from it. It may have been this feeling that spurred Carla to tell the enclave members that in order to “do something with the plan,” she was going to “take the lead” for IDT because she “didn’t see anyone else doing it at ‘our meeting’.” She said she wanted “to get a professional development committee together” to study IDT. “I know this is already an overstressed faculty and I’m sorry for suggesting it, but what if we took this professional development idea and started that way?” Carla pushed the idea for a professional development committee among her colleagues in the same way that she had pushed for IDT, through repetitive references to it in conversations and meetings. But this time, she was also conscious of deliberately bending and breaking the informal codes of conduct that governed the usual teacher- principal relationships: ”I haven’t been very tactful lately,” she said, “I’ve tried to do this systematically and it’s not working. It’s not communicating.” Later she said, “The worst that can happen to me is that I can get kicked out of here, which will never happen.” Other enclave members shared her impatience and her willingness to go beyond the boundaries of acceptable teacher behavior. There was more talk of a general nature about “insubordination...[where] the grass roots takes over and does some things and keeps some things alive.” The enclave justified assuming more of the principal’s responsibility for effecting change if this would improve conditions at the school, saying, as this enclave member did: 1 81 I finally have had to face some things. that just because somebody [was principal] and was in a certain position, that they [sic] had the expertise in all this. So I feel like I’m just sort of coming of age, of coming to grips with [the need to face this issue]...Sometimes you have to look for the greater good. I have to wrestle with that because basically I feel duty-bound, you know, not to make waves. The enclave’s discontent with the administration, although at first quite mild, became stronger as time passed. Frequently, the enclave members talked of “rebelling against the rest of the faculty” or of “reprisals” they might have to face. Metaphors of war and combat flavored their conversations: “I’m fighting a war. I’m fighting a war here. I’ve been fighting a war for four years and [the principal] just doesn’t know it.” Another teacher said, “I could start a war right now. Maybe I am!” A third insisted that the enclave meetings be kept secret from the administration, that the principal remain uninformed of their plans: “Somehow we have got to keep [Diane] out of this.” One enclave member said, “I had a long talk with Carla because she stayed around after Teacher Talk Times and she really thinks that if [our plans for IDT] are not handled correctly, it could really be damaging. If we don’t make moves on it, if something isn’t done with all the materials, I guess we can call it quits.” Propelled by an increasing sense of urgency, the enclave began to translate their verbal dissatisfaction with Diane’s management style into subversion of her authority. After one of the planning meetings where the principal asked teachers to make lists of “vision statements”--ideas and dreams they would like to see happen in their school-- Carla and two other members of the enclave prevented Diane from reviewing the lists. “She’ll type up minutes and change the wording so it didn’t mean what we meant it to mean. She’s done it before.” Lest this happen, one of the enclave offered to collect the teachers’ statements and to compile the listings of vision statements herself. “That made us feel a lot more comfortable,” this enclave member said of her action. “I’d have worried if [Diane] had taken [the pages] and edited [them].” This volunteering to take over the principal’s task was a small instance of nonconformance on this teacher’s part. 182 Faculty typically did not offer to take on projects that the principal traditionally handled, and summarizing meeting minutes had always been part of the principal’s responsibilities. For a teacher to volunteer to do so seemed like an act of disloyalty and distrust. The enclave members’ dissatisfaction with the principal began to take other forms. A few of them tried to resign from their positions on Advisory Committee or as department heads. “I told her I couldn’t take it anymore,” one enclave member said, “I’ve had it.” Another said after an “unproductive” meeting with Diane, “I tried to resign from being department chair, but there isn’t anybody else in the department who’ll take it on. I’m stuck with it.” The enclave members’ casual conversations about their disaffection with the principal and the resisters were increasingly seasoned with bitterness. The enclave members began talking in veiled terms, never referring to Diane by name and recalling incidents that seemed to demonstrate her lack of forcefulness as an administrator. “She changes her mind, depending on what strong person is talking to her, and that’s what she goes with. She blows with the wind,” one teacher commented. As frequently as they articulated their dissatisfaction with Diane, they also voiced their impatience with resisting faculty. “A lot of us have been through all of these arguments [that the resisters give] that keep being brought up all the time and we would like to go on from that,” one member said. REFLECTIONS ON THE ENCLAVE’S DISCONTENT The members of the enclave saw the resisters and the principal as their “opponents” and treated them as such. Their way of alluding to the principal in their private conversations depersonalized her and provided a way to distance themselves from her. The antagonism they directed against the resisters, on the other hand, was always specific and individualized. They made numerous references to each resister by name, 1 83 lamenting one or another’s refusal to “listen to reason.” Whenever the enclave met to discuss IDT, their discussions about how best to move the innovation forward would waver. Ideas would come sporadically, if at all. It is possible that the enclave members were truly at a loss “how to get the teachers” to use IDT. When the enclave members complained about the resisters in the school, conversations always became more animated. Diatribes against these teachers seemed to forge stronger bonds among the enclave members and consumed their meeting time, but did little to create meaningful ways to increase teacher support for IDT. The conversations among the enclave members about the principal and the resisters were becoming increasingly negative, increasingly bitter, and less concerned with IDT. POTENTIAL ADOPTERS The enclave members were so focused on the resisters and the principal that they rarely mentioned the potential adopters who might, in fact, have been willing to experiment with IDT and could have helped swing the principal’s attention and that of other faculty back to IDT. Several other teachers on the staff had shown some interest in IDT and seemed favorably inclined to hear more about it. One teacher had shown some interest in integrating his classes with those of an enclave member. He had even suggested a way that teachers could experiment with IDT in the school: Could we start...next year, and develop one theme? Everyone would be involved around that theme...You have to start somewhere so we start small and then we start building, because if you Q through it and try to rewrite a whole curriculum...That is just an insurmountable path. [Then], once we get that down, maybe [the year after that] we tack on two...Maybe that is where the IDT will come from...At that level maybe people could jump on the bandwagon...get more ideas off of that. This teacher was not alone in suggesting ways that IDT might be implemented on a schoolwide basis. One of the other faculty, not a member of the enclave, approached a second teacher, suggesting that they collaborate on a lesson plan: 1 84 I wanted to get some literature into history classes by the end of the year and the people that I talked to said “there was no way” and “I can’t do anything more” and “we have to teach the theory” and “we don’t have all the things we need to teach now”...l’m not saying I can’t do [IDT], I’d love to, but that’s when I decided that you can only work with people who are willing to work with you back and that is when I went to [the teacher in a neighboring classroom] and said, “You would really like this [section I’m planning to teach]. Would you do something with me? But the enclave members, preoccupied with their own concerns, paid scant attention to these tentative attempts by teachers to implement IDT on their own. Rarely did the enclave members acknowledge or encourage these teachers in their efforts. It may be that the enclave members were not fully aware of these scattered attempts or that they failed to understand the significance. It is possible that the enclave’s failure to attend to these colleagues contributed to the eventual demise of IDT as an innovation. THE UNCERTAINTY OF IMPLEMENTATION During individual teacher-principal meetings, at follow-up Advisory Committee . meetings and at Teacher Talk Times, enclave members sporadically discussed their future plans. “How do we propose this in Advisory Committee? People are not going to want to come to another meeting,” said one teacher to Carla’s suggestion that “the group keep meeting.” ”You are talking about the summer?” said another. ”No, the fall, after we get back.” Carla answered. She also talked about ”having a breakfast-type meeting so that we get together once a month to discuss the problem and maybe the next month we come back and work on it.” Some of the enclave members agreed with Linda that they “had no idea how to organize [support for IDTj.” One teacher thought that using the existing school meetings might be effective for urging other teachers to adopt IDT, and to use the governance structure already in place: “I think Advisory Committee or Teacher Talk Times would be the appropriate place. I hate to say we should form another committee, but that is the logical first step.” 1 85 The principal continued her habit of deferring action on ideas until there was a clear consensus among the faculty as to what they wanted and how things should proceed. When asked how she thought the faculty might implement IDT, she said: ”Would it make any sense to say to peOple at Teacher Talk Times, ‘Come back next month, having thought about these ideas?” She thought Advisory Committee meetings and Teacher Talk Times might be held more often or for longer periods, with more teachers giving input. These suggestions were not popular with the enclave teachers, who became more and more vocal about challenging the principal in public. There were occasions when one enclave member or another would dispute one of Diane’s suggestions directly, making such comments as, “I don’t see how that would work” or “How would you get [a teacher] to do that?” or “I don’t know of anybody who has time to take [that] on.” Other teachers began to be openly critical of each other’s suggestions as well as those of the principal. Discussions often faltered, with people feeling that “they didn’t know how to go ahead,” that they couldn’t “get off first base.” I speculated that these faculty felt they were deadlocked, that they did not know what to do next for they were making no progress on any front. Feelings expressed by faculty at this time suggest they were confused and anxious about the school, about its future, and about what should happen next. One person spoke of a “whirlpool” effect, just “swimming around and around until we drown.” Teachers did not agree on their interpretations of what was happening in the school at this time. Some teachers described morale at the school as “normal procedure” while others were very distressed by “the tension at the top.” Still others seemed oblivious to the undercurrents that moved around the school. During this stage of implementing the two innovations, it was difficult for the teachers to predict the outcomes of events or even to prepare themselves for what might happen from one day to the next. As Fullan and Stiegelbauer (1991) indicated, this was a time when few insiders could make sense of the snarl of events around them. 1 86 The faculty’s stress seemed to be affecting the principal, too, and contributing to her anxiety and frustration. She made several appointments with faculty, including enclave members, to “iron out differences” and tried to offer even more opportunities for faculty to talk to her. She summed up her understanding of the impatience of the teachers and seemed to sympathize with their frustration: “We have enough people on Advisory Committee right now who are real interested in this IDT approach...l understand what they are saying. They don’t want to keep fighting the same battles. They want to get on with it.” But she, too, seemed unsure how to proceed with either IDT or the review of the long-range plan, which demanded her immediate attention. Diane weighed and discarded many ideas to get teacher input for the long-range plan. She asked various faculty members “what they thought of” a course of action, or she asked “for help” from teachers whose advice she valued. She often did her “thinking out loud” at teacher meetings, offering suggestions but never making a decision without the teachers’ input. At one point, sounding a little desperate, she asked a teacher who had been on a planning committee at another school, “What do you think I should do?” He advised her to hire a planning consultant to facilitate the first of several faculty meetings. She took the teacher’s advice to hire a consultant as soon as she could rearrange in-service days on the school calendar. At the first meeting with the consultant, the teachers all made long lists of dreams and goals they had for the school as they saw it “ten years from now.” Diane wondered how to organize these lists so that they could be implemented: l have been thinking...that if we could get [the teachers’ ideas] into categories [such as] “Facilities,” or “Teacher Education,” or “Students,” and so on, that that might help the process? So I asked one teacher at Advisory Committee [to organize the lists]. At first I thought I would just [organize the teachers] and then I thought that we could do it together...[T he teacher] thought that would be okay. So maybe Advisory Committee can do the organizing?....Maybe we could have an in-service day where people could explain [something that was miscategorized] or wasn’t exactly what they wanted and we’d know what to recommend... 1 87 If Diane was uncertain as to how to move the review of the plan forward or how to get teachers involved, she counteracted this uncertainty as she always did: by seeking input from several sources, even other administrators and office staff before she made administrative decisions. But in this case, seeking the advice of other administrators proved to be of little use. “I asked [the assistant principal] what she thought and she just said, ‘Go ahead,” the principal said. On two other occasions Diane also asked faculty members to make presentations at Friday faculty meetings outlining how the planning process would flow. The teachers refused to do so. “Diane, I think that is for you to do! That’s best coming from the principal!” said one of the teachers. “Can you imagine [Diane] saying that?” said a listener after this conversation took place. “I couldn’t believe [Diane] wanted [the teacher] to do that.” Some of the teachers inter- preted Diane’s actions as “not knowing what she was doing.” During this time when the principal was directing her attention to the long- range planning process and soliciting ideas and suggestions from the staff, two teachers publicly quarreled with her. Word of these arguments spread throughout the school. Every teacher knew about them. Tension rose and several teachers not usually known for offering their opinions in faculty meetings made worried references to the “lack of leadership.” Meanwhile, Diane commented several times that it was “essential to be positive, to keep things positive” and to maintain an atmosphere of serenity in the schooL INCREASING TEACHER SUPPORT FOR IDT While the principal was engaged in issues related to the long-range plan and her relationships with teachers, and while the enclave members were deeply involved in the discussions about the principal and about the resisters, a coincidence of events with IDT and the long-range plan transpired that surprised several faculty members. At the first planning meeting when the recently-hired planning consultant came to work with the 1 88 teachers and administrators to launch the planning process, a large number of teachers mentioned IDT as being a dream they “hoped to see in the school in the next ten years.” Noticing this, the enclave members interpreted this as a groundswell of interest and “strong support for IDT,” that “lots of the teachers wanted it.” The enclave members seemed to feel that IDT was growing in popularity with the teachers, that “a majority of the faculty” were in favor of it or, at least, saw it as inevitable. I could not determine the reasons for this rise in teacher favorability toward IDT. When Carla first assessed each teacher’s attitude toward IDT, she mentioned that only she and Linda Shaffer were ready to embrace it completely. By the time of this planning meeting, more of the teachers showed an interest in IDT than ever before. Perhaps this interest was the result of Carla’s efforts, or the enclave members’, or perhaps it was due to other causes. Perhaps the enclave had miscalculated the support and opposition for IDT. It is possible that the rise in lDT’s popularity among the faculty was due to the fact that, over time, any new idea loses its radical flavor and becomes more appealing to people (Kotler & Roberto, 1989). If that was the case here, then continuing their earlier efforts to persuade others to adopt IDT might have been the most effective strategy for Carla and the enclave to use if they hoped to see more teachers accepting IDT. Yet the enclave did not do this. Instead, they became involved in their own concerns and commitments to the long-range plan and continued in their conversations about the principal’s lack of leadership and the resisters’ unwillingness to change. In doing this, they may have missed a timely opportunity to realize their wishes to implement IDT. THE EMOTIONAL TOLL ON THE STAKEHOLDERS Theorists of school restructuring examine the administrative and power positions that must be reviewed and changed in order for innovation to occur (Conley, 1992), but few address the psychological issues that are brought to bear during this evolution. There is no question that exploring new avenues for change put as heavy a 1 89 burden on the administrator as it did on Carla and the enclave members. Many of the “desirable goal” statements written by the teachers emphasized a need for “strong leadership” in the school. Diane was especially sensitive to these public statements of teacher dissatisfaction and took them personally: “I was sitting next to [another administrator] and, at one particular point in the discussion, I said, ‘This is so hurtful. Am I getting too emotional about this?’” The teacher change agents, especially Carla, also suffered from corresponding stress. Carla had already been wounded by the indifference from some of the teachers and she had had one or two verbal battles in Advisory Committee. She mentioned the burden of being a lone change agent on several occasions: “I want to tell you, going alone? It’s a bummer...You stand out there on a ledge and you’re stuck. Right now, I have no idea what is going to happen next year. I’m panic-stricken over it, but we are going to do it.” Linda, too, was tired of fighting the battles for IDT with resistant members in her own department: “Let somebody else run the department...l’m tired of battering my head against a wall.” Even the most optimistic of the teachers dreaded the work involved in maintaining a regular teaching load in addition to attending more meetings about improving the school, IDT, or the long-range plan. As one said, “The last full in- service day we had, people were just dreading it, I mean even I was a little bit. I have so much to do and I wasn’t in the mood and l was tired and the last thing I wanted to do was to go to a meeting.” It seemed to me that the administrator and faculty at this time were overloaded by the demands of the school’s daily business, the confrontations occurring between the principal and the two teachers, and the schedules for after-school meetings, athletic events and coaching commitments. Rather than the teachers having the time and the inclination to direct substantive discussion to the innovations, the innovations were driving them. The introduction of the long-range plan, in addition to the other activities, including IDT, created even more work and required increasing amounts of 1 90 time and attention. Teachers and principal both felt the stress. One of the ways they showed this was in their behavior in meetings. The teachers still saw Advisory Committee meetings, Teacher Talk Times, and in- service days as the ways that changes were introduced, discussed, and approved, yet all the teachers professed dislike of such meetings. When teachers assembled for a sche- duled meeting, talk relating to agenda items would flag and the “usual hodgepodge of small talk” would surface, whether or not the principal was there to control the discussions. Many faculty members saw the need to “get moving” on the long-range plan, but had no suggestions how to do this. It was a condition that some found extremely distressing. “I can’t go on like this,” said one teacher. Another threatened to resign from one of the groups, “I’m not going to stay if this keeps up. I can’t stand it anymore.” It is difficult to know if the teachers who made these comments really intended these statements to be taken seriously or if they were simply ways of reducing tension, but there is no question that this was a very stressful time for administrators and faculty. Unsure how to pro- ceed, unwilling to devote more time and attention to finding solutions, the teachers seemed eager to resolve the differences of opinion and return to some form of personal and organizational stability. A NEW MEETING STRUCTURE IS PROPOSED It was Carla who made the suggestion which broke the deadlock: She proposed a new framework for meetings and discussions at Western High School. Prior to making this proposal to the faculty, she discussed it privately with Linda Shaffer and two other enclave members, then announced it at a Teacher Talk Time meeting: 191 I propose that we do away with Advisory Committee and that we set up a new department called the IDT Department and those people who want to work in those areas could work together. These are people who have developed what I call an “apex condition,” which in ecological terms means that you have tried everything and you are now in a position where you have perfected your art. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t change, because...apex conditions change all the time. But you keep adjusting that which you have perfected. And I am sure there are courses here that are under that umbrella. This is the “Traditional” or “Apex”...group, [who] would report to Diane directly...whereas the IDT [group] would report to [Teacher Talk Times members] and so we would have...maybe you could even divide the school into “Apex learning” as opposed to “Innovative.” And I can see that some of the things that these people who are objecting to lDT...which is where a lot of schools are going, I think those people believe that the Apex approach for their discipline is the best one. So, instead of forcing everyone into the same mold, we should try to work together...l think it is really difficult to continue this infighting when I don’t think it is going to come to a conclusion that everybody is going to do the same thing. As she had done in the past, Carla proposed a solution to a problem currently facing the faculty by “bringing things in from outside the teaching world.” By using ecological examples of “apex and innovative conditions,” Carla offered her listeners a line of thinking that helped the faculty look at their dilemma in a different light. Carla’s suggestion was that the school divide its curriculum into two separate strands: Those classes with content areas that seldom changed over time would become the “apex or traditional group” in contrast to those classes with content areas that did change, the courses she called “the innovative group.” According to Carla’s way of thinking, such classes as foreign languages, typing, and physical education, would probably be part of the “apex group” while subjects like the sciences and social studies, where there were dramatic societal changes occurring, would become the “innovative group” and teachers of these would be more likely to profit from IDT methods. Carla’s recommendation achieved several things. First, she broke the stalemate of discussions on how to move forward with IDT. Second, she publicly acknowledged the presence of resisters on the staff and proposed a way for certain teachers to use IDT without being blocked by the resisters. Third, she acknowledged, for the first time, that 1 92 there might be some justification for the resisters’ stance: that IDT methods were not always appropriate for teaching certain subjects and these courses should be left intact. Her proposal had the effect of defusing some of the bitterness felt by the enclave members toward the presence of resisting faculty. On a different level, and one which had the most repercussions for IDT, Carla’s proposal involved a major change in the school’s governance structure. Carla’s proposal was that the “innovative or IDT group,” should be managed by teachers who were cur— rently members of Teacher Talk Time. These were, for the most part, teachers whom Carla felt were open-minded and willing to discuss issues of school improvement without belittling an idea’s proponent or its possibilities. Teachers of the apex group would report directly to the principal, as they traditionally did. The teachers at Teacher Talk Time discussed Carla’s suggestion at great length. Many of the teachers at Teacher Talk Times were receptive to it, seeing the formation of “apex” and “innovation/IDT” groups as a way to effect a compromise between those teachers who resisted change and those who did not. It was interesting, however, to note that the divisions between the two groups, apex and innovative, as Carla proposed them, were related to differences in teachers’ subject matters, not in teachers themselves. In reality, however, when discussing which courses would fit into which groups, the discussants assumed that teachers who preferred tradition would form the apex group and teachers who favored IDT would form the innovative group," regardless of whether the subject matter “fit” into that group. Teachers tended to divide themselves and others into traditionalists or innovators. This division became increasingly evident when some of the meeting participants questioned how other “teachers would accept this” notion dividing them between innovative and apex teaching. “Won’t it sound bad to say someone is going to be in the apex group? Won’t it polarize the staff?” one teacher asked Carla. “They are already polarized!” Carla replied. 1 93 There was another implication to Carla’s proposal: that authority, power, and control of curriculum changes shift from the principal to the teachers. The principal would no longer be the person solely responsible for dictating changes that affected the faculty. Such changes would be made by a large group of administrators and faculty Instead. This idea was discussed at even greater length than the notion of dividing the curriculum content into apex and innovative groups. One teacher was concerned with the placement of these groups in the organizational hierarchy: “T here are problems with Advisory Committee, sure. But [Teacher Talk Times] are an advisory body. If the one group reports to Teacher Talk Times and the other reports to [the principal], are we putting a layer of bureaucracy there that doesn’t need to be there?” Another teacher was more concerned with the impression that other teachers might have of one group “taking over" the autonomy of teachers. “We would have to redefine Teacher Talk Times as well,” he said. “We would otherwise...be saying that apex people are not interested in Teacher Talk Times...or that they are not innovative.” Carla became very direct about her dissatisfaction with the present meeting structure, “Somebody’s got to coordinate all this stuff...That is why I suggested that we switch to Teacher Talk Times, for lack of a better place to go. They can’t go to Advisory Committee, I don’t think. Advisory Committee is not functioning.” The principal was very receptive to Carla’s proposal. “I think this sounds like something totally new, an interesting approach,” she said in an interview the following day. Diane, who could lose a great deal in terms of status and power if the proposal was adopted, was willing to entertain the thought of it. Knowing Diane preferred communal decision-making and valued teacher input, Carla was-probably very safe in recom- mending the proposal as she did. While the shift in curriculum control might reduce the principal’s authority, it did provide her with an avenue for making decisions without her having to bear the burden alone. Carla may have thought that Diane would welcome such a proposal with relief. 1 94 Diane did. She especially liked the idea of abolishing Advisory Committee in favor of a different committee structure and tried to think of a discrete way to suggest to the Advisory Committee members that the body should dissolve: If I were to just say to Advisory Committee, “I think we need to change, and here are some ideas at Teacher Talk Time that we came up with, how could we change, how could we become more integrative...Maybe I should dothat, say we’ve talked about it in this group and we are trying to find a new structure...We need some people to sell it and maybe more would happen. When the members of Advisory Committee heard Carla’s proposal, they too were generally pleased with the idea. The Committee members wanted to know how each department might continue to conduct its business if they no longer came together as a group. “Wouldn’t we need somebody to handle the papenrvork?...We’d sort of need a department secretary,” they said. Though Carla’s intention was to divide the faculty into groups that would support inter-disciplinary teaching and facilitate the work of those teachers interested in adopting it, the Teacher Talk Time discussion became fixed on other issues inherent in Carla’s proposal: the make-up of the new committees, what to name them, and how they should function. Ironically, less of the discussion at this meeting and at subsequent meetings focused on IDT, and more of the talk centered on how to change the organizational structure. It may be that the faculty found it easier to consider changing the structure than it did to solving the problems of implementing IDT. The problems of IDT were, after all, familiar and well-known. They had been problems for a long time without having been solved, while the challenge of trying to find a better way of working through committees was new and may have seemed more manageable. It may simply have been more appealing to these teachers to address these new problems rather than to tackle the old ones. In any event the faculty seemed to enter into these discussions with an enthusiasm that I suspect was partially relief at not having to confront issues directly 1 95 related to IDT: a case of dealing with one problem by transferring one’s attention to another. This gave the illusion of progress being made on all fronts. The teachers in these and subsequent discussions approached the idea of redesigning the meeting structure with many more ideas and suggestions for refining the committee structure than they did for solving the problems of IDT. “At some point we have to decide what authority is given to whom, and that hasn’t been done yet,” said a teacher upon hearing that Advisory Committee would be discontinued. Another faculty member saw the new committee structure as a cause for concern if the committees had no clear focus: “If you are going to put people in committees, you’ve got to make certain those committees have enough power to make decisions.” The principal herself pondered the feasibility of an administrative body, instead of a single administrator, to share the leadership of the school: “Maybe the Chairpersons of those committees we set up are going to make up an administration team, because they are going to have a great knowledge of what is going on.” So the efforts to create apex and innovative groups designed to make progress on IDT gradually evolved into discussions of new meeting structures that had less to do with IDT and more to do with lines of power and authority. Although Diane seemed willing, even eager, to share her authority with a broad base of the teaching staff, the movement from the principal’s “having the power" to a shared power base with teachers frightened some of the faculty. “Am I reading this right? That this new group being put together is a headship [sic]? And, if so, do they have full autonomy or are we still waiting for the administration to say whatever? Those are my fears,” said one teacher. Besides power and authority, the involvement of others as members of the new committees was also a point of concern, for having clerical and maintenance personnel, parents, and students share in policy-making and administrative matters challenged long-established traditions. “That might be another thing to think about, the composition [of the committees] Maybe people [could] sign up to be on [a committee],” 1 96 Diane suggested. But another administrator thought otherwise: “Then again, if we introduce a small group of six people, they are going to be the same ones that always talk to each other.” One teacher thought that the way to prevent cliques from forming was to “get different groups of people together who don’t normally meet outside their usual department meetings.” Another teacher asked, “Of all the people in the school, who should be on a committee of the kind we are talking about?” and other teachers answered, “The students” or “someone who represents athletics” or “...a buildings person” and “the parents.” In this way, setting up the new committees, clarifying each one’s purpose, membership, and relationships to other committees, began to preoccupy the teachers more than the revisions of the structure to suit IDT as Carla had first proposed. Once the new structure was proposed and discussed by Advisory Committee and Teacher Talk Time faculty, and once the principal and the teachers understood, to one extent or another, that Advisory Council was to be abolished and that changes would be made in the ways that they were to function in the new committees, they seemed eager to leave these discussions behind. Diane liked the fact that proposals for change had come from the “grass-roots” level: “I was very pleased that it was the teachers who will [decide curriculum changes] and now we can shoot for other things...l’ve got to wait, to let the process go further, maybe some people will buy into [changes] better then.” Later Diane talked about her own impatience with the period of uncertainty and purposelessness when these discussions had taken place and her eagerness to feel that there was now some purpose and momentum to discussions, that the school was now moving forward. “The school needs...to do something, to do things and we sacrifice enough as it is,” she said, “so when [Carla made the suggestion to abolish Advisory Committee], that shifted things again. You know, you are looking at leadership kinds of things that shift...l know that we have to do things and, maybe this way more people will be happier, with this new system.” Despite the fact that she would have to “share her 1 97 power” with teachers in the proposed new committee structure, Diane was willing to do so, hoping that by not being solely responsible for unpopular changes, she would be held less accountable than a committee or group when decisions were made that might later prove to be unwise or unpopular. Some of the teachers shared Diane’s perception that the new structure would “shift their attitudes” and let them “try out new ways” of doing things: “I’d like to see it happen,” one teacher said, “Even though it would mean a lot of work for a few years to get things reorganized and changed.” Another teacher described the discussions as “a beginning. It opens the door...But it is a lot of work.” Even Carla, still eager to see IDT implemented in this new working structure, seemed content to let matters rest for the time being: “Maybe when we get our vision and...when we know where we are going, then we will see who we need to have represented. We, our groups, whomever our chairperson is in the innovation group, and my chairperson, would bring our needs to this group. I’d think that would work.” It should be mentioned here that the proposed changes in the organizational structure would have a profound effect on the relationships between the faculty and the school administrators, but little beyond that. That is, the faculty’s relationships to the school board as policy-makers would not be altered by the reorganization. The principal would continue to represent the faculty’s opinions at school board meetings and would still be seen, by the teachers and by the board, as the individual responsible for relaying policy decisions to the faculty. More pertinent to this study is the fact that many of the teachers viewed the work on the new organizational structure as a welcome relief from their earlier uncertainty about how decisions affecting the whole school might be made and who should make them. But all this speculation, discussion, and feeling “of progress being made” was far removed from inter-disciplinary teaching. While Carla may have thought that changing the committee structure was the first hurdle in addressing the problems of IDT, by this 1 98 time the issues of implementing IDT were seldom mentioned, and certainly not in connection with the new committees or their purposes. LOSING SIGHT OF IDT The enclave members, too, seemed to have lost sight of IDT. Much of their conversation was predicated on distrust of the principal as a leader and their fear that she would not be able to “lead the changes” necessitated by the evolving committee structures. As one said, “There is only one way that [change] can happen to us and this is with a new administration. The principal is very kind...but my point is we don't have to keep her. The harm that she has done far outweighs any good.” Another teacher thought that the only solution was to “get a totally new administration, somebody totally new and from the outside.” This method of dealing with organizational stress by using the administrator as a scapegoat is typical among school faculty, who want to “fire the principal or the superintendent” and replace these administrators with others who are, presumably, more competent and better liked (Sarason, 1977). But with regard to IDT, the enclave seemed to be in limbo, with the members preoccupied with their teaching responsibilities and content to drift until the end of the teaching year when the members would “have more time” to discuss this type of curriculum change. It became harder for the enclave to find time to meet with other teachers to discuss plans for IDT and fewer of the original enclave members talked about IDT with the same fervor as before. During the last few weeks of school, when the entire teaching body was focused on the school’s strategic plan, Carla began to realize that IDT was becoming less of a priority for the enclave. At one of many subcommittee meetings of the long-range planning group, Carla, two other enclave members, and the two teachers recruited to join the enclave, Chris Sajak and Jeff Daniels, began talking about IDT. One of the recruits, Chris Sajak, told Carla: 199 I really lost interest when the minutes of the Advisory Committee came out saying that next year you can do IDT or not do IDT, depending on if you are in the one group or the other group. Whatever you want to be in, it tells me I am wasting my entire year, because I can go in my room, close the door and...then I don’t have to be part of that vision. We’ve had five hundred workshops [on IDT] and nobody here says we have to do it. I don’t see any carry-through. To be quite honest, I don’t think [IDT] will work here. Carla felt that his statement was a clear indication that Chris was no longer interested in working with the enclave. She tried to persuade him to reconsider: “If we don’t push [IDT], it will never be.” Chris replied that he would “probably always plug away, but I mean to get less and less pumped up to do those kinds of things...” Carla asked Chris to think “what might happen if we had a new administration...We can change that,” she said, “We can work for that.” This gambit, instead of convincing Chris, only succeeded in worrying Jeff Daniels. “Personally,” he said when Carla began talking about “getting rid of” the present administration, “I am a little uncomfortable with the direction this is taking.” At this planning meeting, Carla went further than she ever had in bending the rules of acceptable teacher behavior at Western. In hinting at the possibility of the principal’s removal, Carla alienated one of her potential supporters. Jeff Daniels said later that he “would stand by Diane” and, from this time on, he said he would deliberately avoid attending additional meetings with Carla and the enclave members. THE END OF THE ENCLAVE The events I described above show the decline of interest in IDT as more teachers turned to discussions of the long-range plan and how best to achieve the school’s goals and objectives, their “vision” of what they would like to see happen at the school. Taken up with meetings on the school vision, on discussions of restructuring the school meet- ings along new lines of authority, and on the creation of new committees, the teachers found they had less time to devote to IDT. Even though teachers’ interest seemed strong 200 and favorably inclined toward using IDT earlier in the semester, their preoccupation with the school’s organizational structure took precedence over experiments with IDT. The sense of cohesion and enthusiasm among the enclave members was also waning. Carla wanted to take the lead in reinvigorating the enclave members: “I think I’d better call a meeting. I have to take some leadership and get some groups together. We’d best get back together somehow and refocus and get something going, [even though] most of the movers and shakers are tired.” She was aware that she had “scared off Chris...when he said last week that he was not going to take a leadership role and was just going to put in his time.” She also knew that Jeff Daniels would not participate. When she learned of these defections, Carla turned again to Linda, her closest ally. But Linda, too, was wearing out: I’m at zero. I don’t know what to do. I just don’t think it will ever work...lt’s only me in my department...l can’t do any more. Every weekend is full of coaching and every afternoon I tutor. I have to wait until [the end of school] and maybe the summer...There is a real lack of leadership. [Diane] doesn’t oppose IDT. In fact, she wants it. But ninety per cent here don’t want to do anything. They constantly put down the people who do....lt’s time to toss in the towel. Carla thought another member of the enclave was “never a strong supporter of IDT” so much as she was a “supporter of things in general,” so it was unlikely that Carla would approach this enclave member for advice or for comfort. At the end of the school year, the remaining enclave members left the school for other employment. The only one left was Carla. As the original enclave splintered, Carla searched for other supporters on the staff to help her with IDT. There was one last Teacher Talk Time scheduled before the end of the school year, and prior to it, Carla turned to one teacher on the staff who had shown some interest in trying out IDT. “I want you to come with me to Teacher Talk Time,” she said to the teacher. “I want you beside me.” There were many teachers attending this last Teacher Talk Time, but Carla was the only member of the original enclave present. Most of the discussion related to the 2 0 1 new committee and governance structure. When someone mentioned IDT toward the end of the meeting, Carla joined the discussion for the first time: “I’ve lost the big picture here,” she said, “I’m not sure where we are going anymore.” She asked for details about “who has the authority to make decisions” and how “the new structure will support IDT.” There was a pause in the discussion, and it was Diane who responded to Carla’s question, saying she would “organize several committees and start the planning process again in the fall.” Carla replied that she felt “she was going up a big mountain and couldn’t see the top or the bottom.” When the meeting was over, Carla said to the teacher who had accompanied her, “We could work on [IDT] over the summer. I’ll set up some meetings.” But if she did, she never informed the other enclave members, Chris Sajak, Jeff Daniels, or this teacher. Several weeks later, Jeff Daniels still “hadn’t heard anything about a meeting." Carla herself seemed to have abandoned all efforts to arouse the faculty to adopt IDT. At the end of the year, she was making fewer visits to Linda’s and the enclave members’ classrooms during the school day. She initiated fewer discussions about IDT in faculty meetings. During the last few days of school, the teachers and administrators at Western High volunteered to be members of discussion groups, each group to address one issue arising from the long-range planning meetings. These issues were Curri- culum, Students, Parent Involvement, and Finances, to name but a few. None of these discussion groups related specifically to IDT. In fact, Carla’s proposal to divide the faculty into Innovative and Apex Groups was forgotten. Overcoming the first barrier to lDT’s adoption--changing the structure for decision-making and removing the presence of resisters--had proven to be lDT’s undoing rather than its salvation. By the end of the year, Advisory Committee had been dissolved. Friday Faculty meetings were also canceled. The teachers and the principal eventually restructured Teacher Talk Time into the Coordinating Committee for all the newly-formed discussion 202 groups. This committee shared power with the principal in making decisions about all the issues concerning the school. References to IDT around the school were so rare that one teacher commented, “Looks like that’s it. We went to all those workshops and look where it is now.” It seemed as though no one-~not even the enclave members--was interested in implementing IDT. As the teachers went their separate ways at the end of the school year, the enclave collapsed and with it, all hopes for implementing IDT. SUMMARY In this chapter, the alliance of teachers which Carla helped forge for IDT faced considerable challenges from another schoolwide innovation, the review of the long- range plan. The long-range plan dominated the thinking of administrators and faculty, even when interest in inter-disciplinary teaching seemed to be at the peak of its popu- larity. In attempting to resolve the issues confronting the supporters of IDT, Carla Ensign suggested that the curriculum be divided between apex and innovative groups, and that school resources be allocated accordingly. At first her proposal was entertained with some enthusiasm, for the administrator and other faculty members saw how implementing Carla’s idea would relieve other pressures on the school, namely, the ineffective governance mechanisms and low morale. Sensing that her proposal was moving people in directions she had not anticipated, Carla pushed harder for IDT, stretching the limits of acceptable teacher behaviors. With the established norms for teachers and administrators breaking down, not yet understanding what was acceptable and not acceptable, Carla and the enclave resorted to public insubordination and revivals of their earlier discussions about the principal’s leadership style and the failure of resisters to welcome change. At the end of the school year, little was accomplished toward the implementation of IDT, and the original enclave and the two recruits had disbanded, going their separate ways. CHAPTER EIGHT ANALYSIS “It occurred to me that something might perhaps be made out of this question... by patient/y accumulating and reflecting on all sorts of facts which could possibly have any bearing on it. ” --Charles Darwin On h ri in of th ecies THIS STUDY’S BEGINNING AND ENDING I began this study with the following research question: How does a teacher change agent attempt to introduce a radical change into an organization, such as a school, that by its nature resists change, particularly if that change agent lacks an admini- strative power base from which to operate? At the conclusion of this study, I realized there were differences between what I found and what I had expected to find. In launching this research study, I envisioned the innovation process as linear, in keeping with theoretical models (Fullan, 1992; Rogers, 1977, 1983). I pictured innovators as being agents responsible for introducing new ideas to early adopters in a social system who, in turn, influenced the rest of the population. I accepted the premise that innovators and resisters usually moved in different social circles and in different networks. This lack of contact prevented the members of different social groups from interacting with each other; innovators and resisters thus remained apart (Rogers, 1983). In this study, however, I found a high frequency of communication between innovators and resisters who worked with each other in the same organizational locale, sometimes despite fundamental differences of opinion about the innovation being 203 204 proposed. I found that innovators’ close contact with resisters led innovators to make conscious attempts to reduce the resistance. The presence of resistance led innovators to violate certain norms for teacher behaviors within the context of the school’s culture in order to achieve what was desired. I also began this study expecting to study an innovation process from the perspective of a teacher change agent, but I found opportunities to view the process through the eyes of other organizational participants: the administrator, the teachers who supported it, and those who did not. Looking at what happened at Western High, I could no longer adhere to established assumptions that the innovation process occurs in predictable stages of introduction, implementation, and institutionalization. Theoretical models formulated by Fullan and Stiegelbauer (1991) and Rogers (1977, 1983) did not entirely explain the cultural and structural forces at play between innovation suppor- ters and nonsupporters, or between the organizational elite and the subordinates at Western High School. Since school cultures and structures are not changed easily (Wilson & Daviss, 1994; Sarason, 1995), a teacher change agent may find that a proposed innovation collapses before it can be implemented. This is what happened at Western High. This is not so much a story of a successful innovation as of its failure. In addition, at the start of this study, I expected to find a change agent in a subordinate position who found herself at odds with her principal as she tried to introduce and implement the desired innovation. I also expected to find a bureaucratic structure, common to many schools, that presented hardships to the teacher change agent (Fullan, 1992). What I found instead was a change agent who had the principal’s initial support, the possibility of her continued support, and the resources of the principalship at her disposal. I found a principal seriously willing to entertain the teacher change 205 agent’s suggestions for changing the school structure to one that would be more congenial to the proposed innovation. Despite these apparent advantages, the teacher change agent still did not succeed in achieving what she wanted. I formed the opinion that a teacher change agent in a school such as this one may need to identify and overcome other impediments if she is to succeed in seeing her innovation adopted. Finally, I expected to find a change agent making use of various communication strategies to persuade others and to offset her felt lack of power to mandate change. I thought these strategies might be representative of instances of nonconformance. I did find the teacher change agent using such strategies in this way, especially when she formed an alliance with other faculty and the group began engaging in nonconforming behaviors. The nonconformance was weak, however, and the school eventually absorbed the nonconformance when another innovation, the long-range planning process, was introduced. Each of these conclusions merits fuller explanation. In the remainder of this chapter, I will present my analysis and interpretations of what I observed at Western High School. To do so, I present several observations emerging from this study about the teacher change agents’ enactment of their roles in the innovation process. Carla Ensign’s beliefs about the nature and source of resistance to her innovation were at the core of this study. I conclude that one may view the innovation process from the outside in, as a neat process of introduction, implementation, and institutionalization of new ideas, or that one can view it (as the teacher change agent did at Western High) as a messier internal effort to reduce resistance to the change. 2 O 6 EMERGING OBSERVATIONS Observation 1: The teacher change agents at Western High School construed innovation as a process of overcoming diverse forms of resistance to the innovation from peers, from superiors, and from the school’s structure. Carla Ensign enacted her role as teacher change agent by identifying and overcoming various forms and sources of resistance, regardless of where or how that resistance revealed itself. This study confirms an underlying assumption of much of the innovation literature: that innovation is a political struggle for resources, opposing alliances, and factions (Frost & Egri, 1991; Fullan, 1992). l chronicled Carla’s struggle to introduce and implement an innovation according to the responses she made to individuals superior to her and to those in positions lateral to her own. The three phases I observed at Western High School--advocacy, alliance, and derailment--are distinct in that in each Carla faced a different source of resistance. At the outset, Carla advocated that the school adopt IDT and she pitted her efforts against a principal who, although willing to subsidize Carla’s attendance at IDT conferences, was reluctant to compel others to use IDT. Carla also found individual teachers hesitant to adopt IDT despite its “obvious benefits.” In several instances, the faculty were not resistant to the idea of IDT per se, but anxious about implementing IDT in their classrooms. At this time, Carla perceived the resistance to the innovation as coming from the administrator and from certain teachers unwilling to adopt new ideas in general. In the second phase, when Carla allied with other faculty members to form the enclave, the members fueled their commitment to IDT by claiming that resistance emanated from a collective bloc of faculty and from the principal’s “weak leadership.” 207 The enclave reacted by conspiring to bypass the administrator, by demonstrating their support for IDT through a show of force to their colleagues, and by enlisting open- minded recruits from among the ranks of the faculty. In the third phase, Carla and the enclave found there was little overt resistance to IDT from the principal and colleagues in Advisory Committee. Here, resistance to IDT stemmed from organizational and structural impediments which presented a new dilemma for the teacher change agents. These impediments included problems teachers had in experimenting with curriculum changes that extended beyond their own classrooms, the need for additional resources and training for IDT, and, most importantly, the need to create a process so that decisions about curriculum changes in the school could be made without depending solely on the principal. Teachers, particularly Carla and the enclave members, made sense of the innovation in ways that were inconsistent with images of innovation processes in the literature. Most of the teachers’ and the principal’s activities were based on their perceptions of other persons’ “support” and “nonsupport” for innovation. There was much confusion among faculty over the meanings of words like support, adoption, implementation and resistance. For example, at various times “adoption” could mean the principal’s urging all teachers to learn more about IDT, the individual teacher’s willingness to explore it further, or the entire faculty’s use of it in their classrooms. Carla thought of “support” as the principal’s giving her resources to attend conferences, the opportunity to make a presentation on IDT to faculty, or the principal’s mandate of IDT for the entire school. To Carla, “support” could also mean the number of teachers willing to listen to her talk about IDT, ask questions about it, or otherwise show interest in it. The teachers who did none of these things were “nonsupportive.” This 208 confusion in the meaning and the extent of support for the innovation contributed to the dilemmas Carla faced as a teacher change agent. Carla and the enclave members knew who were the resistant faculty, the ones who “always resisted a new idea." The same names surfaced repeatedly in their conversations. The teacher change agents felt a strong “ownership” of IDT and categorized the other faculty as supporters or resisters, a phenomenon until now seen only among administrator change agents (Fullan, 1992). Resisters to IDT were assumed to be the same people who had resisted other innovations in the past. In contrast to Carla’s view, I found the resisters saw themselves as unresisting to ideas like IDT, as neutral, "wait and see" people, reserving judgment and delaying action on change until they could see the benefits of the innovation. Carla and the enclave were engaged in a political struggle, where who they were and what they stood for placed them in ideological conflict with their administrator and colleagues, and with the bureaucratic and governance structures in place at the school. When viewed this way, the process of introducing a radical innovation like IDT calls into question teachers’ understanding of their own power to effect schoolwide change and brings into sharp focus the need for teachers as change agents to move beyond typical classroom boundaries. Observation 2: The lead teacher change agent at Western High School, in her enactment of the role of change agent, engaged in activities that were not consistent with the traditional teaching role but which were vital to the introduction and implementation of a radical innovation. In the first phase of innovation, advocating the adoption of the innovation, Carla was a self-appointed change agent who assumed that the principal would use her power as principal to mandate a new curriculum that held out hope for improving student 209 performance. Carla actively proposed ideas for change but did not involve herself in the details of their implementation. In the second phase, “Alliance,” Carla’s role as a teacher change agent shifted. Carla learned that advocating schoolwide change demanded that she perform on a wider stage than as a classroom teacher, that she assume new roles and become competent at other tasks for which teacher education and experience had not fully prepared her. The pressure to achieve innovation goals demanded that she interact with other teachers beyond the casual friendship levels which many teachers preferred and which exist in most schools (Hartzell, 1994). Carla, for example, found herself searching for IDT role models in other schools similar to Western, becoming a clearinghouse for IDT information, identifying speakers to come to the school, and conjuring up hypothetical examples of IDT to illustrate to teachers how IDT might work. Out of the need to build support for the innovation, a teacher change agent found she had to leave the insularity of the classroom and make contact with people in different classrooms and in different schools. In her role as a teacher change agent, Carla was responsible for the group that had formed around the innovation, for arranging and leading their meetings, for controlling discussions, and for keeping interest in IDT at a high level. In the third phase, “Derailment,” when the school was preoccupied by multiple innovations and priorities and when the faculty and'administrators were surrounded by the details of implementation, the teacher change agent had to maintain the glamour of the innovation as individuals became distracted by other priorities, most notably, the long-range planning process. To see the process through to implementation, a teacher change agent here had to be a tactician, becoming fully immersed in details and functions normally ascribed to other school employees, such as managing aspects of the long-range 210 planning process and the revising teacher schedules and planning periods. As Carla discovered, individual teachers could not implement IDT without corresponding changes made to the school’s organizational structure. Teachers at Western High traditionally did not engage in these activities, nor were they expected to do so. Carla was acutely aware of this and knew how taxing the role of teacher change agent could be, how time- consuming and wearing, and how easily one could be diverted by other interests. For that reason, she was hesitant to weaken her own voice for IDT by endorsing other proposals: “I’m seen as standing for something,” she said. None of these roles--activist, marketer, problem-solver, group leader, project planner, or tactician--matched the teachers’ understanding of what it meant to be a teacher. Observation 3a: The teacher change agents in the school were mindful of the apparent threat they presented to the balance of power between themselves and the school administrator. Western High School, despite its relatively simple bureaucratic structure, with employees classified on three levels, still had a firmly entrenched power structure-- one that was not easily dismantled. The school employees and the principal herself perceived the person in the principalship as being the school’s chief authority figure, but they differed in their opinions as to how far the principal’s power should extend. The teachers assumed the principal should be the first to launch any innovation; the principal felt she should be last, that by the time she approved any changes, the faculty would already have adopted them. From her vivid memories of mandating changes “prematurely,” the principal had learned that her power was somewhat tenuous and subject to criticism by the faculty. 211 The principal at Western High would have said that the teachers had as much power as she to effect change. The teachers, conversely, felt that power to make changes resided in the principalship, and faulted the principal for not making decisions they wanted. They saw the principal as the ultimate support staff member whose function was to aid them in getting what they wanted and to find solutions to their problems. Department heads were no different than other teachers in their conflicting viewpoints about the extent of power. Faculty in these pseudo-powerful positions felt they had no more power than the rest of the faculty. Other teachers saw department heads as having more power than they. All the teachers assumed that they could control the principal to a certain extent if they influenced her in the right ways. The principal and the faculty both strove to maintain the delicate balance of power through the use of persuasion strategies designed to convince the other party to take a specific course of action. At Western, the principal certainly felt pushed to “do something” to recognize the desires of teachers who wanted IDT. The most obvious gesture she could make was to continue her offers to subsidize teachers’ attendance at workshops. However, she seemed confused about ways to move teachers past this point and looked to the enclave members to suggest ways to encourage more teachers to adopt IDT. When Carla made the proposal to reconfigure teacher assemblies, the principal saw this as no threat to her authority but rather as the means whereby she could share responsibility for solving school problems. To Carla, this proposal promised to solve the problems of teachers who, like herself, wanted to go forward despite resistant teachers and a “weak” principal. A teacher in the role of a change agent here appears to threaten the power structure that exists between herself and the principal, and between herself and her fellow teachers. Administrators who attempt to engineer innovation may find themselves 212 blocked by teachers (Becher & Maclure, 1978). Like these administrators, teachers who assume the role of innovators grapple with a felt lack of position power--that is, the inability to mandate change by virtue of holding a leadership or executive position. This study suggests that some teachers who make similar attempts to innovate may find themselves blocked by their administrators. The illusion of this felt lack of power was the basis of much of Carla’s activities: She was sometimes frustrated by her inability to obtain permission to do what she wanted, so she simply changed her strategies and set out to achieve her goals in other ways. The nature of the teacher change agent’s role, then, put that teacher in an adversarial role with school administrators. When the enclave formed, its members saw themselves as rallying together for a common cause: Through a show of power at the Advisory Committee meeting, they would bring about the adoption of IDT and neutralize the principal’s authority. This was to occur at the Advisory Committee meeting. This show of power, however, was carefully orchestrated so that it would not be seen as a challenge the principal’s authority directly or unpleasantly. Neither Carla nor the other enclave members claimed to want the power that lay in the principalship, but they did want the principal to exercise her authority to compel other teachers to adopt IDT. As one enclave member said, “I don’t have the authority [to insist that other teachers adopt change] and I don’t want it.” Yet the change agents at Western continued to labor under the misperception that a principal should mandate changes and that changes would be more easily adopted if forced on teachers in this way. This coincides with Sarason’s conclusion (1977) that teachers are tempted to confuse “a change in policy with a change in practice.” This type of confusion over who had authority and power and who could engineer change at Western High School pervaded the thinking of people the entire time that Carla Ensign pushed for IDT. 213 Observation 3b: Other teachers at Western High School appeared to question their fellow teachers' roles in and rights to engineer schoolwide change. The resistance some faculty members had toward change sometimes manifested itself as animosity toward Carla, the change agent. One or two teachers saw Carla as trespassing on their territory and questioned her right to do so. Even those who supported Carla were aware that she intruded on other teachers’ turf. As one teacher said, “I try to follow Carla, but...some other teachers here think, where does she get her power?...l don’t know whom to follow.” Over time, the identity of the teacher change agent and the identity of the innovation became aligned so that teachers made remarks like, “I don’t like Carla, so I don’t like IDT.” Carla counteracted teachers’ perceptions that she was intrusive by presenting an indisputable case of herself as a good teacher. She was very visible throughout the school and made a point to stay in touch with other faculty members, even seeking out teachers in their preferred haunts around the school and socializing with them there. She faithfully attended meetings, school events, extracurriculars, and dutifully conducted all the business of her department. Her status as a teacher was credible; no one doubted Carla’s commitment to students and to the school or argued with her success in getting decisions from the principal that favored her department. She was supported by the principal, who gave her funding for conferences, for experimental projects, and for teacher release time. If “power flows to the visible” (Kanter, 1977), then Carla must have met Western’s standards for a good teacher and one with influence over others. Nevertheless, she was still perceived as overstepping her role as a teacher. Change agents may justify such actions, as Carla did, by making it clear the changes they 214 propose are important, that they address neglected goals of the organization (Leeds, 1964). Like Carla, teacher change agents may offer a justification for change such as that the innovation will be “good for the school.” But Carla risked creating resistance to the innovation for she called into question closely-held assumptions about what were appropriate teacher activities. Observation 4: ln enacting the role of a change agent, the teacher change agent used communication strategies that caused her to violate certain norms for acceptable teacher behavior in the school. Any teacher change agent has to work within structural and cultural con- straints--that is, within established norms for teacher behavior in a school (Leithwood, 1990; Joyce, Bennett & Rolheiser-Bennett, cited in Joyce, 1990). These norms were of particular importance in this case because the teacher change agent at Western found she could not achieve her objective unless she worked outside the norms. Teacher norms in this school were built on assumptions that teachers were in complete mastery of their subject matter, were independent in the classroom, did not take a leadership role in the school, and deferred to the principal in all matters of decision-making outside the classroom (Hopkins, 1990, cited in Joyce, 1990; Lieberman & Miller, 1984). Carla’s proposals for IDT violated closely-held beliefs about teacher autonomy and spheres of influence. To challenge these norms challenged the very heart of teaching and created a potent threat to teachers (Fullan, 1993). Carla’s experiences introducing IDT suggest that there was a fine line between norm-conforming and norm-breaking behaviors for teachers as change agents. The persuasion strategies Carla used at first adhered to normative practices for teacher-principal relationships: seeking the principal’s input before initiating action, 215 asking her permission to launch projects, and requesting financial help to attend continuing education conferences. These strategies were straightforward, direct transactions between a teacher and an administrator, typical of those used by all teachers. Carla attempted to introduce a radical innovation into the school using these same upward communication strategies. She first approached the principal, asking permission to attend more IDT conferences. She talked about IDT in Advisory Committee and Teacher Talk Time meetings. These ways of influencing the principal and other faculty mirrored other teachers’ communication strategies and as such presented no serious threat to the status quo. When the principal denied Carla’s request to make a formal presentation to the faculty about IDT, Carla turned to her fellow teachers. She spoke out in meetings, uninhibited by the fact that IDT was not on the meeting agendas. She continued to publicly encourage teachers to adopt IDT. These might have been seen as acts of defiance, except that the principal was of the temperament to tolerate and not to punish such activities. Carla’s nonconformance with the teachers’ rules for behavior began when she asked for help from other teachers in adapting lessons, and when she implied that other teachers should be forced to adopt IDT. Some teachers took umbrage at her daring: “She shouldn’t be so strident,” they said. When some of the teachers rejected her, Carla tried a different strategy. She formed an alliance with other teachers, an alliance that, in the mere fact of its existence, violated the norms. Unlike other organizational groups at the school, the enclave did not exist officially. The members were self-selected, not appointed or elected to the position. The enclave was a self-organizing body, established without the principal’s or other faculty’s knowledge and the members conducted themselves with all the trappings 216 of conspiracy: secrecy, coded language, and vigilance against outsiders. Even the enclave’s recruitment of new members broke with established tradition. Having begun to violate the norms, the enclave continued to do so, even when the violation of norms created internal disagreement among the enclave members. Carla was willing to be seen as “taking over,” as being “insubordinate” when suggesting ideas that challenged the ways that teachers worked together. Some of the other enclave members were unwilling to go as far as Carla in keeping the enclave underground or changing the power structure of the school. When Jeff Daniels, for example, realized the extent to which some of the enclave members were willing to go, he avoided any further association with them. Severe incidents of norm-violating behaviors never fully developed. Outspoken rebellion and revolution never materialized, although some of the teachers gave lip service to some ideas along these lines. For example, no one publicly called for the removal of the principal. No one demanded that resistant teachers be reassigned or otherwise removed from their positions. I am not convinced that anyone would ever have gone to these lengths. This enclave at Western may have been less concerned with forcing the school’s adoption of IDT than with another, unstated goal: to afford a group of teachers opportunities to air their grievances. In any case, the school had little trouble diverting its members and absorbing their protests. A change agent forms close ties to potential adopters and affiliates with supporters when introducing new ideas (Dearing et al., 1993), but when the innovation is radical, like IDT, it may challenge the normative structure in place in the organi- zation. A teacher change agent may be more apt to garner support for the innovation he or she proposes by conforming to the norms of the organization initially, as Carla did. 217 But since a teacher change agent is subject to the same norms as all other teachers, she may violate those norms when she communicates with other people regarding a radical innovation. In doing so, she may lose the allegiance of teachers she once had. Observation 5: The physical and organizational structure of Western High School was an impediment to the innovative efforts of the teacher change agent. In this case, the successful implementation of an innovation seemed to require structural changes in the school, but such change contributed to the demise of the innovation. To begin this study, I looked at the research on educational innovation which has, heretofore, concentrated on top-down Innovation, that is, from change generated by administrators and policy-makers (Rosenholtz, 1989; Sarason, 1990). The literature suggests that organizations, including schools, are social systems with organizational and communication structures in place that create and support the socialization of organizational members. In many cases the failure of innovation efforts is blamed on the strength of a bureaucratic structure and a pervasive organizational culture that prevents innovations from taking hold. Prevailing theories of educational innovation typically view school structures as impediments to change, but do not consider how these structures might be changed so as to accommodate the facilitation of innovation (Fullan, 1993; Rosenholtz, 1989). This study confirms the problems that teacher change agents, like administrators, may face in introducing innovation into schools with closely centralized power and authority structures. This study also explores the processes by which a school structure can be changed. The case at Western was an example of a structure being changed from the inside out: The administrators and teachers in the school envisioned and implemented changes they wanted to accommodate goals they had set for themselves. 218 Western High School, like other schools, had a clearly defined structure com- prised of its physical layout, the governance and decision-making processes in place, and the interactions and relationships between and among its employees. These prevented radical innovations from being easily introduced. In Chapter Four I described some of the physical and temporal constraints on teacher change agents, constraints like short periods of time to interact meaningfully and reflectively with other teachers and inter- nal communication channels that were ineffective and unproductive. In the course of introducing IDT at Western, the physical structure of the school did not change. The authority structure and communications mechanisms seemed to be on the verge of changing at the end of the school year. There were three levels of organizational hierarchy at Western High: principal, teachers, and other school staff. This type of bureaucratic structure and this type of curriculum change (IDT) compelled a teacher change agent to move in two directions: to interact directly with people above her on the organizational chart and laterally, with individuals at her level. Lacking any authority to control school resources, unable to dispense rewards that might urge teachers to do what she wants, a teacher’s only means of effecting change was to persuade people in positions above her own. If the admin- istrator resisted the change agent for any reason, the change agent had three options available. First, she could abandon future efforts to innovate. Second, she could continue to try to persuade the principal, in hopes of changing the administrator’s mind. Third, the change agent could move laterally, persuading other teachers in hopes that a rising tide of interest among them would sway the principal to reconsider her own position on IDT or that other teachers would be convinced to adopt the innovation on their own. If the change agent chose the first option, she lost all hope of seeing the innovation adopted and 219 might consider herself a failure. If she took the second alternative, she might repeat her earlier unsuccessful experiences with the administrator. She also ran the added risk that the principal would not welcome her or would no longer approve her other requests. If the change agent opted for the third alternative--to work through the teachers--she might succeed in garnering additional support for the innovation. The bureaucratic structure, then, both confined a teacher change agent’s activities and directed these activities along certain channels. To encourage innovation adoption with others at her level, Carla used the school’s existing communication channels and then proposed new ones. While individual teachers could meet one-to-one with the principal and effect some change that way, structured assemblies such as Advisory Committee, Teacher Talk Times, and Friday Faculty meetings were the most common times and places at Western High School for groups of teachers to introduce, discuss, and evaluate new ideas. The organizational discourses at these meetings and assemblies were marked by loosely-constructed agendas, divergent and wayward discussions, and feelings that “nothing ever got accomplished.” At these meetings, proposed changes were often postponed or delayed rather than implemented. Seeing how these communication mechanisms failed, Carla suggested they be abolished. It is ironic that the teachers’ and administrators’ capacities to implement one innovation, the review of the long-range plan, grew out of discussions designed to implement another innovation, IDT. Carla’s proposal for apex and innovative com- mittees was unprecedented: It called for a new structure to be created, one that held out the promise, perhaps falsely, of accommodating schoolwide change. Her proposal for a new decision-making process was very similar to the one already in place: committees of teachers and administrators conferring together before an issue was decided. The 220 significant difference was that if the school adopted Carla’s proposal, the responsibility for decision-making would be shared by the principal and selected teachers. These decisions would be made in public and by a group rather than by a lone administrator. Carla’s proposal for apex and innovative groups was designed to “move IDT forward” but the organizational structure she suggested served other needs in the school as well. The principal and other faculty, captivated by the notion of new committee structures, refined and changed Carla’s original proposal in ways that Carla could not have foreseen. In discussing the purpose, scope, membership, and lines of authority of the new committees, the teachers became preoccupied by the second innovation, the need to review the school’s long-range plan. When the authority structure changed, with different governance bodies and information channels being formulated, teachers assumed the new structures would . solve their present problems. All faculty to some degree were caught up in the task of forming new communication networks, finding appropriate ways to work in committees, addressing the problems facing the school, and trying to fit all of these into a cohesive and manageable structure. Diane appeared more than willing to entertain unusual and unprecedented proposals about issues relevant to changing the organizational structure of the school. Diane herself mentioned having “discussions around issues” and “having committees” where, presumably, teacher concerns would be aired and alleviated. She saw her role as principal as hearing ideas about how change might be achieved and then laying the groundwork for a new communication structure of committees, meetings, and discussion groups wherein teachers would work together and where confrontations between herself and others would be reduced, where the burden of governance and leadership would be shared with selected teachers. But no one expected this to happen. 221 No one anticipated it. If someone has proposed that the faculty at Western institute a new governance structure, that they flatten the organizational hierarchy, fashion new norms, and construct new mechanisms to share administrative authority for curriculum changes and other schoolwide concerns, the faculty might very likely not have known how to do this. This is often what educators hope to gain from readings on educational innovation: advice on how to restructure their schools so as to accommodate change. I suggest that as of yet no systematic, fail-safe method for doing this has been developed. At the last Teacher Talk Time meeting of the year, Carla, still fighting for IDT, said, “I’m losing sight of the big picture here” and questioned where IDT would fit in the new stream of school activity brought about by the revised governance structure. There .were no ready answers. Teachers were distracted from IDT. The principal herself was preoccupied with priorities of her own, with trying to find time in the remaining days of the school year for teachers to meet. While the period of data collection did not allow me to explore the long-range plan’s implementation or if it was successful, it is possible, but very unlikely, that IDT would resurface within the new organizational structure. Neither Carla nor any of the other teachers seemed predisposed to continue with IDT at the end of the summer. Observation 6: The teacher change agents, name/y Carla Ensign and the enclave, concentrated on confronting or bypassing resisters to the innovation rather than on satisfying the needs of potential adopters. It is conceivable that this contributed to the failure of the innovation. Halfway through the second semester, when the teachers made lists of desirable elements they hoped to see in place in the school of the future, more than half wrote “IDT.” This was a significant increase in the numbers of supporters whom Carla felt she had gained since she first began to talk about IDT. More teachers were beginning to 222 say they were amenable to IDT because of Carla’s conversations, her advice, and their own willingness to experiment with IDT in small attempts, yet she failed to see these as signs of growing acceptance for IDT and increasing interest in it. Teacher change agents like Carla may find they risk failing if they abandon some communication strategies too quickly, for example, at times when potential adopters are thinking about adopting an innovation but before they actually experiment with it. Carla and the enclave members gave up their efforts to work directly with the principal very quickly, yet the principal was willing to continue to subsidize teachers who wanted to attend IDT conferences, to devote an entire meeting of all department heads to a discussion of an IDT conference, to allocate time in several Teacher Talk Times to IDT, and to entertain suggestions to realign faculty assemblies along new lines more compatible with IDT concepts. It appears that the enclave had more success in garnering interest and support from the principal than they realized. =The change agents in this study predicted that resistance to IDT would be "very strong” from other teachers. They spent much time bemoaning the uselessness of ' persuading resisters to change. By looking at the resisters as a bloc, the enclave assumed these resisters had more influence on the eventual outcome of the innovation than the resisters actually had. Operating under this assumption, the enclave prepared a public presentation designed to thwart the resisters collectively, only to find there were few resisters. The enclave members failed to address concerns that the faculty and administrators had as individuals. The enclave failed to capitalize on the ground they might have gained with potential adopters--those faculty who seemed to be open-minded about IDT but had difficulty in Implementing IDT for any number of reasons. Some faculty wanted extra planning and training time. Others wanted time to experiment or 223 advice and assistance from experts. Individual teachers who asked for samples of lessons showing how IDT might work in the classroom did not receive them. Plans to assist potential adopters in finding expert assistance outside their own classrooms fell flat and arrangements to attend other IDT conferences went awry. Potential experiments with IDT by two of the teachers were canceled. Furthermore, the enclave overlooked several potential adopters’ piecemeal and isolated attempts to try IDT despite its difficulties and gave these teachers no recognition for their efforts. Knowing that people move through various stages of awareness, interest, mental trial, and eventual adoption or rejection of a new idea (Rogers, 1977) would have been helpful to Carla and her colleagues in the enclave, for it would have alleviated their belief that they were making no headway in getting adopters for IDT. The enclave members, in their discussions preparatory to the Advisory Committee meeting, had evaluated every teacher’s receptivity and resistance to IDT and proposed individualized persuasion strategies for every teacher. One teacher might be convinced if “you don’t give IDT a name.” Another teacher might be persuaded if “you acknowledge that she is already doing it.” Implementation demanded that each teacher master the innovation, mentally agree to test it, experiment successfully with it, and then use the new idea routinely and self-confidently (Rogers, 1983; Joyce et al., 1990). One can speculate whether the persuasion strategies during implementation might have been more effective if they had been individualized and customized for each adopter and if the conditions had been more favorable to allow adopters to become proficient in the new knowledge or skill (Perloff, 1993). The enclave failed to do any of these: When the other Advisory Committee members and the principal asked “how IDT might be 224 implemented,” the enclave had no ready answers and blamed the hardships of implementing IDT on the principal. If the enclave had taken more positive steps toward addressing the needs of individual adopters, the enclave might have succeeded in getting more support for IDT than they did. The fact that they did not suggests that they, too, may have been uncertain how to implement IDT within the existing school culture with its strong tradition of self-reliant and autonomous teachers who pushed problems upward to the principal to solve. Observation 7: The teacher change agents at Western High School sought out and associated with like-minded individuals whose positions were lateral to their own. These individuals formed an enclave that provided emotional support and strategic assistance to the teacher change agents. A teacher change agent, such as Carla Ensign at Western High, may fail to understand fully the demands of introducing and implementing an innovation of the magnitude of IDT. He or she may have to become more heavily involved in pushing the innovation through the implementation stages, which may mean changes in the structural, technological, technical, and social relationships of in the school. The price of innovation was political behavior and the possibility of repercussion. For example, when Carla, urging others to adopt IDT, was challenged by a few teachers in an Advisory Committee meeting, she was surprised by their reaction. “This hurt,” she said, “I didn’t expect them to be so against it.” In another instance, a few of the teachers started a movement to ask the principal to take disciplinary action against Carla, and though “nothing came of it,” Carla remembered the incident with some pain. Being in the limelight of change also demanded that the change agent maintain constant vigilance over the innovation in addition to carrying her usual teaching load. 225 This dual responsibility sapped her strength. Teacher innovators had to conduct the business of innovation implementation in addition to carrying out their other daily duties as teachers. “It’s a bummer,” Carla said, and made repeated comments about her “tiredness” in carrying on alone. The teacher change agent trod on a narrow path with little margin for making mistakes, for any lapses or miscalculations on her part might have reflected badly on the innovation. The responsibilities of change agency appear to be especially hard to bear when one carries them alone. Rather than doing so, the teacher change agent at Western buttressed the psychological weight of the organizational change by associating with individuals whom she felt were supportive. This gathering of supporters appears to be indispensable to the innovation process (Belkin, 1989; House, 1974; Rogers, 1981) and was certainly in evidence at Western. This study provides support for assertions that innovators typically ally with others who also favor the innovation (House, 1974; Rosenholtz, 1989), and adds to our understanding of the nature of these groups and the role they may play in the activation of innovation by a change agent who is not an administrator. The enclave at Western High embodied many of the characteristics of innovation teams to help a single change agent carry out the particulars of introducing and implementing an innovation (Leeds, 1964). Zealots for an idealized and abstract goal, teachers interested in a single innovation formed an alliance designed to overcome the weak leadership they perceived at the top level of the school. They had a mission, IDT, that was at odds with the stated goals of the organization, in this case, the school’s present curriculum. Fueled by a sense of adventure and righteousness, the team members pursued their own goals within the context of the larger organization, creating an organizational “counterculture” with 226 their own norms, values, beliefs, and practices (Morgan, 1986; Yinger, 1982). The members were loyal to one another and to their leader, especially when they first came together. At Western, the enclave members remained loyal until the end of the school yeaL The formation and development of the enclave at Western High served several purposes: As individuals on the second level of the organizational ladder, they found a vent for their shared feelings of frustration with the principal at the top level. The enclave served as an emotional brace for the change agent, for it allowed her to push forward an unpopular idea with some collegial support. Having the enclave added to her sense of satisfaction that others on the faculty shared her concerns and desires regarding IDT. The enclave members, particularly Linda Shaffer, shared the responsibilities of innovation implementation with Carla, who had been leading the IDT crusade single- handedly. The enclave helped Carla to isolate potential resisters, recruit two potential opinion leaders, and present a stronger case for IDT that might have convinced the principal to reconsider her decisions about supporting IDT. The presence of the enclave gave the other members of Advisory Committee--and the rest of the teachers--the perception that a majority of department heads were in favor of IDT and therefore lent it credibility. The perceptions that the innovation process is an arena where various individuals and coalitions are at odds with each other in the search for resources to support their conflicting goals is substantiated by the case at Western High. The enclave’s stated intention was to find a way to push IDT in the school, but their unexpressed purpose was to create a support group in which they could relieve their own stress and anxiety over many other issues besides IDT. Most of the conversations 227 among the enclave members were not about IDT, but about their concerns with the principal’s weak leadership and the presence of resisters on the staff. The existence of an enclave like the one at Western may be a sign of organizational distress during hard times, for it permits faculty to vent their anxieties and frustrations in a safe territory and with sympathetic listeners. At the same time, an enclave provides a mechanism for certain faculty to test ideas on a relatively small scale before committing themselves to public exposure and possible criticism if the experiments fail. The enclave at Western brought into the open the efforts of individual members to experiment with IDT and to generate group support for it. In sharing their experiences from the IDT conference at the Advisory Committee Meeting, the enclave may have been most effective in assisting Carla Ensign in introducing the innovation. When the enclave members made their presentation, they were unprepared to find an audience already favorably disposed to IDT. The enclave’s suggestions that the principal and other teachers attend similar conferences were strategies that had already been used to create awareness of IDT and to introduce faculty to the idea of it. When the principal asked for “more ideas on getting this thing through,” the enclave told her they wanted her to “send more people to conferences” and that they wanted “to have more meetings.” While this might have disseminated more information among the teachers, many of the teachers had already been to IDT confer- ences and formed opinions as to whether or not to adopt it. When pressed for ideas about implementing IDT among teachers already aware of it but who needed other types of assistance, the enclave did not have a plan that would have removed the other barriers these teachers faced. 228 But the very fact of the presence of an enclave like the one at Western suggests that teacher change agents cannot rely solely on their own efforts to activate innovation. Teacher innovators may need to seek out and ally themselves with others, creating a coterie of supportive individuals in the school who can serve as conduits for the activation of the innovation process despite the tendencies of teachers to be self-reliant and independent. This study suggests that enclaves may perform a vital role in the innovation process for they permit responses to organizational dilemmas that are relatively risk-free, at a time and in a setting where the risks might be very great. Observation 8: The original innovation, inter-disciplinary teaching, was in competition with another innovation, the long-range planning process, for the principal’s and faculty’s attention in this school. In the conflicts that arose from this competition, the first innovation became more difficult to implement and eventually was lost. Inter-disciplinary teaching was a radical innovation that necessitated dramatic, deep-seated, large-scale changes in the content of teaching and learning. The review of the long-range plan was a similar innovation, equally challenging, again affecting the entire school. In reflecting on the nature of the two, I have to ask: Why was the review of the long-range plan more compelling than IDT? Why did it capture more attention from the school teachers than IDT? It might appear that the principal intentionally diverted faculty attention from IDT by introducing the plan for review, seeing this as a way to rechannel the rising frustration she must have sensed from the faculty. But judging from her comments during this time, she saw the long-range plan as an opportunity to secure what the enclave members wanted, a stepping stone to IDT’s adoption. While she could not mandate IDT, she could control discussions, hire a consultant, and manage the agendas of 229 meetings to facilitate open opportunities for reviewing the long-range plan while biding her time to allow more faculty to become familiar and tolerant of IDT. On general principles, IDT held out many of the desirable elements of educational reform: improved student performance, better use of teacher time and energies, fewer school discipline problems, etc. The concept thus seemed favorable, but it was essen- tially unimplementable in the school at the time it was introduced. IDT demanded that teachers work collaboratively in the planning and presentation of lessons, some of which had to be planned and prepared a year in advance. School schedules and timetables had to be redesigned to allow sufficient time for teachers to present lessons “logically” and “in sequence,” according to the dictates of an IDT curriculum. Redesigning these ran counter to the procedures in place at Western High. A radical innovation like IDT raised questions about the very meaning of teaching and the beliefs that teachers had about themselves. The way that Carla introduced IDT was by painting a finished picture of teachers interacting together using IDT concepts. Her illustrations of teachers sharing lesson plans and class presentations made sense. But they did not provide teachers with the help they needed to make that idealized picture real. Because they could not clearly see how to put Carla’s advice into practice, how to implement the innovation, teachers were confused and unsure of themselves when asking other teachers to work with them on IDT units. Like IDT, the review of the long-range plan was a radical innovation. Teachers did not ordinarily involve themselves in the annual review of schoolwide goals and objectives. They had no collective experience discussing the vision or mission of the school and many of them felt it was not their responsibility to do so. But in contrast to 230 IDT, no one knew what the end result of the long-range planning process would look like. The goals and outcomes were fuzzy and ill-defined. The way that the principal introduced the review of the long-range plan made it seem deceptively simple at first: She announced, without any fanfare or preamble that the members of Advisory Committee should “review the long-range plan and respond” to her. No one, least of all the principal, expected this to develop into such rigorous debate. It took many weeks of discussion to review the plan. During this time, the teachers’ preoccupation with it overshadowed other changes going on in the school, including IDT. The teachers proposed dozens of suggestions about changing the structure and governance mechanisms and discussed these at length, with teachers criticizing and discussing and debating various proposals. Over time, thoughts of new committees and how they might work lost their unfamiliarity and seemed less threatening: Teachers had time to become comfortable with changes made incrementally to parts of the system, rather than having to adjust to changes made rapidly and schoolwide. Comparing the introduction and implementation of the two innovations, it appeared that IDT was revolutionary; the long-range plan was evolutionary. Their chief difference was that the plan could and did unfold in small, incremental stages, piece by piece, while IDT could not. There were fewer obstacles to the plan’s implementation, because the discussions and suggestions about implementing various pieces of the plan were made in Advisory Committee and Teacher Talk Times, meetings where the administrators and faculty were already comfortable and where discussions of ideas could flow unimpeded. The long-range plan review process could be made to fit more easily into the existing bureaucratic structure, although the consequences of the discussions about the plan eventually brought about a different structure. From the 231 outset, the review of the long-range plan, unlike IDT, was less alien to teachers’ experiences than was IDT. Furthermore, the review of the long-range plan did not substantially challenge teachers’ understandings of themselves as teachers. PERSPECTIVES ON SCHOOLWIDE INNOVATION On the following page I provide a graphic depiction of the perspectives on innovation as brought forth in this study and in this school. In this depiction, I suggest that there are several perspectives that one can consider in examining the process of educational innovation. In the case of Western High School, this includes the perspectives of the teacher change agent and her supporters, as well as those of others, including the principal and those who resisted the innovation. This collection of perspectives is presented in the model. In this illustration, I also suggest that various factors influence and are influenced by teacher change agents. In this study, for example, I noted the impact that the structure and culture of the school had on the innovation and on the innovators. The school exists as a social system and innovations proposed can be affected by a number of societal and cultural factors. The allocation of resources and the academic curriculum may affect innovations, as will the norms for teachers and administrators that are in place in the school. There may be environmental concerns or crises erupting in the school that affect a single innovation being proposed or the change agents proposing it. There may be simultaneous and competing innovations occurring in various phases of introduction, implementation, or institutionalization. Teacher change agents may also influence and be influenced by other people, notably other administrators besides the principal, trustees, students (individually and 232 collectively), parents, and the community at large. These influences were not directly addressed in this study, but seem likely to contribute to the larger more extended organizational and social contexts. 233 A MODEL OF FACTORS THAT INFLUENCE SCHOOLWIDE INNOVATION ADMINISTRATORS & BOARD Sch. Structure Sch. Culture Resources Curriculum Other innovations Norms & Environment 1 CHANGE AGENT (TEACHER) RESISTERS POTENTIAL ADOPTERS 4r \— \\_/ STUDENTS PARENTS COMMUNITY 2 3 4 CONCLUSION The current literature on educational innovation, especially of school- or systemwide reforms addresses the activation of innovation in the abstract, often examining the introduction of an innovation apart from the structure and culture of the organization--that is, apart from the intensely human processes that influence it. Yet, organizations are composed of people interacting with people. To dismiss the element of human communication and interaction in innovation is to ignore a significant factor and condition of it. In analyzing the change agent’s activities at Western, I found these interactions had to be studied in light of the operational norms in effect between teachers and principal, and between change agents and their supporters and resisters. A radical innovation implies the breakdown and reformation of the structure designed to preserve the organization from change. If innovation suggests deviations from the norm and organizations are set up to discourage nonconformance, then it follows that innovators are nonconformists and may find their own organizations are strategically allied against them. When I labeled the phases of lDT’s introduction at Western as “advocacy, alliance, and derailment,” I was describing the sequence of events of the Western High School teacher change agents and their failure to get their innovation adopted. The case at Western High was an instance of an unsuccessful attempt to diffuse an innovation throughout a social system and is not intended to suggest that similar sequences of events will occur if studied in other schools. The advantage of examining a case study, after all, is that its purpose is to explore the uniqueness of particular phenomena within a particular research site rather than to develop generalizations that might or might not transfer to other sites and other populations. 235 Even though theoreticians hold out hope for teacher change agents in all schools, strong barriers (as those that came to light in this case) may prevent teacher innovators from succeeding. I find the literature on educational innovation to be somewhat lacking in addressing the insider perspective from which this study is conceived. Literatures on persuasion and communication appear to address issues of change agent strategies in educational institutions more so than does the literature on educational innovation. This study suggests that the communication strategies that change agents employ to influence or persuade others are important to the outcomes of the innovation. While researchers like Fullan (1992; 1995) and Sarason (1995) continue to ground their work in examinations of school structure and the roles of teachers as change agents, I see an equally important body of research developing on the communication strategies that change agents, especially teachers, may employ to persuade others to adopt a change. How teachers approach others inside or outside the school, which strategies are effective, when it might be appropriate to use certain strategies or abandon others--these are areas of inquiry which are more commonly grounded in the literatures of communication and social persuasion. Although the intent of this study was not to generalize to other research sites, at its close, I find I now see innovation in educational systems differently, as a complex interplay of persuasion and influence strategies that are dependent upon the norms and structures of the organization. I view the teacher change agent as a force that might threaten the equilibrium of the entire organization, demanding adoption of ideas that are likely to challenge established traditions. I see the process of innovation as an exhaustive and exhausting process for a teacher change agent who is likely to upset the norms for teachers and may be apt to share responsibilities for innovation with ' 236 colleagues whose function is, in part, to buttress the change agent during a time of emotional distress and organizational upheaval. CHAPTER NINE Change is sometimes perceived as failure. --Assistant principal, Western High School RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FUTURE RESEARCH AND PRACTICE All honeybees swarm. It is a characteristic of the species. When bees find pollen, they make a beeline back to the hive where they perform a complicated “bee dance” that directs the rest of the hive to the source of the pollen. The bees fly straight to it. Nearly all the bees in the hive follow this route except for some, a very few, who appear to circle the hive aimlessly, then wander off in entirely different directions from the rest of the swarm. These bees act as scouts for new sources of pollen. Many of these bees fail to find any. Many never return to the hive. But if they do, they may bring news of new sources of food and have to “convince” the rest of the bees to leave the hive. If the scout bees succeed, they have ensured the future of their own species. I use this metaphor to set the tone for this last chapter and to emphasize that organizational climates, like the cultures of bees, are not always accepting of new ideas, even good ones, and may present significant risks to those, like the honeybee scouts, who try to find new ways of doing things. The purpose of this chapter is to suggest directions for future research and practice. In this chapter, I also offer some recommendations for administrators and for teachers concerned with issues of change in school systems. I offer these suggestions in the hope that this study will provide greater insight into the roles and experiences of 237 2 3 8 teacher change agents in other schools and those teachers’ relationships with administrators, other faculty, and with their schools. POSSIBILITIES FOR FUTURE RESEARCH The educational literature is replete with reports of schoolwide innovation when the impetus for change comes from federal or state levels or from local administrators. This is one of the few studies we have of a teacher-inspired innovation and we need more. Examples of the failure of schoolwide innovations are distressingly common and it is possible that teacher change agents, properly prepared and trained, might effect desirable change more readily than our previous history with educational change has shown. This study is one of a small number of studies that provides an insider’s eye- view of innovation in a school. Unlike prior research, this study did not examine the innovation process from a more distanced, organizationwide perspective, nor did it find change happening in sequential stages. In this study, a different view emerged: From the perspective of a teacher change agent, innovation appears as messy and very difficult, fraught with peril, and, at times, as bearing scant hope of success. Teacher change agents walk a fine line between conformance and violation of norms and may have a short life span as innovators. Furthermore, change agents do not always have a clear conception, a clear vision of the innovation. If they did, they might not have the patience or time to shepherd an idea through all the structural, administrative, personal, internal, exter- nal, technological, and procedural changes necessary to implement it. Innovators may lose patience with the slow progress of innovation adoption and consider an idea to have failed, when in fact it may be lying dormant and would be more easily adopted by others 2 3 9 if it resurfaced at a more felicitous time. A change agent may become disengaged from either the innovation or the school, claiming burnout, frustration and exhaustion. We need to learn more about the personal, human perspective on teacher change agency over the long term. I suggest that future studies of innovation, whether in schools or else- where, take insider perspectives and experiences into consideration. This study did not examine other perspectives which might have provided different insights into the nature of innovation. For example, different conceptual- izations of educational innovation may come to light if we listen to other voices and if we design studies that are situated within others’ perspectives or that represent cross- perspective conversations. Thus, studies might reflect, more broadly, the perspectives of administrators, resisters, potential adopters, and other interested parties such as parents, students, graduates, trustees, members of the larger social community, and perhaps the voices of experts knowledgeable about the particular innovation or about secondary education in general. Such studies may illuminate facets of innovation that differ from those that emerged in my research. There is no question that at the close of this study, Western High School had failed to adopt IDT and there was little likelihood that the school would later revive it. This is one of a very few studies of teacher-inspired innovation, and, as it happened, that inno- vation failed. Since we can learn as much from failure as we can from success, it behooves us to examine the nature and conditions that lead to innovation failure in schools. There is a need to design research that follows a single organization’s history to see how leaders and members interpret the changes that occur, especially over time. I suggest that longitudinal studies be devised which allow systemwide changes to be studied in a single institution for a period of several years or more. We have many studies 'of 240 changes being proposed; we need more on changes that are implemented or abandoned. Out of this research, we may learn what distinguishes conditions of failure from conditions that breed success. Speaking to this issue more locally, one cannot help but be curious as to what happened to Western High School, to Carla, and to members of the enclave after several years elapsed and teachers were working under the new governance structure, or whether the new structure endured. Would IDT reemerge, perhaps in a different format or under the leadership of a different change agent, once this new organizational structure was in place? Would that have been the optimal time to resurrect Carla’s hopes for IDT? Questions such as these underline the need for studying not only the origins and processes of innovations but the long-term effects of innovations as well (regardless of whether the innovations themselves survive.) The issue of school structures and cultures also deserves more attention. We do not fully understand the long-term impact of diverse innovations on schools or school systems. There is a dearth of research on how culture and school structure affect innovation or what kinds of innovations may influence culture and in what ways. Another line of research might address the issues of simultaneous innovations introduced into a single organization. At Western, the review of the long-range plan eventually eclipsed IDT. We do not know if this is usual, typical, or predictable. As Fullan (1993) said, “The main problem in...education is not resistance to change, but the presence of too many innovations mandated or adopted uncritically and superficially on an ad hoc fragmented basis” (p. 23). Does the innovation proposed by the highest- ranking member always supersede the ones proposed by lower-ranking members? How many planned changes, or unplanned changes, can an organization sustain without signif- 241 icant member stress, loss of morale, loss of productivity, or severe breakdowns in its normative structures? This study, as designed, documented efforts of only the administrator and the teachers. It may also be beneficial to consider how educational innovations affect other organizational members, such as parents, community groups, and students in a school or school system. As a corollary to this, we might examine what happens to teacher- inspired innovations in very large school systems, since this study was conducted in a school that was quite small. We may find answers to questions like: Does the number of teachers and administrators contribute to the difficulties of managing the innovation process and, if so, how? The literature could also benefit from a better understanding of the nature and role of educational innovation teams. It is possible that, in organizations where innovation is stymied and where the inflexibility of the system holds out little hope of success for the innovators, team formation and development may be one means by which schools adapt to changing social conditions. Can innovation teams be formed to address issues of schoolwide innovation? If so, how should team members be selected relative to ways of thinking, personalities, work styles, and other factors? It is possible that the reason why IDT failed was not merely because another more pressing, more powerful innovation took its place. It is possible that IDT was a fad. Schools are prone to hear the call of every educational fad and mistake it for meaningful, desirable and positive change that might be adopted and sustained. How can we distinguish between educational fads and meaningful innovations? What is it about fads that ignite people’s imaginations and, more importantly, what are the characteristics of meaningful innovation and change? 242 In short, several lines of inquiry can develop from this research study. In the next section, I present some implications for practice that this research suggests for administrators and teachers interested in leading and managing change. IMPLICATIONS FOR SCHOOL ADMINISTRATORS For many administrators, the satisfaction of leading change in a school is their greatest motivator, yet an administrator cannot change a school single-handedly. Leading change, as I have shown in this research, is often a matter of administrators’ recognizing the efforts of change agents at lower levels of the hierarchy and facilitating the manner in which these teachers can introduce change. I suggest to administrators that they seriously examine their assumptions about organizational change and whose responsibility it is to introduce and implement new ideas. Whereas historically principals introduced change and teachers implemented it, today it may be more common for teachers to introduce change and principals to manage the details. It behooves administrators to recognize that school cultures and structures cannot easily be changed, and that the process of doing so is slow, error-laden, and difficult. Sharing power for decision-making with other organizational stakeholders, particularly teachers, may be a better approach for administrators than relying on the authority vested in the positions they hold. If this is the case, then teachers need assistance in learning how to work together. For many teachers, this will require training and guidance. Administrators may find themselves working as coaches and counselors to teachers, helping to develop teachers’ knowledge and skills as leaders and managers of schoolwide projects. 243 Administrators can also facilitate the work of teacher change agents on their staffs by reducing the number of factors that inhibit meaningful organizational change. This study showed that the crux of innovation adoption was not a simple embracing of a new educational philosophy based on convincing arguments made by certain change agents, but that innovation adoption depended to a large extent on a new configuration of the existing organizational structure. Administrators can change policies and proce- dures in schools more easily than others can. Faculty meetings, for example, might include times for planning on a continuous basis, rather than once every five years. Administrators could also arrange teacher schedules to allow teachers more time to consider, evaluate, and experiment with new ideas and to pilot test new projects. In this study, I learned that innovations have resisters, but resistance is not necessarily opposition to an innovation; rather, resistance may represent a lack of understanding or anxiety as to how the innovation will be implemented. To the extent possible, school budgets should allow for funds to support experimental projects and the continuing education of teachers. Usually continuing education funds are the first to be cut in times of economic hardship; such funds should be considered essential to support teachers’ continuing learning. It is obvious that people band together for a common cause and teams are a common phenomenon in businesses and recreation, but not all teams are successful. The enclave at Western suggests that such teams develop naturally, and may be more successful if their leaders and members receive training and guidance rather than being left to fend for themselves. I suggest that administrators foster the formation of teacher innovation teams, give these teams the authority to create change, and provide resources that let team members pursue their goals. 2 4 4 I suggest that administrators give serious consideration to the manner by which change is evaluated. Many innovations are adopted in school systems without clearly understanding what deficiencies or problems the changes are expected to overcome or erase. Administrators should be clear as to how they will evaluate the effectiveness of new ideas proposed in order to distinguish between fads and innovations with long-term, meaningful results. Many new ideas coming from the ranks of the teaching staff are spontaneous suggestions, whose merits are seen clearly and easily and which can be implemented without the massive disruption and upheaval of existing norms, structures, and cultural patterns as happened at Western High. Spontaneous, often unplanned and not clearly explored, these innovations may be achievable because they fit into the organizational culture, without bending the rules to the breaking point. Some innovations, on the other hand, are “deep surface” innovations that result from the deliberate breaking down of existing structures of communication, power, and teacher relationships. When school leaders encourage teachers to be change agents--to be innovative--and when administrators provide opportunities for teachers to engage in reflective discussion of spontaneous suggestions, more ideas and better ideas will likely come to light. It is my hope that administrators will benefit from these recommendations in their work as leaders among their faculties. RECOMMENDATIONS FOR TEACHERS AS CHANGE AGENTS My suggestions for teacher change agents are very similar to those I make for administrators: Teachers should welcome opportunities to share in the decision-making processes of the school, find and encourage change agency skills in other teachers, and 2 4 5 risk tampering with existing school structures and cultures when changes are needed. However, I offer some additional recommendations to teachers, based on the results of this study. These recommendations are as follows: Teachers might look beyond their traditional roles in classrooms and consider their potential to act as power brokers in the school. Too often teachers feel they cannot influence principals, and thus they do not take advantage of their personal power or leadership abilities. Teachers should realize they have substantial power to effect school change. Knowing this, teachers may be better able to exercise discretion and give direction when schoolwide changes are brought up for discussion. Teachers should be strongly committed to the innovations they wish to champion; they should also be cognizant of the time needed to introduce and implement changes they feel are meaningful. Commitment among others climbs when they see commitment in the person in charge. Others are likely to catch the spirit of the original change agent and want to share in the rewards that come with the change. It may help teachers committed to change to Ieam more about the processes of leading and managing schoolwide change and to become aware of the phases of the innovation process (as it occurs from the inside) so that teachers are not discouraged by what may appear to be other teachers’ and administrators’ lack of progress. I recommend that teachers strive to understand and assess the risks they face in advocating changes in the school. Change agency is not for everyone. This research study suggests that there are different skills and competencies required of change agents throughout the innovation process. There is a division of labor implicit in the leadership and management of change, and others, if asked, may be available and willing to share in the labor. 246 Teachers should be aware that commitments to generating meaningful change must be sustained over long periods of time; teacher change agents will face a variety of obstacles that will sap their personal energy and consume precious time. Teacher change agents should not expect administrators to have the power to dictate change, nor should teachers expect the school to adopt changes overnight. The change process is slow, especially in schools where the organizational norms are strong and seldom challenged. Faculty who hope to generate change should expect resistance because it will come in many ways and from many sources. This resistance may not be easy to bear without the advice, support, and practical assistance of others. I recommend that teacher change agents seek out and forge strong alliances and ties with others who share their passion and commitment. On the other hand, teachers as change agents should recognize that there are different forms of resistance, and some forms are weaker or stronger than others. In this case, the leading change agent at Western High School sometimes equated resistance with hesitancy or caution on the part of some of the teachers. Knowing that changes may breed resistance, teacher change agents may still be able to see their ideas bear fruit. A teacher change agent might better address his or her attention to needs that can be met realistically and practically. I also suggest teachers pay more attention to the needs and desires of potential adopters as opposed to resisters. If the number of supporters is a strong factor in the adoption of an innovation, teacher change agents should be alert for signs of interest and experimentation and foster these rather than concentrating on bypassing resisters. Teacher change agents may need to recognize and reward others whose diffident and imperfect attempts to experiment with and test the innovation are, in fact, tentative 247 attempts to master and adopt the innovation. The innovative teacher may need to provide encouragement, practical models, advice and moral support to others who attempt to realize the innovation. *ttfittttiiiittiiiiit In concluding the report of this study about change agents in organizations, I recall those who first inspired me to begin this study: the mavericks, the military commanders, and the saints, all “troublemakers” in their organizations, all moving in different directions from what their organizations expected. I now understand a little better what spurs these individuals to act in the ways that they do and what drives their sponsoring organizations to respond accordingly. As a result of observing firsthand what happened to Carla Ensign, the enclave, Diane Adams, and the rest of the faculty at Western High School, it seems that the act of innovating opens change agents to considerable risk both to themselves and to the innovations they propose. Whatever the circumstances, it seems that change agents seeking to redirect organizational goals, resources, and attention to new areas may find themselves running contrary to established ways of thinking. They are, therefore, susceptible to failure. Change agents do, in fact, hew against the grain. APPENDICES 248 APPENDIX A: INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY To: High School Employees From: Charlaine Ezell Date: January 31, 1994 As many of you know, I am pursuing a doctorate in Adult and Continuing Education at Michigan State University. I am interested in doing my research on how some people in a school go about changing school policies, philosophies, or procedures. I refer to these individuals as change agents. I am especially interested in changes that are major and dramatic, that may affect the entire school or a large part of it, or that may impact a large number of people, as opposed to changes that you might make in your personal work area or classroom. And I am asking your help, because I would like to do my research here at this school. Here is what would be expected of you if you choose to participate: 1. I would like to ask you to identity at least three people on the staff who are not administrators and whom you consider to be change agents because they are interested in and actively engaged in making one or more significant changes in the school's environment, philosophy, ways of working, etc. Your identification of these people will be kept confidential. 2. I would then like to observe and interview you here over the course of this second semester, to meet with you informally and ask you about your perceptions, feelings, and understanding of these change agents in the school as you see them. Generally these observations and interviews will take place during lunch hours, before and after school, and at other times of mutual convenience. I will also ask to attend some of your meetings and conferences with your colleagues or team members, with your permission. I will be talking to some people on the staff more than to others as the research project unfolds. I will take written notes of our individual and small group conversations, and will sometimes audiotape them to help me in notetaking. I will also be checking back with you to verify my own perceptions of what I see and hear. Although this research will be published as my dissertation, I will keep your identity confidential. I will also, as far as possible, keep your responses confidential, but cannot guarantee that there is not some risk that others here may recognize your remarks or comments and thus be able to identify you. Of course, you have the freedom to ask me not to use information in my dissertation that you give me in confidence. This research is separate from my role as your . If you do decide to be part of my research, and I sincerely hope you will, I will probably inform you when I am wearing my "research hat" and when I am wearing my " hat" so that you can respond accordingly. Whether you participate in this study or not, the decision is entirely up to you. Please see the Consent Form on the following page. 2 4 9 APPENDIX B: Consent Form Participation in the Research Study to be conducted by Charlaine Ezell I agree to participate in this research study on change agents working within a school setting. I understand that this research is in partial fulfillment of Charlaine Ezell's doctoral degree from the College of Education at Michigan State University. The purposes, procedures and potential risks and benefits have been explained to me, and I have agreed to do the following: 1. Identify at least three change agents in the school. These are people who are interested in and actively involved in generating some type of change that impacts the whole school or a major part of it. 2. Allow Charlaine Ezell to observe me during school meetings, conferences, and conversations with other school employees about the change agents or their proposed changes. 3. Allow Charlaine Ezell to have access to or make copies of documents, reports, memoranda or other notes relevant to the topic. 4. Permit Charlaine Ezell to collect data in the form of interviews with me. Some of these interviews may be taperecorded in order to facilitate notetaking, but will be kept confidential. I also understand that: 1. My participation in this study is voluntary. 2. With the exception of a limited number of interviews, my participation in this study involves little or no extra time commitment on my part. 3. Potential benefits to me from participating in this study may include the opportunity for me to gain insights into my own thinking and understanding of my relationships with others. And finally, I understand that: 1. Data collected will be used in Charlaine Ezell's dissertation and may also be used in articles, presentations or instruction outside this school setting. 2. All data collected will be kept confidential and reported without individual idenflficafion. 3. I can choose not to answer any question or to discontinue my participation in the study at any time without any adverse effect or change in the school services I presently receive from Charlaine's office. If I have any additional questions about this study at any time, I can call Charlaine at or see her in her office. Signature: Date: 2 5 0 APPENDIX C NOMINATION FORM FOR CHANGE AGENTS To: Char From: Date: January 31, 1994 Re: Dissertation Study Just to help you get off to a fast start, I am enclosing the consent form you asked me to sign and have identified at least three change agents in the school, either faculty or other staff members below. I understand that the people I have identified are not administrators and that my suggestions here, as well as other interviews and remarks I have with you will be kept confidential. 2 51 APPENDIX D Consent Form Participation in the Research Study to be conducted by Charlaine Ezell 1 9 9 4 I agree to participate in this research study on change agents working within a school setting. I understand that this research is in partial fulfillment of Charlaine Ezell's doctoral degree from the College of Education at Michigan State University. The purposes, procedures and potential risks and benefits have been explained to me, and I have agreed to do the following: 1. AS a person identified as a change agent, I will allow Charlaine Ezell to observe me during school meetings, conferences, and conversations with other school employees about the change I hope to implement here in the school 2. I will allow Charlaine Ezell to have access to or make copies of documents, reports, memoranda or other notes relevant to the topic. 3. I will permit Charlaine Ezell to collect data in the form of interviews with me. Some of these interviews may be tape-recorded in order to facilitate note-taking, but will be kept confidential. I also understand that: 1. My participation in this study is voluntary. 2. My participation in this study will involve more of my time being spent in interviews than those Charlaine Ezell has with other staff at the school who are also participants in the study. 3. Potential benefits to me from from participating in this study include the opportunity for me to gain insights into my own thinking and understanding of my relationships with others. And finally, I understand that: 1. Data collected will be used in Charlaine Ezell's dissertation and may also be used in articles, presentations or instruction outside this school setting. 2. All data collected will be kept confidential and reported without individual idenfiflcafion. 3. I can choose not to answer any question or to discontinue my participation in the study at any time without any adverse effect or change in the school services I presently receive from Charlaine's office. If I have any additional questions about this study at any time, I can call Charlaine at or see her in her office. Signature: ___________________________ Date: ___________________________ 252 APPENDIX E SAMPLE INTERVIEW QUESTIONS Examples of topics to address in conversations with change agents What specifically are you trying to change at this school? Why? How did you come to this belief? What has happened to your idea so far? How do you present your ideas for these changes? What kind of response to your ideas do you get when you talk to (the principal, other staff)? How do you think others perceive of you because of your desire to make this change? What effects do you think your idea will have on the school if it is implemented? How about the (other) school teachers? What do you think mey think about the idea? What have been your interactions with (the principal) regarding this change you advocate? Do you feel s/he has been supportive? As time goes by, who might be more supportive and who might not? What would make the difference? What signs of a willingness to change to your point of view have you seen among others in your department? Why do you think this happened? Do you know of any people on the staff who might oppose your point of view? What will you do about this, if anything? What about your support staff, if you have any? How will you present this change to them? Can you anticipate what will their reactions be? What will you do about these? What other school administrators have you talked to or communicated with regarding your idea? What has been their response? Do you intend to talk to these people again? When? Do you have a plan in mind? Have you changed your original idea at all? Are there others on the staff whom you feel are strongly supportive of your idea? Who are they? What have they said or done that makes you believe this? Are there people outside the school in whom you confide about your idea? Who are they? Why do you confide in them? How will you know when you have succeeded in getting your idea implemented? What will you do then? B. Examples of topics to address in conversations with non-change agents: What is your relationship to (the change agent)? What do you think (the change agent) is trying to do? Why do you think s/he is doing this? What do you personally think of this idea? What was your thinking about the idea prior to (the change agent’s) talking to you? Have your impressions changed in any way? Why? What kind of interactions have you personally had with (the change agent) so far? What do you think (the principal) thinks about this idea? Other administrators? What do you think others feel about this idea that (the change agent) is proposing? Do you think there is support for this idea outside of the school? Why? Would you be willing to consider implementing the idea? Why or why not? If yes, what would be necessary? What will be the impact on you (or your staff) if the idea is implemented? 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