A gentle breeze blows across my face and sunlight flickers through twinkling treetops as I paddle softly along a calm, shaded river in upstate New York. Laughing easily, I’m splattered with water from a joyous splash as a middle school principal cascades water in my direction. There are a dozen canoes around me, all of them instantly caught up in an easy water war that is as playful as it was predictable: I ended up capsized, and laughing hardest of all.

The year was 2007, and I was a guest of Giselle Martin-Kniep, the president of an education organization called Communities for Learning. She brought together 50 educators from all types of settings across New York state, along with mentors and guides of all kinds. These folks were gathered to co-learn about many things, including Meaningful Student Involvement. They came with the intention of growing learning communities to support their school improvement efforts, and the weeklong conference at a backcountry retreat center offers dynamic conversations, deep workshopping and challenging opportunities to grow. Playing in the water was a much-needed break.

Teaching Adults

As the years have passed, I have come to understand that the work of preparing adults to engage students as partners throughout the education system is a bedrock of Meaningful Student Involvement. After facilitating learning and projects with hundreds of schools in many ways, I have all-too-often left the building with the sensation that something didn’t work right.

Since starting my work in schools two decades ago, I have focused mightily on teaching students about the education system; worked with students and adults to establish safe and supportive partnerships that support co-work; facilitated evaluation, reflection and research to improve student voice in schools; and sought to inspire action in all levels of schools for all learners everywhere, all the time.

However, looking back on my successes and failures as well as the challenges and opportunities in my work, I can see that the entire time I should have focused on supporting adults more. My experience has taught me that in order to infuse Meaningful Student Involvement into the lifeblood of education, adults should have four traits within their character:

• Humility—Adults have to have the intellectual humility that allows them to not know everything in schools.
• Courage—Moving past tokenism and softball questions requires adults to be brave, bold and assertive over the necessity of Meaningful Student Involvement.
• Urgency—There is no waiting today. Young people are increasingly and astutely aware of the urgent need to change the world.
• Fun—Getting out of our heads and into our hearts can mean lightening up, loosening up and sharing our whole selves with our students. Meaningful Student Involvement needs that, too!

Playing in a canoe in a river in rural upstate New York more than a decade ago gave me insight that I’m still learning from today. In all this time, part of that learning has become obvious to me finally: Adults must be focused on, too.

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For six days in July, I walked in solidarity with my comrade, colleague and friend Terry Mattinson. In my 20-plus years experience as an independent consultant working with schools and communities to build a global movement supporting youth power, I have rarely meant anyone like Terry. A long-time youth worker in Preston, Lancashire in the United Kingdom, his experience has afforded him wisdom beyond measure. It was my honor to walk with him and listen, observe, and see young people and adults engage with him on issues that matter to me the most. This is a short reflection on that experience. 

Terry carefully shepherded me through an agenda that alternately inspired me and encouraged my own reflection on the work I’ve been doing. We visited youth-serving organizations in several communities as well as schools for young and older learners. There were deep conversations about theory, practical discussions about taking action, and meaningful opportunities to dissect, digest and divulge our experiences and learning with several people along the way–especially with Terry himself.

Sitting in classrooms at several schools, I got to hear student voices sound out on issues they were learning about, projects they designed, and the difference they were making in the world. Excited young students answered my questions anxiously, sometimes with gentle prompts from their teachers and other times with the restraint only well-taught learners can have. Their global perspectives behoove the pluralistic society they are growing up within. Other times, older students shared their wizened perceptions of taking action to change the world. They analyzed the effects of their actions, proposed radical new ways of affecting change, and inspired each other, Terry and I, and others in great ways.

Some of the things I distinctly learned from young people in these visits included that they are intensely focused on making a positive, powerful difference in the world around them; they want to demonstrate to adults, including teachers, youth workers and parents, their concern for the larger world beyond classrooms and throughout the community, and; they want to have fun while they’re taking action to make change.

In the course of my time there, I was able to meet with several adults about these issues, too. I met with Steve Walker, a senior lecturer and programme leader for working with children and families at the University of Cumbria. Steve has conducted a fascinating study at his university focused on establishing the validity of youth voice in evaluation. We discussed the nuances of his study, and I suspect there will be more conversations ahead as I explore the intricacies of what he’s doing. I also met with Mary Sayer, the Unite in Schools Coordinator for Unite the Union, the largest trade union in UK. Her program teaches students about labor unions, organizing and political power. In the course of a morning, she and I had an intensive series of conversations with a dozen young people at Our Lady’s Catholic High School in Preston, discussing the intersections of her interests with my efforts along the way. I also had a great convo with Marc Besford, the National Training and Development Worker for Young Christian Workers. Marc supports youth workers like Terry in a large portion of the UK, and has great perspectives on youth involvement. Given his broad application of the principles of meaningful involvement and their diverse applications, it was exciting to talk with him.

One of the most intriguing conversations I had was with Nigel Ranson, the headmaster of Our Lady’s. In a thorough but brief tête-à-tête, he and I discussed the capacity, interest and ability of educators to engage pupil voice in substantial ways. As I elaborated on the difference between engaging voice and meaningfully involving students throughout education, our back-and-forth reminded me of the early advocacy I’d conducted in Washington state’s education agency back in the early 2000s. It was an honor to talk with each of these folks.

​​Terry launched me back and forth through his region on trains, visiting surrounding cities with ease while allowing me to take in some gorgeous English countryside vistas, complete with fells and sheep galore! We also went to an old cathedral city called Carlisle. Sitting near the ancient Scottish border, Carlisle was surrounded by an enormous wall that we walked along for a bit. I saw the cathedral and castle, and devoured other historical sites shared by Terry and his nephew Andy, who is also a youth worker in the area. Our tour there included a fantastic facility called the Carlisle Youth Zone. Focused on providing a fun, safe environment for young people to hang out, recreate and learn, the Youth Zone is one of many facilities spread throughout the nation that does similar things. I had a thorough tour with the youth work manager, Clint Howat. While we discussed the several informal youth voice opportunities here, I became distinctly aware of the opportunity these types of facilities have to infuse meaningful youth involvement and youth mainstreaming throughout their operations. Fascinating potential!

​One of the greatest rewards of this visit was the chance to form a great connection with Terry. He’s been working so hard for so long to engage young people, foster youth power, and nurture community connections ​with children and youth that really have changed the places they live. We shared the personal motivations we have for behind our commitment to youth and discussed the faults and potential for our individual futures. He also took care to find me beautifully calming accommodations, and I enjoyed a relaxing, invigorating stay that uplifted my spirit and rekindled my interest in the world beyond my front door!

​All-in-all, I was excited by the potential Terry Mattinson shared with me in his city of Preston and the surrounding area. Talking with so many people showed me more of the commonalities in our international efforts to engage youth in dynamic, powerful new ways. It also ​inspired me to consider new ways that I can continue my life’s work, both where I live and far beyond.

Thanks to everyone who made this trip possible!

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Over the last two decades of research and practice in the field of youth engagement, I’ve found a distinct lack of commitment to engaging the Other. Often used in literature and art to allude to people who are different from us, the Other is best understood as a person or people seen as not belonging and being fundamentally different in some way from us. Seeing youth and their communities as the Other has allowed a lot of nonprofits, schools and government programs to build high walls that stop youth engagement.

I’ve been committed to low barrier youth engagement for the last 30 years without having the language for it. Today, I know that low barrier youth engagement happens when programs, roles and activities actively work to lower the barriers to sustainably connecting youth with the world around them.

Low barrier youth engagement happens when programs, roles and activities actively work to lower the barriers to sustainably connecting youth with the world around them.

Some of the barriers to youth engagement include:

• Bias—prejudice in favor of or against one thing, person, or group compared with another, usually in a way considered to be unfair.
• Sexism—prejudice, stereotyping, or discrimination, typically against women, on the basis of sex.
• Transphobia—dislike of or prejudice against transsexual or transgender people.
• Adultism—Bias toward adults leading to discrimination against youth; or the addiction to the ideas, actions, appearance and position of people over the age of majority.
• Favoritism—the practice of giving unfair preferential treatment to one person or group at the expense of another.
• Classism—prejudice against or in favor of people belonging to a particular social class.
• Discrimination—the unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people or things, especially on the grounds of race, age, or sex.
• Homophobia—dislike of or prejudice against homosexual people.
• Ableism—discrimination in favor of able-bodied people.
• Favoring—feel or show approval or preference for.
• Anti-Semitism—hostility to or prejudice against Jews.

When adults who work with youth read this list, they won’t be surprised or unfamiliar with the terms. However, its the concept of specifically and pointedly lowering these barriers to build youth engagement that we’re concerned with. When we deliberately address these barriers, we make it easier to engage youth on purpose.

Do youth have transportation to programs? Do youth have adults of their race leading activities? Are there other youth from their culture in the room? Do all youth have the ability to be engaged? Does the program assume youth have the knowledge they need to be engaged? Do youth have jobs or other commitment that prevents them from getting to programs or activities? All of these reasons can keep youth from becoming engaged in youth engagement programs. Often, youth have no option but to become engaged outside of youth programs and activities.

To lower the barriers to youth engagement, youth are presented with opportunities reflecting their interests. They are allowed to become engaged how they want to, instead of having to do what adults want them to. In many programs, they are allowed to come and go freely, and given bus passes that encourage their freedom. Low-barrier youth engagement offers off-hours activities as well as typical activity times, and creates ways for youth with babies and jobs to attend, too. There are mental and behavioral health services, programs for food and housing, recreational activities, skills and knowledge-building activities and other resources, often all in one location. Life coaching is valued above mentorship, and facilitation is more important than teaching.

When we learn to stop seeing youth outside of our programs as the Other, we begin to lower these barriers and make space for youth engagement to happen.

We can continue to lower the barriers to youth engagement by becoming deliberate and intentional. Learning about and understanding concepts such as youth/adult partnerships, youth voice, adultism, ephebiphobia and youth empowerment can help us move towards low-barrier youth engagement.

I’m still exploring this idea, and I would love to hear your thoughts about it. Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below.

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Elsewhere Online

• “5 Ways to Overcome Barriers to Youth Engagement” by Everyday Democracy

Learning from our experiences is a key to growing, as educators, parents, young people and social workers, and as humans. More than 20 years ago, I wrote an academic reflection on my decade-long experience as a line-level youth worker starting when I was 14. I’m not sure what to do with that document now, but I want to recap some of those experiences to share with you.

My story isn’t unique, as I’ve meant dozens of more longstanding, more effective and more authentic practitioners than myself. I’ve had the privilege of reflecting on a lifetime of service though, always seeking to leave a better world behind me than what I inherited as a kid. So here’s the story of my early attempts to do just that.

As I’ve told thousands of people around the world, my career began when I was 14 years old. Before that, I’d thrown newspapers and sold vacuum cleaners, but after that everything started coming together.

Action

Idu Maduli, called Ernest Nedds by some people, was Omaha’s premier African American theater director who ran a program called You’re the Star. Approaching me to teach with him when I was in the 8th grade, Idu told me I’d learn to teacher drama by watching him. For the next few summers, I did just that. We went around North Omaha to a few public housing projects and other neighborhoods bringing low-income kids to the stage, Idu leading them in traditional African tales while I taught stage basics and watched him in awe. After three summers together, I decided I wanted to be just like Idu. I’ve resigned to the fact that I’ll never be as tall as him, but this next summer I’m growing out my hair in hopes of having fantastic dreadlocks…

My high school years in Omaha weren’t easy. Instead, I struggled with a sense of being an intruder into the African American neighborhood where I lived; being a low-achieving student among the brilliantly dedicated white kids who attended the magnet programs in my urban high school; having a green card in a city beating the drums of patriotic Americanism; and having only lived in the neighborhood for a few years, being an outsider in a minority community in a racist city that routinely scowled at poor people.

However, my high school years were packed. Somehow, through the grace of the social workers, community advocates, watchful neighbors and my parents, I found activity after activity. While my neighborhood friends became consumer in gangs and guns and drugs, I volunteered at the elementary school as Santa for four years in a row. When my school friends were grinding into the books, I was unloading the food bank delivery truck into the food pantry where my family got subsistence. Other kids’ dads were absent or working while mine was simply struggling through his PTSD from Vietnam, taking my brother and his friends on night hikes through the Missouri River bogs and swamps of East Omaha, then starting a Scout troop where I earned my Eagle Scout award. Along the way, I worked at three summer camps running nature programs, including at Camp Kitaki (pictured), Camp Wagon Wheel and Camp Wakona.

Throughout my teen years, I also volunteered at my mom’s youth programs when she was a VISTA in our neighborhood. I joined the city’s Methodist Church youth council, then developed a youth council for my neighborhood when I was 17 years old. As a frustrated sophomore in 1991, I tried starting an environmental activism group at my high school, especially since then year before, when I attended a year-long youth leadership program through the Urban League of Nebraska, and went to a youth entrepreneurship program led by the NAACP. I knew that activism was the way to fight the environmental racism destroying my community. The churches in our neighborhood drew me in, and I attended the local Methodist church, was mentored by a Unity Church minister, and I listened frequently to the Church of God in Christ Sunday mornings around the corner from the place I went.

As much as anything, it might have been the Nebraskans for Peace rallies where my dad read his poetry about Vietnam; the community council meetings and PTA my mom went to; the government food subsidies program where we got cheese and peanut butter and more to fill my belly; or the gratitude of Mrs. Hickerson when I shoveled her walk and mowed her lawn and she thanked me with the stories from her long life. I’m not completely sure how my neighborhood got me out, set my on my path so strongly, or kept me walking ahead in such a determined way, but it did.

Outcomes

All of this kept me from spray painting around the neighborhood more. Or stealing. Or running from the group of young men wearing singular colors who tended to throw and swing and shoot when they saw me.

Some of this made me the wiser, teaching me lessons about education, about social justice and white supremacy, and about community building that a lot of people from my station never bother or have the opportunities to learn. Loading the food pantry made sure that I understood the humility of helping others; being homeless still reminds me of the vulnerability of being young and poor. Feeling the fear of violence breathing down my neck kept me on my toes, and I learned to relish paychecks of any size, which made me adept for nonprofit work. My dad’s PTSD was his burden shared, and while my siblings and I suffered, it made us stronger, too.

I also learned basic skills, like communication and conflict resolution, group management and motivating others. My advanced logic ability was sharpened as I wanted to accomplish major tasks like youth empowerment, interracial relations and community building with minor fiscal support or technical assistance. With and without adult guidance, I strove to close to the sun sometimes, and my wings melted. But every now and then I’d become warmer and more successful than I could imagine.

So many of these lessons cost so much, and while they might have sucked at the time, they’ve challenged me to become a better person, a better youth worker, a better consultant, a better dad, and a better human in general. I made lifelong friendships with Jimmy and Jeff; discovered restorative connections with my brothers in the hood like Kal, Shawn, Tracy and Joe; and keep fond memories of the kindness shown to me by Bethany, Mary, Athena and Jeff.

Today I know there’s more still to mine from all that, but that’s a bit about how I started youth work as a youth.

 

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A lot of adults use youth as sockpuppets, feeding them verbiage and giving them the issues adults expect them to address.

Intentional or not, this use of youth is designed to deceive the people who are listening to make them think what’s being said is authentic youth voice.

In a lot of places, sockpuppetry is often coupled with manipulation: If youth do what adults say, they’ll be rewarded; if they don’t follow expectations, they’ll be punished in some form. Youth often don’t know they’re being used to prop up an adult’s perspective.

Sometimes adults use youth to provide an alternate or opposite perspective to their own. This is called strawman sockpuppetry. Having no real authority to enact anything throughout society without adult approval, adults may deliberately position youth to say outlandish or contrary things, only to show their perspective as more valid, valuable, and important.

For the last 17 years, I’ve worked with the Freechild Institute to partner with organizations to deliberately position both traditional and nontraditional youth voice to be heard in safe and supportive environments, ensuring that youth speak for themselves and are treated as equitable partners with adults throughout society.

Contact me today if you’re interested in learning more.

 

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