Filibustering It— The Secret Weapon of the Millburn Public School District
The following perspective is in response to an article posted on NorthJersey.com on April 25, 2016 documenting the $1.88 million awarded to the Millburn Middle School band director by the Board of Education over hazardous working conditions in the band room.
Anybody who’s been through the Millburn Public School system knows that when you love something, you’ve got to love it unconditionally. And I want to preface by saying I do love Millburn a lot — the teachers and faculty genuinely passionate about teaching and improving the lives of the district’s next generation are immeasurably admirable. Personally, I’ve been touched by a number of teachers who I’m still close with today; these are the educators who changed my life and shaped my future. People who believed in me and wanted to help me achieve more. But for the vast majority of selfless and skilled staff, there exists an adamant minority out to ruin it for the rest of them. During my tenure at MHS, I witnessed a multifaceted system of discouragement directed at some students. Throughout my two and a half years operating the camera at almost every single Board of Education meeting, my experience working with the administration in creating the school’s television network, and my attendance of the school as a student, I met a district so set in its ways, so obsessed with the status quo, so reliant on accolades for validation of its methods that it actively rejects any kind of change. Effectively, this creates a learning enviroment that not only cannot grow and evolve, but actually is on the decline as it fails to keep up with the rest of the area.
The Article
When I first saw this article posted on Facebook, my response was: “of course it’s us.” My second response, after reading it, was being completely livid. To summarize, the Essex County state court awarded Mary Jean Alsina, the middle school’s ex-band director almost $2 million on April 18, 2016 after a prolonged struggle with the Board of Education over extremely subpar conditions in the room she taught in, dubbed the “Brass Cave.” According to the court decision, Alsina was dismissed multiple times by the district after requests to be relocated due to constantly feeling ill. After about a month of working in room 102, she developed adult athsma. In 2012, the Brass Cave was treated with chlorine on the walls and ceiling, something the Enviromental Protection Agency advises against. Apparently, it’s also against state and federal standards. Keep in mind, Mary Jean wasn’t in there alone — the classroom saw a respectable number of students every day. If I may speculate, it would seem the custodial staff threw standards to the wind, in leu of a quick online forum search. Alsina was then demoted to a reduced work schedule after multiple attempts to properly get the room treated, given work referred to as ‘bullshit,’ and was (so ironically it’s almost funny) stripped of health benefits. Of course, it was no surprise to myself that the district spent more time trying to stall its problem than correctly remedying it. Because that’s Millburn.
The Millburn Public School District is almost as good at avoiding issues as I was at at avoiding confrontation of teachers in the hall whose classes I had skipped.
So obviously the district made a gamble and paid the price in the recent case of Alsina vs. BoE. But as unfortunate as her situation was, Mary Jean Alsina was still a teacher in the district. Which got me thinking: what would become of a student in a similar situation? The ex-band director had a lawyer, but what defense against adversity would a lowly student have? Well, it got me thinking about my own experiences at MHS, and I began to notice a trend.
The Space Above the Auditorium
In 2014, I (along with a couple classmates) spent three hours installing an ethernet cord in the auditorium, wiring it from the only internet-accesible port under the stage, up to the second floor balcony. We painstakingly taped it flat against the side wall so as not to be intrusive. The reason being to set up a permanent broadcasting space in the auditorium for the school’s television network. There was a large empty space behind the balcony which we brought a small computer cart and a crate of wires which could connect to the cord we had wired, allowing us to broadcast assemblies at a fraction of the setup time. The next day when I arrived at school, there was a large 200ft ethernet cord waiting for me, coiled up as if we had never installed it. The reason, I’m told, was that the music department (who primarily used the auditorium to rehearse) considered the cord intrusive and insisted it be removed. To this day, I’m not sure what kind of rehearsing the music department was doing, perhaps they were warming up by rubbing their instruments on the stage-right wall — therefore the cord would have definitely intruded on their ability to do so. A few days later, my co-presidents and I were contacted by administration regarding the equiptment in the space. We were told that the space used to be a health classroom, but was deemed a fire hazard: in an emergency, the balcony would have trouble evacuating because of the desks and chairs in the way. To understand this issue, you’ll have to visualize the shape of the room, so bear with me here. The two balcony exits are located on either side of the rectangular-shaped room, close to the walls. The two stairwells leading downstairs are located in a beeline from the balcony exits. Therefore, our equiptment would only have been a fire hazard if during the evacuations, people decided instead of heading straight from the door to the stairs, they fancied a stroll around the room, perhaps taking a more leisurely route along the back wall and down the opposite stairs. I’m being facetious, but it really seemed irrational. Either way, whether it was the administration or the fire code, we understood the descision and promptly removed the equiptment. We requested to meet with the principal again to discuss solutions to the issue, and maybe shoot for a win-win situation. He agreed, but of course that meeting never came. This aversion to anything new, followed by empty promises of “let’s talk about it” seemed to characterize our interaction with the administration during my term of co-president. “Let’s talk about it” was Millburn’s ultimate defense against students: not quite a “no,” they could prolong the change as long as they want, usually indefinitely. It was the fillibuster of student-faculty relations.
A few weeks later, the newly established Robotics Club set up base in that room. They built a six-inch high perimeter in which to test their robots, left wires dangling from the computers they brought up, small screws and other metal pieces littered the floor along with old food containers and plastic balls like the ones you’d find in a ball pit, and a large unusually shaped wooden structure which to this day I cannot describe was placed directly in front of one of the exits. How this was not considered a fire hazard, I do not know. I never got an explanation from anyone. I would love to see a balcony full of people try to escape now, though.
So what’s going on here?
Could there possibly be any explanation for why one of the top schools in the country is so averse to change? Well, I have a theory. And another anecdote. Not in that order.
I’ll add to the mess: In 2015, Soulfege, Millburn High Schools award-winning and completely student-run acapella team was approached by the music department regarding their standing as a club. Soulfege is an ad-hoc club, meaning that no faculty advisor is paid to lead the group. Which makes it even more amazing how successful the team has been, regularly competing against other schools’ acapella teams; teams with a paid advisor who composes the music and teaches it to the students, whereas Soulfege’s arrangements, choreography, and structure are all handled and financed by students and one volunteer faculty advisor, according to Principal Dr. Miron. The group was also featured recently on the Lifetime series “Pitch Slapped,” where they competed against other non-student run acapella groups from other schools. Which is awesome no matter how you spin it. However, Music Department Director John Leahey met with the group to discuss a takeover by the school, despite Miron earlier stating that “it is the ideal club situation and teaches them leadership and responsibility” and that “all clubs should be self sufficient” (Levine). The justification was that some aspects of the club were detrimental to their learning experience, and that running a club full time would distract from their duties as students. While very admirable that Leahey would be so concerned with this subset of students, it seems important to note how unprecedented the intervention is. Plenty of students have plenty of extracurriculars, but you don’t see the Physical Education department telling the students playing frisbee after school every day to tone it down, lest it interfere with their performance in Volleyball class. And the sudden concern for Soulfege seems especially surprising when you consider that they are arguably one of the most productive clubs in the school, putting on an annual benefit concert and competing statewide. So what gives? Did the administration see a decline in the academic performance of the acapella-singing students? I honestly doubt they’d even look that far into it in the firstplace. What’s the correlation here? Stay with me here.
And so I give you my theory.
Millburn clings to their awards and keeps student programs that don’t directly benefit their rank in an infinite state of waiting. Studio462, the district’s television network, hasn’t won a single award. That’s not to say the dedicated and talented students who run it don’t do great work — they do — but it’s not the kind of thing that wins awards. So when Millburn Robotics, a more academic-centered club that has since taken home many accolades for their inventions was given preferential treatment for the space above the auditorium, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Millburn has been resting on their laurels to justify dripping ceilings, gloomy hallways, and overall decrepit surroundings for a long time, because hey! — the ends justify the means, right? But how does a school play favorites under the pretense of equality? You guessed it —the filibuster! Just stall, forever! But that all changes when a club comes along that’s already winning awards without the help of any faculty… do I detect a note of jealousy? So, we’ve established Millburn’s tendency to latch onto the clubs and programs with potential to make them look good, and their habit of stalling indefinitely anything they deem unimportant. During my time at Studio462, we waited two seasons before being granted our simple request of internet in the press box over the field, and that was only after the Education Foundation (arguably the saving grace of the entire district) donated a substantial sum towards the growth of our program. During my two and a half years filming Board of Education meetings, I witnessed members time and time again dismiss any whiff of change — often without good reason — like the request for an extra vacation day for the important Hindu festival of Dwali, despite countless protests from residents in an (ironically) fillbuster-like attempt of their own, resulting in a 2 minute cap in public speaking time at the meetings.
I remember sitting in classrooms with stained ceilings, walls, and floors. I remember funny smells and vastly outdated equiptment. In many ways, it’s a pretty apt representation of the learning environment. I remember justifying to my Livingston and Summit friends why Millburn sometimes looked more like an inner city school than a beacon of higher education (whereas Millburn students would often joke how much Livingston looked like a hotel in comparison). We (yes, I still consider myself a part of it) were ranked #13 in the country, despite the fact that the rating was based on factors like graduation rate and SAT/ACT scores — something arguably accomplishable in any district with the amount of tutors Millburn students utilize. We were #2 in the state too, even though we ranked lower than both Summit and Livingston in categories like Resources & Facilities, Student Culture & Diversity, and Health & Safety. Attending a school that puts accolades and scores above all else is like flying an airline that puts arrival time over comfort and safety… you know you’ll get there on time, but in what condition? And let’s not forget, Livingston and Summit didn’t score too shabbily themselves (Summit was #6 in the state, Livingston #9).
Truly, I hope the settlement speaks to the district in a language they understand. 1.88 million dollars is a lot of money. A LOT OF MONEY. And I sat through two entire Millburn Board of Education budgeting meetings. For that money they could have cleansed the school of mold and probably replaced all the VCRs with Blu Ray, because yes, they’re still using VCR. For that money, they could have fixed room 102 before Mary Jean Alsina developed adult athsma, or at least given her the worker’s compensation she deserved but was denied by then-Superintendint James Crisfield (who later fled Millburn entirely to make more money). But instead, this enviroment of delaying any kind of resolution ultimately cost an innocent teacher her job, and one stubborn school district A LOT OF MONEY.
District Music Director John Leahey did not act in accordance with state and federal standards when alerted to the issue. Instead, he directed time and effort to altercating with a small group of acapella students with very little motive for doing so (none at all, if you ask my opinion).
It is this warping of priority that Millburn is becoming known for by the students who dare to try anything against the norm. But despite their best efforts, I did learn something different at Millburn High School. I didn’t get the best grades but I did discover how one person’s voice can make a difference. So I write this now. I don’t pretend to know every facet of every aspect I’m talking about, but I do care immensely about my home and the place I learned who I wanted to be. I was taught by teachers who were students themselves, including a teacher who’s been there long enough to have actually taught one of my teachers… how goddamn cool is that? The tradition, the history, the code of honor — that’s what I want my high school to be known for. The class-leading teachers who reach out and touch the students year after year after year and the incredible community who return again and again and again to lift up the next generation of television producers, music-makers, and yes, robot creators — that’s what Millburn means to me. But to love something unconditionally is to recognize the flaws too (thanks to my absolute favorite American Literature teacher for that one) and I can’t sit idly by when I read stories like Mary Jean’s. For every bad thing, there’s ten good ones. But nobody ever got better at anything sitting around patting themselves on the back.
To the Board of Ed:
Please be the heroes your incredible students deserve. Invest in the future of the schools you administrate. Keep the foundations in repair and try not to let the ceilings leak. Keep it warm in the winter and cool in the spring. It may seem like afterthought to curriculum but it truly isn’t. If you can’t show students and teachers alike you care about what they want from you, why would they ever care what you want from them? Trust is so important in everything you do. Millburn schools are home to so many people: make them feel like it.
