Teaching involves making an immense number of decisions, and all these decisions have an impact on how students will learn, how they will treat one another, and what the classroom atmosphere will feel like:

Mr. Rimaldi passes back the math exams—in descending order of grades. By the time he gets to the bottom of the pile,

many of the students are snickering. Jason, who receives his last, is trying to act casual, but he shifts in his chair and his discomfort is clear. Another student calls out, "Way to go, Jason."

Ms. Herbert takes roll in the morning. After each absent child's name is noted, she comments that he or she will be missed and asks for volunteers to copy assignments, take handouts, and call the student that evening. She points out that the classroom community is not complete and expresses her hope that it will be restored soon.

Ms. Boyle talks excitedly about the upcoming Christmas holiday. She describes, at length, her own plans and the Christmas activities that will take place in class—a play, a party, decorations, singing, and an assembly. Almost as an aside, she remembers and adds, "Of course, not everyone celebrates this holiday," and then continues detailing the schedule.

When Mr. Danvers returns to his class after recess, he finds that one of the students has called the class to the rug for an emergency meeting. There has been an incident of racial name calling on the playground and the students want to discuss it. Students share what happened and generate a plan for addressing the problem with the students involved. As a group, they agree to meet again in a week to follow up on what has happened.

Each of the scenarios described above reflects something about classroom community. The kinds of decisions these teachers have made—often decisions within other decisions—have implications for the ways in which students will interact within the classroom and beyond. Deciding to return papers by grade has an impact on how Jason sees himself and is seen by others. Ms. Herbert's style of roll taking and attention to absentees change the ways in which students will talk about and respond to returning students. Ms. Boyle's ap­parent disregard for cultural, economic, and religious differences in planning a Christmas curriculum will affect Marya's willingness to talk about Kwanzaa, Noah's comfort in talking about Chanukah, and Paul's openness in describing his family's hard times which will make Christmas difficult for them. Mr. Danvers's establishment of classroom meeting times and spaces and his comfort with student ini­tiation and leadership provide opportunities for students to think together about important issues like racism.

Teacher education programs have courses called Math Methods and Curriculum Design, but rarely is there a course entitled Building Safe, Inclusive Classrooms or Creating Hospitable Communities. For the most part, little direct attention is paid to issues of classroom climate and student-student interaction; such concerns are some­times subsumed under topics such as classroom management or curriculum planning, but rarely are teachers encouraged to explore and strategize about how community is created and nourished. And so I wish to share here some of my thinking about the importance of community building and the ways in which such concerns must as-sume primary rather than secondary status in thinking about teach­ing.

I begin all my classes and educational presentations with sing­ing. I teach a song to the whole group, often one about community or connection, and encourage full participation. Hesitant voices and embarrassment generally abate as the collective of strong voices produces a powerful and pleasing sound. And then I ask, "Why did I begin with singing?" Generally, people answer, "Because it's fun"; 'Because it is something we should be doing with children"; "Because it helps break the tension." And often, someone will comment, "Be­cause it builds a sense of community—because we sound better to­gether than we would individually." From that point of departure, we discuss what makes a community and explore times when the students or participants have experienced a sense of community. People share memories of hiking trips, school plays, church organi­zations, political rallies, and other times when they worked together toward a common goal. Words like "friendship," "trust," "respect," and "caring" become part of the discussion as people describe the ways in which the community transcended individual differences and difficulties.

My next question is harder. "Well, I just led the first song; which of you would feel comfortable coming up here to lead the next one?" A few brave hands are raised. "Well then," I continue, "which of you would rather die first?" There is always nervous laughter and a spate of hands. And then the final, most central question is posed: "For those of you who would rather die first, what would it take—what conditions would have to be met—for you to be comfortable com­ing up to lead a song?"

"I'd have to know a song." "I'd want someone to do it with me I'd want to know that everyone else would be doing it too." And then, the bottom line: "I'd want to be promised that no one would laugh. That no one would make fun of me or embarrass me." They want Safety: the safety to learn and to fail; the safety to show oneself fully and be appreciated or at least supported; the safety to succeed and the safety to be imperfect; the safety from humiliation, isolation, stigmatization, alienation from the group. This is the essence of com­munity. A community is a safe space to grow, a space that welcomes you fully, that sees you for who you are, that invites your participa­tion, and that holds you gently while you explore.

Can classrooms be made safe? In a time when keeping children from physical harm seems difficult enough, can we create classrooms that also feel psychologically safe? Emotionally safe? Can we create classrooms that welcome children for who they are, give them op­portunities to know one another in a deep way, and encourage their interaction? This, to me, is the most important challenge to any teacher creating a space safe enough for students to be themselves, to stretch toward others, to learn, and to help one another.

In order to focus on community building as an essential com­ponent of teaching, one must accept the following premise: Time spent building community is never wasted time. Community building is not what you do if you have time, or only for the first 2 days of class. Building a solid, safe community must be a priority and an ongoing commitment. Many of the tasks that teachers wrestle with throughout the school year can be more easily negotiated if there is a good classroom community. Individualizing instruction is less likely to be met with complaints ("Why doesn't Michael have to do the same problems?") when students know and understand one another's individual differences. Cooperative group work, fast becom­ing an organizing principle in many classrooms, requires a firm foun­dation of positive interpersonal skills in order to be successful, and the everyday conflicts that occur in classroom settings can be re­solved far more smoothly when students know and trust one another.

In a recent course called Cooperative Classrooms, Inclusive Communities, my coteacher, Sarah Pirtle, and I spent a full hour talking about class norms and agreements with the group. We dis­cussed and agreed to norms of confidentiality so that people could share freely without fear that their words would come back to haunt them. The class agreed to work at implementing a standard of "no put-downs of self and others." The ensuing discussion—"What if I really am bad at something and want to say it?" and "What if some­one else says something that I find offensive?"—led us to establish additional procedures for resolving conflicts in ways that felt hon­est and forthright. The time spent engaging in this discussion was not something we rushed through in order to get to the heart of the class—the "real content." Having this discussion together, modeling ways of speaking, asking questions and disagreeing respectfully, and acknowledging the importance of having such a discussion was the content of this class.

Later in the week, a discussion of racism in American schools produced considerable discomfort and even anger. One student's comment was difficult for the others to hear, and the temptation to marginalize that student was evident. But Sarah and I, as teachers, were able to remind the students of our agreements about "no side conversations" and "talking to people directly about what's bother­ing you" and to urge them, as they left for lunch, to remember that our class was committed to hanging together through adversity so that we all could learn and grow, to open and honest discussion, and to listening well to one another. What might have been a major dis­ruption in the classroom and the occasion for the isolation of par­ticular students became, instead, a real-life example of the importance of setting a tone, of making the goal of community explicit, of taking the time to notice and care how people are being treated by others.

Although we all might agree that having a community is impor­tant, how do we know when we have one? What are some of the markers of community, and how can teachers foster a genuine sense of connectedness and concern in the classroom? Student teachers returning from the field often share observations regarding the ways in which students interact, and these can be regarded as indications of the quality of the classroom community—a way of "taking the community's temperature" as an indication of its health:

In one classroom, the students are assigned to read with a partner every day. They can go wherever they want in the classroom, and they take turns reading to each other. The teacher selects these partners by drawing two tongue depres­sors (with students' names on them) out of a can. It is notice­able that when the teacher announces the selection—Freda and Manolita, Jeremy and Shamira, Nicole and Danielle— there are no groans, no "Oh, yuck"s, or "I'm not reading with her." This is a healthy community.

In the cafeteria, children are teasing one another about what is in their lunches. "You eat tofu—that's disgusting." "Why doesn't your mother pack you a real lunch?" "How come you don't eat meat—that's weird." One child is reduced to tears and dumps her lunch in the wastebasket. This is a community that needs work.

In a school that includes students with disabilities as full members of regular classrooms, a boy is helping a classmate learn to navigate on a three-wheeler in the hallways. A visitor stops, addresses the boy, and asks, "What grade are you in?" "I'm in sixth grade," he replies, "and [indicating his friend] so is she." The message is clean She may not talk, but she's part of our class. Don't leave her out, even in your question. This is an inclusive community.

What are the underlying values and priorities that support com­munity building? How can classrooms be structured so that they move toward cohesion and support rather than toward fragmenta­tion and distancing?

COMMUNITIES PROVIDE OPPORTUNITIES TO SHOW OURSELVES FULLY

A safe classroom community is one in which students are comfort­able showing themselves, being themselves, and being honest about who and what they are. Think about your friends. Who are the friends who know you really well—and still like you? Aren't they the ones who have seen you at your best, but also at your worst? The ones to whom you respond with the truth when they ask how you are, and you're not doing well? The ones who listen well? How does one create that kind of safety in the classroom?

I often begin class with "News and Goods." We take turns going around the room with each student offering something good that has happened in his or her life recently. In the beginning, the offerings are often limited: "I saw a good movie last night"; "I got a new sweater yesterday." As the group members begin to know and trust one an­other, they share more fully: "I had a wonderful talk with my best friend last night and I feel really good about our relationship"; "I found out that my sister is pregnant and I'm going to be an aunt." And sometimes, "I have nothing good to share—my whole life is a mess," to which others may respond with sympathy and support; often a touch on the hand is offered by the person in the next seat!

Students are allowed to "pass" if they wish, and no one is forced to share. But there are also firm guidelines about how the group listens—no interruptions, no laughing, no snickering, no remarks. Each person's turn is sacred—his or her time for personal sharing— and the structure is not competitive. I explain repeatedly that we can figure out ways to be supportive of one another. One person's tri­umph in no way diminishes another's. Patty's delight at passing her math test is in no way minimized by the fact that Larry got a perfect score on his. We are, each of us, working on different things, strug­gling with different issues. We can support one another. It is pos­sible for us to be proud of ourselves and of one another when the competitive element is removed.

Teachers working in classroom settings that include students with disabilities are especially conscious of the need to establish an atmosphere in which every person's accomplishments can be noted and appreciated. Karen's learning to tie her shoelaces is a major tri­umph for her, even though her classmate Morgan has been tying hers for years. Annabel's struggle (and victory) over spelling is worthy of celebration because she has worked hard and improved. It is not celebrated only if it is the "best" spelling paper or a "perfect" paper. It is difficult for many people to accept compliments. They hem and haw and look the other way. "Thanks for saying I'm pretty, but actually I've gained weight and I'm fat"; "The report wasn't really as great as you think—I left out an important part and it should have been better." Accepting appreciation from others is problematic, particularly for women, because often we have not experienced the safety to be proud of ourselves. Feeling "too good" about yourself can feel dangerous, like looking for criticism. So we have learned to di­minish our own accomplishments, to put ourselves down before someone else does. Creating a space in which people can be proud of themselves should be a central organizing principle of classrooms. Delighting in and sharing genuine accomplishments is distinguish­able from "bragging" or "showing off when it occurs within the context of community; arrogance, egotism, and self-absorption are fueled by competition, insensitivity, and real or perceived scarcity of success, all of which are antithetical to true community. Teach­ers must ask themselves: How can I create multiple opportunities for people to share and celebrate their triumphs and ensure that all people in the class are acknowledged? How can I make that oppor­tunity safe for all class members? How can I remove the competi­tive orientation that often surrounds feeling good about oneself? A classroom that feels safe to students allows them to be proud of their accomplishments, but it also allows opportunities to be hon­est about their needs and to ask for support. In a seventh-grade class room, I heard a boy proclaim loudly, "I don't understand the math." Immediately, three students rushed over to help him. This student had the safety to share his frustration and to ask for help. The teacher in that classroom had provided a space in which such a request could be issued and had established classroom norms that allowed other students to offer support and assistance.

I was stunned when my older daughter came home from sev­enth grade one day and announced, "Today at lunch, I learned to tell time."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "You already knew how to tell time, didn't you?"

"No," she explained, "actually, I never understood it. I always had a digital watch so I never really learned the other way. But I told some kids at lunch and they showed me how it worked and now I understand."

I was awed that she had felt enough safety with her peers—other 12- and 13-year-olds—to let them in on what had been a well-main­tained (even from her mother) secret. And I was further touched by the fact that they had responded to her not with scorn or derision but with support and teaching. This experience speaks volumes to children's abilities to learn quickly and painlessly when they feel supported and safe.

COMMUNITIES PROVIDE OPPORTUNITIES TO KNOW OTHERS WELL

Opportunities to show ourselves fully provide the possibility of know­ing others well. When a safe community has been created and main­tained, we can notice Rena's physical characteristics and the fact that she reads well, but we can also learn that she is struggling with her fear of the dark and her worry about nuclear war, that she is having a hard time with her older sister at home and is hoping to be a car­penter when she grows up. We can learn enough about Rena, in her many facets, to enable us to find similarities and differences, spaces and ways to connect.

Many years ago, I gave workshops for teachers on how to teach students about differences and disabilities. One teacher approached me after such a workshop and said something that profoundly changed my orientation to the issue. "You know," she said, "my special education students are painfully aware of the ways in which they are different from other students. What they don't see are the ways in which they are similar."

Since that time, it has become even clearer to me that we must help students see both the ways in which they are different and the characteristics, needs, fears, and skills they share. Focusing exclu­sively on differences can result in the ultimate alienation: There is no one here like me, so I must be all alone. Focusing exclusively on similarities can result in making children's unique characteristics invisible, for example, not noting that Shamika is African American or that Nicole uses facilitated communication to talk. One teacher put up a grid in her classroom, with each child's name written across the top and down the side. During the course of the year, they were responsible for finding one similarity with every other person in the class. In the square that was the intersection of their own name, they were asked to share one thing that was unique about themselves.

I have my students engage in a diversity treasure hunt during class. They circulate with papers and pencils and are asked to find people who fit into different categories:

Find someone who grew up with an older relative.

Write his or her name here .

What's one thing that person learned from the older relative?

Find someone whose parents come from another country.

Write his or her name here .

What's one tradition or custom that person has learned from his or her parents?

Find someone who has a family member with a disability.

Write his or her name here .

   What's something that person has learned by interacting with the person with a disability?

The rules are that you can write someone's name down only once, that is, you must talk to 10 different people if there are 10 items on the list. Students are encouraged to seek out people they don't know. The room typically buzzes with stories, laughter, delight in finding someone who fits into a category. People often find themselves shar­ing and listening to stories that they don't typically tell: about a younger brother with cerebral palsy and how hard it is when people stare or make fun of him; about a grandmother from Italy who makes wonderful cakes. After people are finished, they are asked to share what they have learned. People listen attentively as Michael shares what he learned from Janet, as Carmen shares the funny story she heard from Dwayne. Students begin to realize connections that they can build on: Discovering a shared interest in turtles leads to an ex­change of books; hearing about someone else's triumph in learning to swim after many years leads to an offer to go to the pool together.

The classroom conversation and interaction after this exercise are always deeper, richer. The safety of the community and the struc­ture for sharing allow people to see one another and to be seen as well. Teachers have also used this activity to alter students' percep­tions in specific ways. Juan, who has just moved from Mexico, has been isolated because of his language difference. The question that says "Find someone who was born in another country and can teach you a phrase in his or her language" makes Juan a necessary and valued part of the group activity; his differences are honored, not hidden, acknowledged, not ignored.

Just as learning to say nice things about oneself is challenging, learning to notice and appreciate others (and accept that apprecia­tion) can be equally difficult. One teacher designates a "Child of the Week" (with each student getting a turn). That child brings in things to share (family artifacts and photographs, if they are available) and is interviewed by classroom reporters (with the right to pass on any question). The week ends for Tyler, the child in the spotlight this week, with every student contributing a page to a book whose theme is "what we like about Tyler." The teacher reports that she has had to do very little coaching about how to write "nice things" and that the students notice and appreciate many different qualities and characteristics of the child: "Tyler has a good sense of humor. He makes me laugh." "Tyler let me share his sandwich when I forgot my lunch money last week." "Tyler is really good at drawing pictures of dinosaurs."

Other opportunities abound for noticing others and appreciat­ing them. My daughter Dalia developed a Thanksgiving ritual that I have translated for the classroom. She gives each person at the table enough little slips of paper for every other person and asks them to write one thing they like or appreciate about each person. Little people who cannot write are encouraged to draw or dictate their messages. All the slips of paper are put in a box, and the box is then passed around the table. Each person takes a turn drawing out a slip of paper and reading it: "I like Annegret's warmth and the way she reaches out to people"; "I like the way Lucy giggles when something is funny and makes everyone else giggle too." The slip of paper is then given to the person it is about. Although receiving compliments graciously is difficult for some people, I have never yet seen a person who did not take these little slips of paper home, tucked in a purse or a shirt pocket. Many people have reported, years later, that they still have these pasted on their mirrors or on their desks.

At the end of a class that had used cooperative learning family groups all semester, I gave each member a piece of paper that said:

My name:

My group  says that I'm .. .

I want to remember that. . .

Each group member wrote affirmations and appreciations for every other group member: "I love the way you kept us going when we got discouraged"; "I appreciate how much you know about different topics and your willingness to share." Each person completed the last section individually. "I want to remember that I have friends in this class"; "I want to remember that other people think I'm smart and worth having around."

As the level of safety increases, we can encourage students to see and know one another at deeper levels. In Australia recently, I asked teachers to bring in and share objects that were important to them. People brought seashells, old photographs, a precious ring, a treasured poem, and an old doll. After they had shared these objects with the group, I asked not "What did Sharon share?" but "What did you learn about Sharon from what she shared?" People's responses were profound: "I learned that relationships are very important to Susan—she cares deeply about her friends." "I learned that Keith loves nature and that he really notices the beauty around him." And, perhaps most touchingly, about a woman whose outward reserve could have been perceived as standoffishness, "I learned that there's a lot more to Mary than meets the eye. She really has a deep, spiri­tual side to her." Several were quite moved during the sharing expe­rience. The joy of being seen so clearly and so fully by relative strang­ers was overwhelmingly affirming.

COMMUNITIES PROVIDE OPPORTUNITIES TO REACH OUT, CONNECT, AND HELP

The third component of community building is the chance for stu­dents to interact with one another positively, helping and supporting one another, teaching and sharing their skills and strengths. When an atmosphere has been created in which people freely share who they are and learn about others, the possibilities for connection are boundless. For example, I have students complete a classroom yellow pages in which they designate those areas in which they can give help or support:

HELP OFFERED:

Able to teach double Dutch jump roping Know how to make friendship bracelets Am good at remembering my assignments

Students can also ask for help or support in a range of areas:

HELP WANTED:

Want to learn to play four-square on the playground

Need help figuring out what to do with someone on the play­ground who is bugging me

Want support for not wasting time and getting my work done so I don't have to miss recess

Students are encouraged to find and support one another. The class is not divided into "those who need help" and "those who give help." Every child is both a teacher and a learner, a person who gives support and receives it.

In another classroom that included a child with challenging dis­abilities, the classroom teacher was eager to encourage support for her without stigmatizing her further. Rather than listing only Arden's goals on the board for the class to see, she invited each student to write a weekly goal and paste it on his or her desk. Students were invited to set their own goals (finishing my math, not getting into fights at lunch, reading more) and to figure out ways of supporting one another. Rather than marginalizing Arden as the only one with an educational goal in the classroom, the only person who needed help, the structure encouraged all students to see themselves as hav­ing goals and as being capable of giving support (including Arden).

The opportunities to promote positive social interactions and support emerge constantly during any school day. Classroom jobs can be completed by pairs of students rather than by individuals, students requesting help can be directed to other students for that support, and students can be explicitly taught how to help others. ("Don't give people the answer—help them figure it out themselves. Here are some ways to teach that.") 

Learning to give help and solve problems can even be an explicit part of the curriculum. In one school, teachers have taught students to implement a collaborative problem-solving method in which they learn to use brainstorming and problem-solving skills that stress flex­ible thinking and creativity. Because the school district is commit­ted to full inclusion (students with disabilities are full members of regular classrooms), the teachers and students have used these problem-solving skills to figure out how to ensure that students with disabilities are fully integrated. Students have brainstormed, for ex­ample, how to involve a young girl with cerebral palsy in a puppet show activity, how to allow a boy with limited body movement to play a dart game, and how to support a little girl on the playground so that she could use the equipment like other students. Learning to support others and include them is operationalized in the school's curriculum.

Other schools have implemented conflict-resolution training for students so that they can acquire the skills necessary to resolve fights on the playground and in the classroom. One teacher has a conflict-resolution corner set up as one of the learning centers in the room. Students who are experiencing difficulties can select another student to serve as a mediator, and the three students follow a step-by-step model for resolving differences. Teachers can model for students a commitment to working things out together, to developing the skills necessary for the classroom to function as a community.

CONCLUSION

Communities don't just happen. No teacher, no matter how skilled or well intentioned, can enter a new classroom and announce, "We are a community." Communities are built over time, through shared experience, and by providing multiple opportunities for students to be themselves, know one another, and interact in positive and sup­portive ways. Community building must be seen and felt as a pro­cess that we're all in together rather man as a task that is important only to the teacher.

Although the teacher is but one person in the community, the teacher's behavior must provide a model of acceptance, support, and honesty for the entire class. It is unreasonable to expect students to be loving and supportive of one another if the teacher puts down individual students or uses labeling or name calling. If teachers are working in settings in which they do not feel valued and supported, it can be difficult for them to provide that kind of support for students. If, as a teacher, you perceive a lack of community within the school or feel that teachers are not thought about or cared for, part of the task of community building for your students must include building a community for yourself.

It is essential to honor the fact that community building is nei­ther automatic nor easy. Teachers must demonstrate a willingness to be honest with students about the conflicts that arise in forming and maintaining a community. Students may ask questions about issues related to other students: "Why does Michael go to the gifted program and not me?" or "Why doesn't Donnel talk?" Concerns and problems about working with others will be voiced as well: "Carolyn smells and I don't like to be around her"; "Shannon isn't doing her part when we work together." Some teachers feel that responding to such questions will make trouble or raise difficult issues. In reality, however, students are already aware of classmates' differences and differing needs, and failing to address such questions does not elimi­nate the concern; it simply drives it underground. The teacher must be willing to answer questions honestly and with integrity. The mys­tery of unexplained differences and the establishment of certain top­ics as classroom conversational taboos seriously impede the forma­tion of a classroom community that feels safe for all students. In working toward the goal of an inclusive classroom community in which all children—regardless of race, disability, cultural or family background, or skill—are able to function as a cohesive group, teach­ers must engage students in forthright discussions of the joys and difficulties of building and maintaining a community. Such discus­sions may be hard and even painful, but the willingness to open up issues of exclusion, fairness, difference, prejudice, and discrimina­tion, as well as the challenges of learning to work together can en­rich the community as a whole and deepen teacher and student under­standing of the many forces that keep people separate and isolated.

Taking on the task of building and maintaining a supportive classroom community can become a central organizing value. Teach­ers can examine every decision they make—about curriculum, about teaching, about grading, about management—and ask: How will this decision affect the classroom community? Will it bring students closer together, or will it push them further apart? Asking these ques­tions and being willing to change our behavior can bring us closer to creating classroom communities in which all members—teachers and students—are nurtured.