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	growing child education

Here's a REAL Drug-free School
By Chris Mercogliano

For 30 years, the Albany Free School has refused to allow its students to take what John Breeding and others so aptly term "biopsychiatric" drugs. A small, independent, inner-city school with 50 students, age two through 14, we see more than our share of youngsters who do not seem to be able to fit into conventional classroom settings. Increasing numbers of "Ritalin refugees," as I call them, are appearing at our doorstep every year.

Last year four new boys arrived, all of whom had fled to us to escape the juggernaut of mental or behavioral labeling and biopsychiatric drugging: Six-year-old Jamal was referred to us by a social worker at a community health clinic. The principal of the parochial school Jamal attended advised his mother to take her son in for "testing," contending that the boy was too disruptive, inattentive, and aggressive to remain in the school unless he was "treated" for a probable diagnosis of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). However, Jamal's older brother had been taking Ritalin for three years, and their mother was unhappy with the drug's effects on him. She was anxious to find a better alternative for her younger son.

Clint's mother sought us out after she'd attended the annual Parents' Day and found her eight-year-old son slumped over at his desk. This, apparently, was the "marked improvement" in Clint's behavior that the school had reported to her after she had begun adding a third drug to his before-school ADHD cocktail.

Nine-year-old Anthony had somehow managed to make it to the fourth grade without being labeled and drugged, but the school was putting increasing pressure on his mother to have him undergo a psychological evaluation because he was restless in class and was more than a year behind in reading.

When Brian was in third grade, the school psychologist at his suburban elementary school recommended that Brian begin taking Ritalin "to help him focus." By the time he came to us for seventh grade, Brian had become so uncomfortable with how the drug made him feel--jumpy, irritable, anorexic, angry--that most days he only pretended to take the pills.

A Drug-Free Way
Why is it that these students, each with a history of academic and behavioral problems, don't need biopsychiatric drugs in our school? First of all, we believe that the existence of biologically-based "disorders" such as ADHD is a myth. Our experience has confirmed over and over again that, when you get to know the stories of kids such as Jamal, Clint, Anthony, and Brian--or of any of the millions of others like them all across America--you soon discover that what they are actually suffering from is an inner distress that has clear, nonbiological causes: physical and emotional neglect or abuse, absent parents, marital discord, excessive TV viewing, academic pressure, poor diet, and sometimes a combination of the above. These children don't "have" a "disorder," rather, they are living in a disordered universe. Or in some cases, they aren't suffering from anything at all. They are simply more energetic or on a different developmental timetable than the currently perceived "norm."

Secondly, our approach to education is grounded in the reality that every child is unique. We operate without a set curriculum so that students can progress at their own pace, and according to their own learning style. Some kids are ready and eager to read at age four, others not until nine or ten. Some like to learn from texts and workbooks; others are more kinesthetic and need to have their "hands on" what they are doing. We also remove the fear and compulsion from teaching and learning. In our school, children learn for their own reasons, and there are no grades or standardized tests--and therefore no failure.

Perhaps Alexander S. Neill said it best. "The school must fit the child and not the other way around," he once wrote in Summerhill: A Radical Approach to Child Rearing.1 When you permit high-energy kids to run, jump, and make noise; when you encourage distressed ones to express their negative feelings safely; when you place ones who have grown resistant to learning in charge of the process; when you empower ones who distrust authority to participate in school governance and conflict resolution, it's unnecessary to put even the most difficult student in a chemical straightjacket.

All four boys thrived in our unconventional, individualized environment. Clint and Brian expressed immediate relief at being off the drugs. Both reported feeling calmer and more at ease. Suddenly free to move about in school and engage in frequent physical activity--wrestling, playing basketball, swimming, climbing on the multilevel backyard jungle gym--they quickly shed the signs of their so-called "hyperactivity."

Jamal, on the other hand, wasted no time demonstrating how he had managed to wear out his welcome in his previous school. Angry and defiant, he spent much of the time antagonizing classmates, and exhibiting little respect for his teachers whenever they attempted to stop him. As soon as he escalated to bullying his peers, his victims began calling "council meetings" in order to get help in halting his antisocial behavior. Elementary and junior high-age children who are experiencing serious problems in our school can call a meeting at any time, and by prior agreement, everyone must attend. Meetings are run by Roberts' Rules of Order, a set of standard operating rules for democratic meetings, which allows the children to work through conflicts and devise ways to set limits on each other's conduct. In this case, one of the kids Jamal was pushing around made a motion that Jamal would not get to go swimming the next time if he did it again. The motion passed, and Jamal would miss several pool visits before he stopped intimidating his peers once and for all.

And then there was Anthony, whose household was continually in crisis. He became the school thief--and a clever one at that. He was nearly caught stealing on several occasions, but was able to talk his way out of trouble each time. Finally, one day his story unraveled in a council meeting after he was found in possession of a classmate's missing two dollars. Despite the overwhelming circumstantial evidence, however, he refused to admit to taking the money. Someone raised their hand and suggested we hold a trial, and everyone, including Anthony, agreed. It was a dramatic moment. A judge was elected, attorneys were appointed, and witnesses were interviewed. Serendipitously, the seventh and eighth graders had been out that morning and knew nothing about "the crime." They served as an excellent impartial jury. After a half-hour of deliberation, they ruled Anthony guilty as charged and sentenced him to ten hours of community service in the school kitchen, where he helped to prepare lunch the following week. Several months later, he publicly acknowledged the theft and never stole again.

By mid-year, the boys were accepted members of our school community. While their education wasn't proceeding in neat, straight lines, each was learning successfully on many levels. Clearly, none of them was suffering from a pathological disorder that required treatment with powerful psychotropic drugs. What they did require was an environment where they could be themselves, and where their individual needs would be honored and addressed with love.

Notes
1. Alexander S. Neill, Summerhill: A Radical Approach to Child Rearing (New York: Hart Publishing, 1960). Currently out of print. Also see Alexander S. Neill, Summerhill School: A New View of Childhood (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1995).

Chris Mercogliano has been a teacher at the Albany Free School for 26 years, and its codirector for 14. Author of Making It Up as We Go Along (Heinemann, 1998), he recently completed a second book, Rid-a-him: Or Why Are So Many Kids Labeled and Drugged in School? His essays and commentary on children and education have appeared in SKOLE, The Journal of Alternative Education, Friends Review, the Albany Times Union, The Journal of Family Life, Paths of Learning, The Journal of Humanistic Psychology, Yes! magazine, and Deschooling Our Lives, edited by Matt Hern.