Why Alternative School Thinking Matters

What kind of world are we teaching students to belong to?

I recently wrote a piece for the Toronto Star about calling teachers by their first names, in response to the announcement that some TDSB schools will put formal titles to the test. In the story, I describe my upbringing in Alternative Schools. These are quiet and often unknown places that allow creativity and deep connection to flourish. They are rarefied today, with many of them having transformed into other kinds of schools or even diminished to the point of vanishing. 

There was so much that was special about my alternative school education. We ran simulations like Town, where everyone in the school took jobs, got married and ran the government. We sang songs in French class, I learned conflict resolution, time management and guitar. We sat on couches in our classrooms and built a womb-shaped memorial in the basement to honour those killed in the Montreal massacre. We had an art gallery in our kitchen, and I was given every Wednesday off to pursue personal, professional or community development. That program allowed me to start my own company, throwing raves for charity, and since then, I have started many other successful businesses as a serial entrepreneur. I took classes in philosophy, utopian cities, and a women-only Women’s Studies class—although there was a healthy, robust debate among the student body about whether men should be included. 

I remember each and every one of them. They shaped me with their kindness, creativity and weirdness.

There was so much that was special about my alternative school education, but my teachers were the most memorable. Nancy and Bob, Rob and Martin, Irene and Brian. I remember each and every one of them. They shaped me with their kindness, creativity and weirdness. I was also shaped by the fact that I was allowed to call them by their first names. It made them relatable and easier to connect with. They seemed like real people to me, not just distant authority figures I had to obey at all costs. I knew about their lives, their spouses, their children. 

This is such a small thing, and it might seem like it doesn’t matter, but it made a huge difference in how I saw the world and how I considered my elders. I learned to question authority, see everyone as human and recognize that even the wisest among us can be a little bit flawed.

It was a rich environment to grow up in, but it had its downsides. When I left school, after years of such close and personal connection and enthusiastic, energetic participation in my education system, I found the “real world” harsh, impenetrable and cold. 

I was well-prepared for the world through my education, but I couldn’t find a place, especially in the corporate world, where I fit in. I was creative, flexible and wanted things to move fast, but the world demanded something different. I was bogged down by systems that were less open than I was used to. Where were the couches? The kind teachers? The ability to protest, negotiate and be heard? 

I was lucky to be so empowered. I didn’t stay long in the corporate world before returning to entrepreneurship, where I could steer my own ship, and I could avoid the rigid demands of corporate bosses and structures that refused to bend to the unique shape of me. 

So why am I writing about this here? How does this relate to psychological manipulation and coercive control?

From the first day of school, we have designed rigid systems for our children that they must fit themselves into. School often isn’t designed to teach us to think for ourselves, but rather to think like others, to stand on the shoulders of giants and buy into the program. We are taught to be obedient, to sit still and conform to the rules. There are no couches, nothing soft to hold us, and our teachers demand respect through authority enforced by firm boundaries. What’s in a name? The name doesn’t mean much if it is not supported by a system of care and connection, an approach that respects the student’s ability to think independently, question the system and thrive. 

Manipulators thrive in anxious, fragmented spaces where strong bonds are frayed or severed.

Addressing the problem of PM and CC is not just about addressing the individual who has been pulled into a high-control group or situation. Cults don’t arise in a vacuum. One of the main draws of cults and other manipulative environments is that they offer a profound sense of community, connection and purpose that is hard to find in the world. By creating rigid institutions and not allowing ourselves to feel and deeply connect with one another—no matter our roles or age—we are creating a world ripe for manipulation. 

Manipulators thrive in anxious, fragmented spaces where strong bonds are frayed or severed. Cults and other high-control groups swoop in to offer an idealistic alternative to the cold, impenetrable systems we have built around ourselves. They offer time, connection and wonder, new ways to think about the world and new ways to fit in. They serve as a balm to wounds inflicted by our hostile modernity and provide life-saving relationships wherever isolation is cultivated. 

I am not saying that calling teachers by their first names can fix the world. I am simply suggesting that every little bit helps. When we re-frame our systems, making them more relational and less distant, we begin to reveal the hunger for connection we all feel. Both students and teachers deserve a chance for vital kinship. A reconsideration of the distance that has come between all of us. We should also extend our consideration to the rest of our systems, so that those leaving spaces of closeness don’t slip back into alienation. 

Let’s look at the systems we have built and ask ourselves: How will our children fit in here? Is this really humane? Am I on a first-name basis with everyone here? If not, perhaps it is time to reconsider. We don’t need more fracturing, more estrangement. We need systems and a society that bends with us, whatever shape we decide to take.