"So, if there hadn't been a Risorgimento, would we have pizza as we know it?"
Discussing the intersection of pizza and Italian politics was just another day in my 10th grade AP European History class. In fact, my teacher capped each historical period by posing a hypothetical question: How would the world look without some of the past's most influential events?
At first, it seemed impossible or even foolish to envision a world without the Treaty of Versailles or the Balfour Declaration. My classmates and I embarked on wildly imagined sagas of a utopian society, and as the AP exam loomed, these conversations seemed to fill precious test-preparation time.
Over time, our class conversations became more focused and cohesive, with students vigorously arguing their view of an uncolonized Africa or a non-Soviet Eastern Europe. These critical thinking exercises were the antithesis of mundane lectures and prepackaged historical narratives.
For me and many of my fellow students, this was the first time that history was not presented as a static set of facts to memorize and parrot.
Instead, history turned into a vibrant subject; a choose-your-own-adventure experience where our interpretations could be debated, reasoned, or disputed. Our family histories, political perspectives, and ideologies were heard and aptly engaged.
Until recently, I believed that the deep thinking and engagement these conversations elicited were unique to our class—that we were just especially vociferous and diverse critical thinkers. But really, this was the brilliant design of my teacher, who understood that for students to feel represented, they needed to be heard.
Discussions in my European History class were akin to a train on a railroad track. My teacher's periodic, guiding questions were like the railroad ties that set the standard for discussion and held the track together. Within this frame, the course we set was all our own. For example, a discussion about the Korean War allowed my classmate to share the emotional story of how his family fled the violence. Or when fellow students misunderstood a concept, another student would respectfully clarify and, in turn, become a peer leader.
In our highly structured education system, I understand the pressure on educators to check the endless boxes of standards. Still, many of the cultural problems that plague our schools—intolerance toward different perspectives, lack of student engagement, few to no opportunities for student leadership—can be remedied through discussions anchored in student voice. These discussions offer students the chance to build empathy and become masters of their own education.
A 2014 study from Stanford University noted that student-centered learning (used in discussion-based models) led to better student performance, higher graduation rates, and more persistence in college. Discussion lets students challenge one another, develop stronger argumentative skills, and find their voice on issues that they may be passionate about. Discussion not only checks content standards by motivating students to engage with the material, but it also checks the broader standards of intellectualism by developing students' perspectives and communication skills.
