In an otherwise average ninth-grade math class, amidst complaints from my more outspoken peers, my teacher quipped, “This classroom is not a democracy; it is a dictatorship!” Although it was a passing joke, his words stuck with me—because he was right. My teachers acted as dictators, commanding what and how I would learn. An essential question was sparked in me: Why don't we, as students, have a voice in our own education?

We focus so much on the outcomes of education that we forget that students are people, with interests, goals, and desires. Our schools are evidence of our society's decision to disregard students' natural curiosity and just try to force information of policymakers' choosing into their brains. As observed by John Dewey, in the classroom, “everything is arranged for handling as large numbers of children as possible; for dealing with children en masse, as an aggregate of units; involving, again, that they be treated passively” (33). Paulo Freire termed this passive learning the “banking model of education.”

Suffice it to say, trying to force learning is problematic. You can “teach” all you want, but students have to choose to learn. There are certain ways to coerce students into engaging with school; we've done pretty well by making higher education so important and reliant on grades that most students feel forced to comply. But this only creates an incentive to chase good grades; when substantive learning is irrelevant to this goal, it will be dismissed.

If we want students to actually learn, coercing them is unfeasible. If we respect students, coercing them is unacceptable. We need to reorganize our schools, and a good place to start is at the interests of the student.

Suppose a group of students has a particular interest, and from the little they do know, they have a few questions. A teacher knows the answers to their questions and about subjects the students are unaware of. For mutual benefit, the students surrender some control over their learning, and the teacher guides them through a greater breadth of knowledge. This agreement creates the basis of a class.

Of course, there are many other benefits of entering a class for students. The teacher can provide structure, they can facilitate peer learning, and much more. Critics might argue that students would never choose for themselves to enter a class, but as we can see, they have many reasons to.

The question then arises: what would such an agreement look like? One approach is to create a formal, concrete contract. To understand how this expands on mainstream community agreements, we can study Barbara Brodhagen's middle school class. In what they termed their “classroom constitution,” the class affirmed behavioral guidelines like “All individuals will be treated with respect and dignity,” but also academic guidelines like “Learning will be meaningful,” “Assignments, field trips, hands-on experiences will be varied so that everyone can and will learn,” and “All individuals will be organized and on time” (Brodhagen 84). The constitution also uniquely stipulates the responsibilities of both students and teachers.

Agreements can go even further to include goals for what, rather than just how, students will learn. Brodhagen's class did collectively generate a curriculum—not in their constitution but through a less formal approach. Students began by identifying their questions about themselves and the world, then they collectively grouped them into common themes (Brodhagen 88–90). Because the curriculum was still collectively agreed upon, it's equally legitimate; Brodhagen's class demonstrates how the agreement can be implemented in a variety of ways.

If we allow students to have control over their learning, why wouldn't they just focus on their interests and disregard other important information? Well, because they can't. Schools might currently separate knowledge into disciplines, but in the real world, disciplines are interconnected. Engaging in most things relies on a great variety of knowledge and skills within many disciplines. In The School and Society, Dewey notes how a study into sewing and weaving can expand into an expansive scientific and historical inquiry of fibers (20). By allowing free investigation, not only will students still learn what they need to know, but the different aspects of their education will feel more purposeful.

Like in any relationship, consent must be ongoing and consistently reassessed. The teacher has to be responsive to students to identify what and how they want to learn. This is stressed in the Reggio Emilia approach, which deals with early childhood education, a space where students are less able to advocate for themselves. Mary Ann Biermeier describes her Reggio Emilia-inspired approach: “Emergent curriculum is not a free-for-all. It requires that teachers actively seek out and chase the interests of the children.”

An essential part of teachers' responsiveness is engaging in culturally relevant pedagogy, where students' cultural identities are incorporated into instruction. Gloria Ladson-Billings observed that successfully implementing culturally relevant pedagogy requires that teachers “maintain fluid student-teacher relationships, demonstrate a connectedness with all of the students, develop a community of learners, [and] encourage students to learn collaboratively and be responsible for another” (480). In other words, teachers have to cultivate a community connected to the cultures that students embody, and they have to participate in that community.

I should note that students cannot be expected to engage in honest communication when they fear retaliation, particularly through grading. Similarly, students cannot be expected to engage in real learning, because as long as grades are primary, learning will be secondary. Anonymity can reduce the hesitancy to provide feedback, but then potential individualization and community development will be lost. There must be fundamental change in schooling to allow the freedom to take risks. Because communication is inherent in the emergent curriculum, a holistic and less punitive feedback approach easily fits into this kind of classroom.

What should students do at breaches of this agreement? Well, smaller breaches have to be tolerated. For example, teachers can't know for certain if students will be interested in learning certain knowledge until they begin. Additionally, because most schools don't have a 1:1 teacher-to-student ratio, classes have to be somewhat generalized. These facts don't excuse the teacher from not adapting to students or enabling individual choice, but students need to be flexible.

But what about major breaches to the student-teacher agreement—breaches significant enough for a student to decide that they would rather just learn alone? Say, a teacher is completely unresponsive, or teaches something completely different than what was agreed upon, or doesn't prioritize student wellbeing. Then the class is illegitimate, and students shouldn't be restricted from leaving.

Abandoning the class might seem drastic, but despite all of the benefits it can bring, the class isn't the only method of learning or student-teacher cooperation. Often overlooked, self-directed learning also can be fruitful. For the student, pursuing learning independent of a class is a trade-off: although they get less teacher guidance, they do get greater control. Such a trade-off may be desirable, like when a student knows what they want to learn in a familiar subject. And although the teacher's role transforms, it isn't necessarily more work: they have to implement more individualization, but they prepare few lessons, if any at all.

With the Internet, it's a perfect time to implement more self-directed learning. Although more resources can't replace the guidance of a teacher, they can help with discovery. What students need then are the skills of learning independently—this is where the teacher is critical. As Monica R. Martinez and Dennis McGrath assert, to foster reflection and in-depth understanding under self-directed learning, teachers should facilitate multiple rounds of feedback and revision to a product—a process termed “the learning loop.”

Student-teacher agreements might seem overly theoretical, but this might be because this communication is unfamiliar—it currently doesn't happen unless the teacher allows it to. It doesn't have to be this way. As noted earlier, students have to agree to learn, and therefore, as David Cohen observes, refraining can grant them great influence, “not simply because students defy authority but also because they deny teachers success” (10). Students have the inherent power to bargain for education that is relevant to their interests and goals.

Students deserve to have a voice in their own education. They are not tools for our society to manipulate, but people who deserve a fundamental level of freedom. A dynamic and respectful education system would harness curiosity, facilitate student-teacher communication, and utilize a diverse range of learning methods.