Balboa Academy: Year Three

When schools flourish, all flourishes.
Martin Luther

The principle goal of education in the schools should be creating men and women who are capable of doing new things, not simply repeating what other generations have done.
Jean Piaget


Many of the ninth-grade students who will be in my Hispanic literature course stopped by to meet me, for the first time, the day before school started. The occasion is an Open House, of sorts, where incoming freshmen are invited to visit the high school to become familiar with their new surroundings and their new teachers.

This marks the fourth time I've experienced such a day at Vasco Núñez de Balboa Academy. (I revisited my first two years as a high school teacher in “Balboa Academy: Year One” and “Balboa Academy: Year Two.”)

As my new pupils trickled in, stepping hesitantly into the classroom—their expressions revealing their legitimate fear that their next Spanish teacher might turn out to be an ogre—a question that former colleagues often ask me kept turning in my head: “Do you like teaching high school?”

When I answer that, indeed, I do, the skepticism in their eyes betrays their efforts to keep their doubts to themselves. And I fully understand their disbelief—teaching in a university, which I did in a former life, is the most prestigious, most intellectually challenging and lofty position a teacher can aspire to have. What’s more, these former colleagues understand, and fully, the extraordinary amount of toil and sacrifice that goes into obtaining a Ph.D. Thus, I can hear, and clearly, the unexpressed question that rings inside of their heads: “Why are you teaching high school? It’s a waste of a doctorate.”

These are, indeed, fair questions. Only a decade ago, I would have asked them of anyone with a similar academic background who was teaching in a high school.

If I were still living in the United States, I would feel uncomfortable teaching at this level—without question. Ph.D.s toiling in secondary education are stigmatized: members of the academy automatically assume that we lack the ability to compete in higher education. (The exceptions, however, are found in the best U.S. prep schools.)

But I’ve been residing in Central America since 1999, and to survive here the first thing a person must do is to make significant concessions in the way one sees the world, as well as in the way one earns a living. The universities that exist here—even those that claim to be affiliated with U.S. universities—are alien to me: they have little resemblance to the institutions that formed me and where I taught for years while living in the States. What’s more, their cultures and their complete lack of understanding of the concept of faculty governance frustrated me to no end. Thus, trying to prevent me from developing an ulcer or, worse yet, a heart condition, my wife urged me to steer clear of them; and after three entirely disappointing experiences, I saw the wisdom in her counsel.

Yet, I love teaching. I feel alive when I’m in the classroom, sharing my passion for literature and the written word. But, having chosen to remain in the tropics, where else could I apply my training and make a small contribution toward shaping future generations?

The answer, I discovered soon after moving to Central America, is in those high schools that abide by U.S. standards of education, of which there are several in the region. But even these institutions have quirks that prevent them from reaching their potential: a high turnover of recruited, American-trained teachers and administrators; owners and board of directors who lack a background in educational policies and procedures; and schools in which profit has become, unfortunately, the primary operational motive.

And then there is Vasco Núñez de Balboa Academy, where I’m about to begin my fourth year.

What sets Balboa Academy apart, I believe, can be traced to its origins. When the United States turned over the operation of the canal to Panama—on the stroke of midnight at the turn of the century—a group of teachers that had worked for years in Department of Defense schools in the Canal Zone started an educational institution of their own that would adopt the highest possible American standards. Moreover, the creators supplied an additional caveat: Balboa Academy would always place the students’ interests first.

To start a new U.S.-style school, virtually from scratch, is a bold move, a genuine leap of faith without any guarantee of success.

But the overwhelming support the enterprise found in the community, from the onset, startled, and then thrilled, the founders—eleven of them, all educators, all women. The first day Balboa Academy opened its doors, a large number of families placed their absolute trust in the institution. In return, the founders of Balboa Academy pledged to place quality education above profits.

For several years before joining Balboa Academy, I fantasized about being part of a faculty-owned institution. I imagined that such an entity, if well-conceived, well-managed, and able to maintain a pristine purpose, could become an educational haven in which students would blossom, teachers flourish, and classrooms would be exciting and creative arenas. (In fact, while in Nicaragua I explored, along with a handful of former colleagues, the possibility of opening our own university. Sadly, in addition to the timing being off, the obstacles proved insurmountable.)

In Vasco Núñez de Balboa Academy, such an institution exists. And what I admire most, as a teacher, is that the founders never bring the full bearing of their weight to persuade others to conform to their particular vision of what constitutes quality education. Instead, institutional decisions are reached, more often than not, by consensus, after deliberations in which teachers have the opportunity to provide input. The overriding concern of every change, every improvement, and every resolution revolves around the students. Although single-minded, this focus makes for a vibrant, dynamic environment that’s alive with the excitement of endless possibilities.

Having reached the end of the loop, I now return to the starting point of this piece, once again asking myself the perennial question, “Do I enjoy teaching high school?”

The answer is: “Yes, I do.” And I enjoy doing so because I am part of a bold experiment in education—the teacher-owned school. My experiences here have confirmed my belief that such an institution can become the best of all worlds. What’s more, I’ve arrived at this conclusion without mentioning the special, lifelong relationships that I’ve forged with dozens of students who, today, at the beginning of my fourth year at Balboa Academy, have become an essential part of my life.