The Corner Office
I watched the TV series Suits for 10 (ten!) seasons and couldn’t get enough of it.
Looking back, I now question why. Sure, I loved the childish interplay between the main protagonists, Harvey Specter and Mike Ross. Louis Litt was fun. And I loved to hate Megan. But what else? Did I enjoy watching elite lawyers make lots of money from other elites through cunning, charm, good looks and immaculate suits? Was I secretly wanting to be Harvey? Harvey’s main aim in life is to be the best, to be known as the best, and ultimately, to have everything that comes with being the best. He has earned his corner office, and (at the end of the series) his status is confirmed with his name on the door for all to see. Everyone likes Harvey.
Like Harvey, I have reached the pinnacle of school power: a title and a corner office with my name on the door. My seat of power is situated in a high school office shared with 23 others, the administrative engine room of a busy, thriving school. Other ‘important’ people here have named offices too.
If you happened to look in, our power hierarchy would be very obvious to you. It’s certainly evident to me. And, you know, unlike Harvey, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with it.
Sure, I can not escape the fact that my role has status, and there is a need to lead and be visible. There are indeed roles and responsibilities that require me to have sensitive, confidential conversations with students, staff, parents, and other school leaders. But it is also true that everyone else I work with does, too, and they somehow manage to do this exceptionally well without their own office.
In his great TED talk, the late Ken Robinson argues that the dominant educational systems remain rooted in an industrial paradigm – an education driven by standardisation and conformity. Robinson often referred to schools as factories where the role of management is to ensure that everyone does what is required to keep the machines going. I can not shift that image of the factory manager, looking down from their office across the factory floor, managing things to ensure everyone is doing what they should be doing. Is that my role? Is this why I have an office? Is it an office to help me maintain control and stop revolting?
The Headmaster’s Office
I still remember my headmaster’s office when I was at school. I can still picture the dark wooden door. It evokes a sense of dread for me. Not because I ever went there. But because of what it represented: the veiled threat we felt in every lesson to conform or face the prospect of being sent to the headmaster’s office. When I had to walk past it, I would consciously check my tie and top buttons were done correctly. I would walk and not run; I would be silent and unsmiling. Even at home, the idea of my parents being called into school to the headmaster’s office was dreadful. I am sure he was a decent man. Still, we lived in an era where compassion, vulnerability, and thought leadership were often subordinated to the ability to compel compliance – strong discipline and a bit of the fear factor were virtues for the top job.
I was talking with another parent recently, and she recalled a time earlier in the year when she received an email from the high school secretary to meet me in my office. It was an expected invitation, a follow-up to a conversation we had a couple of weeks earlier at the ‘front gate’ (about how we should be doing more to support students leveraging AI), but she shared that she was unexpectedly and irrationally triggered by the email. “Old habits die hard”, she said. We laughed about it, of course, but it’s been playing on my mind.
Shifting power
We need to shift the concept of power in schools. We can only sometimes see, name, or even identify where or how it impacts us. But it often manifests in how we feel or experience school as students, staff members, or parents.
When we are intentional, we create a culture within our school where power is distributed and shared among all community members. Nick Alchin shares some thoughts around this in his blog Difference and Privilege: Parking Spots and Jumping Queues. I also enjoyed some of John Frame’s reflections in this article in The International Educator called Hierarchy in International Schools. Our leadership team also recently enjoyed sharing the compelling and challenging book Becoming a Totally Inclusive School, which includes a chapter about power and positionality that resonated with me. I recommend them all.
Paying attention
“Tell me what you pay attention to, and I will tell you who you are.”
José Ortega y Gasset
I love these words. Paying attention to DEIJ has already helped us start naming and identifying power inequities in our school that we want to remove. Once seen, these inequities are tough to unsee, and their impacts are more pronounced. But these words are also significant to me as they bring us to the point of this blog post…
Whilst our office is in a different league than Harvey Specter’s, it is due for a refurbishment in more ways than one. Collectively, we wonder if the days of hierarchical offices fit the school culture we are privileged to lead. For my part, I’ve reached a point in my life, perhaps also through the privilege of circumstance, where I no longer feel comfortable being allocated my own personal office with my name on the door.
There are better ways of structuring our spaces to emphasise making sure we have the spaces we need rather than those we want – spaces that reflect the type of culture that we say is important to us. Do I need a confidential space for some meetings? Sure. Do I need a quiet space to do some focused work? Sure. Do I need a space where I can bring people together to help lead the school? Sure. But so do most of my colleagues in the same office. We are all in the same business, so why would I consider my needs more important?
Tearing it up
Does that mean it’s time to start tearing down the walls?
Maybe. Maybe not.
There may be some excellent reasons why the school needs me to have an office with my name on the door. If there is, great, please let me know so I don’t feel so bad about having a room where I can hang my jacket on the back of the door, kick my PE kit under the desk, display all the books (see how clever I am), photos, artwork, and random gifts and relics I’ve collected on my way up to the top. Just let me know so I can return to wanting to be more like Harvey!
Serendipities 