The short version of opening exercises for the school year is that it's all our fault: the achievement gap exists because we teachers don't believe all children can learn. At least, that's the way Ms. Darling remembers it. IT IS THE end of August, and the 2,000 teachers in my district are gathering in the civic auditorium for the opening exercises for the school year. The superintendent has sent us a welcome-back letter that states that research tells us . . . that what we do as adults at the schools is twice as influential as student demographics. I e-mail her to ask for a citation to justify such an astonishing and she promises to send it along. (After two months, I'm still waiting.) There's a huge banner above the auditorium entrance that trumpets Beat the Some of the teachers hugging old friends wonder what in the world that means, but we Kappan readers know: it's that pesky achievement gap. There's a strange, not-so-funny cartoon on the program. It shows a landscape with a gaping chasm running diagonally from the lower left into the far distance of the upper right. The chasm is labeled Achievement Gap. The far side of the chasm seems to be a desert, while the near side has some flowers and an affectionate couple holding outsized books in their arms. The other major feature of this cartoon is a wide bridge made of books that spans the divide. Joyful children are shown sliding or jumping down from this bridge onto the fertile side. The bridge is labeled Literacy. Ah, is the bridge that allows us to cross the achievement gap. Finally, and mysteriously, in the far distance the word Equity glows in the sky. It seems to be located at the end of the Achievement Gap, like a pot of gold. This last bit sums up quite succinctly what I think the problem is: the current rhetoric of reform touts equity as the goal, when it should be the starting point. Then the motivational speeches begin. The short version of the next two days is that it's all our fault: the achievement gap exists because we teachers don't believe all children can learn. There will be no excuses made for why we can't push all our children across the achievement gap to the fertile side -- and, eventually, to equity, shining in the sky. The program we're given mentions these specific goals: Ninety percent of students will read on grade level in third One hundred percent of students will pass the High School Exit Exam in 12th grade. Is there anyone out there who thinks politicians will be pleased if all our seniors pass the exit exam? No, indeed. There will be strident demands to raise the bar to meet world-class standards. And how can 90% read at grade level as measured by our norm-referenced test? It is constructed so that 50% of the test-takers will score below grade level (whatever that is). WE END the general festivities with an inspirational sing-along, after which we disperse to our schools for another day and a half of training. This consists, first, of reviewing the school handbook, which has 44 pages on the now-mandatory mission, vision, and goals. (Even my hardware store has its posted. Don't we all know what hardware stores are for?) Then there are sections headed Rules, Discipline, Bulletin Boards, Disaster (14 pages), Yard Duty, and Lifeskills (37 pages). Then we have our Laser-Like Focus on Literacy (24 pages) and, finally, our K-6 Language Arts Standards (nine pages). We are also given two packets on management, which presume adversarial, disrespectful, manipulative, fast-paced, entertaining, whole-class, frontal teaching. In the Newspeak of school reform, punishments have become learning opportunities. As Frank Smith has said, Skinner has won. Between the district and my school, we have a staggering seven areas of focus, seven strategic priorities, seven core values (the number is purely coincidental), five goals for 2005, a mission statement, four literacy givens, 15 life skills, a Self-Directed Improvement System(r) (note the trademark), and the six essential elements of an effective program. …