This is a big deal. For years, schmucks like me have been haranguing the federal government for failing to highlight the stories and wisdom of the regular people who make our country more resilient. Instead of talking about how government is going to make us safe, we ought to start listening—to the t-shirt vendors, the flight attendants, the survivors and the guy in the aisle seat, to the Rick Rescorlas of the world who have shown us how the public can prevent and respond to disasters with grace, courage and initiative.

Well, now DHS is doing it, in at least one symbolic and important way. Please send your nominations asap to rescorlaaward@hq.dhs.gov. More details and the nomination form can be found here. The deadline is June 1, 2012.

The award was named after Rick Rescorla, the head of security for Morgan Stanley Dean Witter in the World Trade Center. I wrote about Rescorla in The Unthinkable, and I’ve talked about him around the country. His story is impossible to forget once you’ve heard it. So let me share some of it here, now that we have a good excuse…

Rick Rescorla was one of those thick-necked, former soldier types who spent the second halves of their lives patrolling the perimeters of marble lobbies the way they once patrolled a battlefield. He was disciplined in everything he did, and he understood the power of the human brain to get better through practice.

After the 1993 bombing and the fiasco of an evacuation that followed, Rescorla decided that Morgan Stanley employees had to take full responsibility for their own survival— something that happened almost nowhere else in the Trade Center. He knew it was foolish to rely on first responders to save his employees. His company was the largest tenant in the World Trade Center, a village nestled in the clouds. Morgan Stanley’s employees would need to take care of one another.

From then on, Rescorla started running the entire company through frequent, surprise fire drills. He trained employees to meet in the hallway between the stairwells and, at his direction, go down the stairs, two by two, to the forty-fourth floor. He noticed they moved slowly, so he started timing them with a stopwatch—and they got faster.

The radicalism of Rescorla’s drills cannot be overstated. Remember, Morgan Stanley was an investment bank. Millionaire, high-performance bankers on the 73rd floor chafed at Rescorla’s evacuation regimen. They did not appreciate interrupting high-net-worth clients in the middle of a meeting. Each drill, which pulled the firm’s brokers off their phones and away from their computers, cost the company money. But Rescorla did it anyway. He didn’t care whether he was popular.

When guests visited Morgan Stanley for training, Rescorla made sure they all knew how to get out too. Even though the chances were slim, Rescorla wanted them ready for an evacuation.

On the morning of 9/11, Rescorla heard an explosion and saw Tower 1 burning from his office window. A Port Authority official came over the public address system and urged everyone to remain at their desks. But Rescorla grabbed his bullhorn, his walkie-talkie, and his cell phone and began systematically ordering Morgan Stanley employees to get out. They already knew what to do, even the 250 visitors who were taking a stockbroker training class and had already been shown the nearest stairway.

Rescorla had led soldiers through the Vietcong-controlled Central Highlands of Vietnam. He knew the brain responded poorly to extreme fear. Back then, he had calmed his men by singing Cornish songs from his youth. Now, in the crowded stairwell, as his sweat leached through his suit jacket, Rescorla began to sing into the bullhorn. “Men of Cornwall stand ye steady; It cannot be ever said ye for the battle were not ready; Stand and never yield!”

Moments later, Rescorla had successfully evacuated the vast majority of Morgan Stanley employees out of the burning tower. Then he turned around. He was last seen on the 10th floor, heading upward, shortly before the tower collapsed. His remains have never been found.

Rescorla taught Morgan Stanley employees to save themselves. It’s a lesson that had become, somehow, rare and precious. When the tower collapsed, only 13 Morgan Stanley colleagues—including Rescorla and four of his security officers—were inside. The other 2,687 were safe.

Via: MAT@USC | Master’s of Arts in Teaching

But this raises another mystery: We’ve known for a long time that more money does not tend to lead to more learning, once you get past a bare minimum (which we did a long time ago). So here’s my question: Where does all that money go in the U.S.??

Why do we spend so much more? Has anyone seen a good answer to this? I’d love to see what percentage of our spending goes to things that other countries’ education budgets don’t have to cover (i.e. health care for teachers). One report (PDF here) states that this difference alone could account for up to 8% of the variation between our expenses and those of other nations. Well, if that’s true, that’s not actually very much.

Has anyone tried to compare countries’ spending while controlling for differences in how non-salaried benefits get distributed from place to place? Also, I’d love to see what percentage of our spending goes to technology compared to the spending in other countries… Anyone ever seen anything that reveals the story behind the money? I may be missing something, but I can’t seem to find any really strong analysis of the money story—even though we are talking about huge sums of money…

But was the Titanic the exception? A new study investigates whether women and children really do have an advantage on a sinking ship.

It is so refreshing, first of all, to see a study focus obsessively on the thing that matters most in a disaster—the behavior of the humans involved. Naturally, the results show that life is more complicated than the movies.

The study, out of Sweden, concludes that it is in fact worse to be a woman on a shipwreck, based on a study of 18 maritime disasters involving over 15,000 people. The survival rate of women was 27% vs. 37% for men (see Table C1). But children have the lowest survival rate of all at 15%. And crew members have the highest rate of anyone at 61%!

The authors have some compelling data, but their conclusion jumps the shark:

Taken together, our findings show that behavior in life-and-death situation is best captured by the expression ‘Every man for himself’.

Um, really? I look at the same set of facts and make a very different conclusion.

The most important detail in the study is actually the crew survival rate. To me, these figures show that the most valuable asset in a disaster is not gender; it’s experience.

The crew members knew where the life boats were. They knew how to operate them. And they knew how to swim.

They weren’t afraid to take action; they weren’t waiting for instructions; they weren’t down below trying to save the children (a likely explanation for the death of at least some of the female passengers.)

This doesn’t mean that crew members are all cowards who flee in the life boats while passengers die. That may happen sometimes, but the opposite also happens. Crew members, given their roles, may go to extreme lengths to help rescue passengers. And who knows? The passenger survival rate might be even worse if crew members did not have this inclination.

Personally, I think the question of chivalry on a sinking ship is less interesting. There are too many compounding factors in a real disaster to be able to isolate whether people were being gender neutral or not. (Indeed, even more women might have died if the women-and-children-first slogan had never existed. Who knows?)

Anyway, the good news here is that knowledge matters. Under strain, the brain reverts to what it knows best. If you’ve got muscle memory for getting into a life boat, you’ll be better off than someone who doesn’t. This kind of study should encourage cruise ship safety directors (not to mention building and airplane personnel) to give people physical experience trying on life jackets and releasing life boats. These are not onerous tasks; you do them with crew members all the time. Now do them with the rest of us.

Thanks to Freakonomics and @DaniloBalu for noticing the study!

We’ll be talking about resilience, along with several other veterans of the subject, this afternoon.

Good question. I lived in France for a while, and anecdotally speaking, it did seem like French parents were less likely to indulge their children in some ways. My French friends put their children to bed at 7:30 pm and had a civilized dinner with their husbands. (Except for the ones who didn’t, of course.)

I suspect that France is a more pleasant place to parent in 1,000 different ways, as my New America colleague Brigid Schulte explained in the Washington Post recently, notably the subsidized childcare, generous parental leave policies and universal health care.

But putting that aside, I have another question: Are French kids smart? Does all that chic parenting translate into kids who know how to think critically and solve real problems?

The evidence suggests…. Non, pas exactement.

Here is how French 15-year-olds perform on the PISA, which is an international test of critical thinking skills, administered to half a million kids every 3 years by the OECD:

Reading: France ranked 15th in reading in 2009, which is a teeny bit worse than our own kids performed (we ranked 12th), but about average for the developed world.

Science: France ranked 20th in Science in 2009, which is again just slightly worse than our own kids (17th)—and about average for the develop world.

Math: France ranked 18th in Math in 2009, about average for the developed world. That’s the only subject in which their teenagers outperformed our teenagers on the PISA. American kids came in 26th, below average for the developed world.

In other words, French kids do OK on international tests of critical thinking in math, reading and science. But given their low rates of child poverty, they ain’t breaking any records.

What about privileged French kids? The ones Bringing Up Bebe is, truth be told, most focused on?

As with our own rich kids, the picture is mixed. The top-quartile of French kids—the ones with the most material advantages based on PISA’s index of economic, social and cultural status—outperform our own rich kids in science and math (even though they are not as rich as our rich kids).

Still, our rich kids do a bit better than their rich kids in reading. (This is a pattern which holds up around the world. American kids do better in reading than math or science at every income level. Too bad future income is predicted by math skills…)

This suggests that all of our schools, even our rich, suburban schools, are underperforming in math and science. Or else our parents are underperforming math and science… I’d argue that both are true.

Anyway, the point is, France is not doing wildly better than we are—for its rich or poor kids—when it comes to learning.

Low-income American kids AND French kids perform significantly worse than their high-income peers, which is less true in countries like Finland, Korea and Canada. Both the US and France have a problem with disparities in education outcomes, even though France has far less child poverty and far more generous social welfare benefits. Another reminder that a great education system requires more than anti-poverty programs. Beaucoup more.

One young survivor describes in unflinching detail exactly what it felt like to get out of a house fire as a little girl in Texas. It is the kind of story you will never forget once you see it, and it is told with a purpose—to help the rest of us become smarter and stronger in our own homes and communities. I am so grateful to the folks at Santa Fe Productions for finding these survivors and sharing their stories.

PBS affiliates are showing Surviving Disaster at different times, depending on where you live. A handful of the air dates/locations are listed below, and you can find other towns here.

AIR DATES: Surviving Disaster

Chicago—Sunday 3/11/12—9:30 AM (WYINDT)

Cincinnati—Tuesday 3/6/12—9:30 PM (WPTODT)

Philadelphia—Sunday 3/11/12—9:00 AM (WHYYDT)

Pittsburgh—Thursday 3/8/12—9:00 PM (WQEDDT4)

San Francisco—Sunday 3/11/12—3:30 PM (KRCBDT)

*Please check local listings or Surviving Disaster for more locations and times.

I’m collecting a list of the coolest playgrounds in the world. Send me one if you see one!

Here’s a good one from the U.S.A.

There isn’t much empirical evidence that raising the drop-out age actually reduces drop outs. So this feels a little retro. Kind of like No Child Left Behind: all stick, no carrot. You can hammer on kids (and teachers) all you want; but if you don’t simultaneously raise the quality of the whole system, then it won’t get you very far.

For 10 years, most American school districts kept the same inequitable funding schemes, the same lackluster principal and teaching pools, the same subpar education colleges. Then, under federal duress, they injected a bunch of lame tests into the system and pounded on schools to do better. Guess what? Most of them didn’t.

Washington, DC, requires that kids stay in school until they are 18. Let me tell you what that looks like. I have been in classes in DC schools that were fantastic, classes in which I had to consciously stop myself from joining in. Classes in which all the kids came in below grade level in the fall, and all the kids left at or above grade level come spring.

I have been in other classes—sometimes in the same schools—that would have driven me to drop out, too. I swear to God, the message in those classrooms was: Your time doesn’t matter. You don’t matter. It was like time stood still.  Nothing happened. The teacher moved at the speed of mud. When she spoke, it was to tell kids to shut their mouths.

I know kids should stay in high school. Kids know kids should stay in high school. The cash price for dropping out has never been higher. You can’t even join the military if you drop out of high school. The disincentives are all in place. What’s missing are the incentives.

I want kids to stay in high school. But more than that, I want kids to want to stay.

It’s important to listen to the reasons kids drop out, as summarized in this 2009 Rennie Center policy brief:

Both national and local research studies have found that dropping out of high school is a gradual process of disengagement. Loss of interest in school, poor relationships with teachers and impersonal learning environments are among the factors that lead to the decision to drop out.

Spend the money on empirically proven methods to engage human beings. Then see if your dropout rate goes down—all by itself.

From the BBC:

“We told the guests everything was OK and under control and we tried to stop them panicking,” cabin steward Deodato Ordona recalled.

It was about an hour before a general emergency was announced, he said.

Then the ship rolled again, now listing to the right, and the captain ordered the ship to be abandoned.

From the Daily Mail:

...But although it soon became clear that the problem was far worse, passengers continued to be told for a good 45 minutes that there was a simple technical problem. Even when the situation became clearer crew members delayed lowering the lifeboats even though the ship was listing badly. ‘We had to scream at the controllers to release the boats from the side,’ said Mike van Dijk, a 54-year-old from Pretoria, South Africa. ‘We were standing in the corridors and they weren’t allowing us to get on to the boats. It was a scramble, an absolute scramble.’ Robert Elcombe, 50, from Colchester but who now lives in Australia, said he and his wife Tracy got into a life boat – but were ordered out again when staff said it was ‘only a generator problem’ that could be fixed.

In almost every disaster, predictable human distortions slow down the response. This is normal—which is not the same thing as inevitable.

The first predictable phase is a period of profound denial—a disbelief that the ship could really be sinking (or the plane could really be crashing or the hurricane could really be barreling towards you). The brain works according to pattern recognition, so it fits whatever is happening into scripts for what has happened before. It usually takes a surprisingly long time to accept that something terrible has happened.

The second behavioral threat is the fear of panic. People—especially people in charge—fear the crowd, sometimes more than they fear plunging into the cold sea. They do this even though most people do not panic in most disasters. They are frightened, and they try to escape death—but widespread anti-social behavior rarely happens. The bigger problem, time and again, is the fear of panic—which causes officials to withhold vital information.

Both of these tendencies can be overcome with realistic and smart training that includes the passengers and the crew. The research on this—especially from plane disasters—is very clear and reassuring. But if that kind of training doesn’t happen (and too often, it does not, for all sorts of reasons), then you can be sure that things will slip quickly from bad to tragic, as minutes are lost and people are left without information—the one thing they need more than anything else.

The anniversary has me thinking back to the story of one person who happened by the crash site on Jan. 13, 1982. The man who jumped into the river when no one of sound mind would. From the heroism chapter of The Unthinkable:

The snow started out lovely, blurring the edges of Washington’s hard buildings and bleaching the memorials storybook white. But by midafternoon, it had turned unforgiving.

Great groaning piles of snow fell from the sky like mud. Government employees were liberated early, stacking the city’s streets with traffic. Normally, it took Roger Olian, a sheet-metal worker at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital, half an hour to get home. On this day, after driving for two hours, he was only halfway there. It would have been faster to walk.

By the time he got to the Fourteenth Street Bridge, which crosses over the Potomac River from D.C. into Virginia, Olian’s old red Datsun pickup truck was protesting. It had needed a new battery for a while and now it was desperately low on gas, too. Worried the car might stall and never start again, Olian kept the radio and the windshield wipers off.

When the Boeing 737 sliced into the bridge span next to him at 4:01 P.M., Olian didn’t even see it. Encased in his snow-covered truck, he didn’t hear or feel the crash. It was only when the car in front of him stopped that Olian had any indication that something strange had happened. The driver got out and walked back to his truck. Olian rolled down his window, and the man’s shouts jangled through the snowbound quiet.

“Did you see that?”

“What’s that?”

“A plane! A plane just crashed into the river!” the man screamed.

Olian dismissed him. “I thought, ‘This guy is nuts.’ All I wanted to do was to get out of there.”

But the man kept yelling. “I think that plane might explode!” “So get in your car and go!” Olian told him, rolling up his window. The man did as he was told. But as Olian started to follow him, he noticed that the other cars were behaving oddly too. “It was as if you’d dropped food into the middle of an anthill and all of a sudden the ants started to move in weird ways. So I thought,‘Maybe that guy was right.’”

Without thinking too much about what he was doing or how he would start his truck again, Olian eased over to the shoulder and parked. If a plane had gone down without him even noticing, he thought, it must have been a small private plane. “Well, maybe I could see what’s going on,” he said to himself. “Or maybe somebody needs help, maybe I could do something—some nominal thing, and it will be interesting.”

Restaurant and banquet staff rushed people to safe locations such as kitchens and basements. Telephone operators stayed at their posts, alerting guests to lock doors and not step out. Kitchen staff formed human shields to protect guests during evacuation attempts. As many as 11 Taj Mumbai employees—a third of the hotel’s casualties—laid down their lives while helping between 1,200 and 1,500 guests escape.

Interestingly, the authors, Rohit Deshpandé and Anjali Raina, look to the corporate culture of the Taj hotel to explain this behavior. They interviewed the hotel staff and reviewed the company’s HR policies, and came up with a theory of heroism:

We believe that the unusual hiring, training, and incentive systems of the Taj Group—which operates 108 hotels in 12 countries—have combined to create an organizational culture in which employees are willing to do almost anything for guests. This extraordinary customer centricity helped, in a moment of crisis, to turn its employees into a band of ordinary heroes.

It is surely true that the culture of a company—or a family or a city—can encourage (or discourage) heroism. Organizations like the Coast Guard, for example, systematically empower their lowest-level members to use their discretion—and maintain a bias for action.

But in my experience, the heroism of the Taj employees is the norm, not the exception. When disasters happen, people tend to stick to whatever role they were playing before everything fell apart. They feel responsible for fulfilling their duties, even when they are earning pennies (or rupees) per hour.

On May 28, 1977, an explosive fire ripped through the Beverly Hills Supper Club near Cincinnati, killing 165 people. It was, as the Cincinnati Enquirer later described it, “a night of horror and heroism, of unspeakable carnage and unshakeable courage.” Sociologists Norris Johnson and William Feinberg later conducted an analysis of the behavior of everyone involved, and, as I describe in The Unthinkable, they found a remarkable pattern—that should sound familiar to the survivors from the Taj:

As word of the fire slowly spread, people reacted like actors in play, each according to role. Servers warned their tables to leave. Hostesses evacuated people that they had seated, but bypassed other sections. Cooks and busboys, perhaps accustomed to physical work, rushed to fight the fire. In general, male employees were slightly more likely to help than female employees, maybe because society expects women to be saved and men to do the saving. Age mattered too. The younger cocktail waitresses seemed more confused. But the banquet waitresses, who tended to be older, were calm and reassuring.

But this role-playing works both ways. Employees are more likely to become rescuers, and customers are more likely to, well, sit back and watch:

And what of the guests? Most remained guests to the end. Some even continued celebrating, in defiance of the smoke seeping into the room. One man ordered a rum and Coke to go. When the first reporter arrived at the fire, he saw guests sipping their cocktails in the driveway, laughing about whether they would get to leave without paying their bills.

An estimated 60 percent of the employees tried to help in some way—either by directing guests to safety or fighting the fire. By comparison, only 17 percent of the guests helped. But even among the guests, identity influenced behavior. The doctors who had been dining at the club acted as doctors, administering CPR and dressing wounds on the grounds of the club like battlefield medics. Nurses did the same thing. There was even one hospital administrator there who—naturally—began to organize the doctors and the nurses.

Does this mean we shouldn’t celebrate the employees of the Taj? No, by all means, we should, and I am so glad the authors interviewed the employees and collected their stories.

But if we recognize that this kind of behavior is predictable and not exceptional, then perhaps we can move the dial one notch further—beyond customer-centric HR policies. For example, how can we train employees so that their urge to help the guests will be even more productive—and less deadly? Can we train them to expect guests to become passive—and override that instinct with aggressive commands (as well-trained flight attendants have learned to do in aviation disasters)? What happens if we anticipate heroism (or at least decency), and work backwards from there?

But I have to say, I didn’t feel that same level of bliss when I was in Finland. I mean, I felt like it was an inspiring place—a lot more civilized in many ways, a place we can learn from. But in real life, it seemed like it was also a complicated place inhabited by…human beings.

It’s important to keep this in mind, so that we don’t dismiss the Finns as another Nordic fantasy land that has no connection to our lives and schools.

In that spirit, here is a quick reality check from the Finland media…

Some parents in Finland choose not to send their kids to the neighborhood school because of the high level of immigrant students there. Sound familiar?

Helsinki parents at pains to avoid schools with high proportion of immigrants

Pasi and Merja live in a neighbourhood of small houses in Metsälä in the north of Helsinki. More than a dozen children who start school next autumn live in the neighbourhood of about 1,000 residents, and nearly all of them applied for admission to a school outside their neighborhood. Many of the neighbours have pulled similar stunts….Some have even acquired a second home to make sure that their children attend school somewhere other than their nearest one in Maunula.
   
...An invisible wall exists along the border of Maunula and Metsälä.
    The average income of Maunula residents is EUR 22,400 a year, while the Metsälä residents earn EUR 37,000.
    Maunula has many low-income pensioners, and half of the homes in the area are built on the partially publicly-funded Arava subsidy scheme, compared with only ten per cent in Metsälä.
    And then there is the sensitive issue: about a tenth of the residents in Maunula speak a language other than Finnish or Swedish as their mother tongue.
    In Metsälä, with its 1,000 residents, just 43 speak a foreign language at home. The entire foreign language-speaking population there could nearly fit in a single city bus.
   
    ...“Undoubtedly we all want to live in a multicultural and tolerant atmosphere, but the fact is that if there are many children who do not speak Finnish, the teacher’s time is spent on them”, the mother of two says.
    She does not know any children who have actually attended school in Maunula, but she has “heard stories”.—Helsingin Sanomat 2011

Violence and substance abuse affect the lives of Finnish kids, too…

Tens of thousands of children exposed to violence or substance abuse at home
Study shows that thousands of children in need of help remain unnoticed

Thousands of children living in conditions in which they are exposed to violence and substance abuse fail to get the help that they need, says Dr. Mirjam Kalland, a family research expert at the University of Helsinki.
    A substance abuse problem of some kind affects one in six families, while violence afflicts one in five. “For instance, 20 to 30 percent of children in the Helsinki region live in fairly serious risky conditions. Only five to six percent are within the scope of child protection support measures. Quite a few of the children who would need help are never noticed”, Kalland says.—Helsingin Sanomat 2006

And Finnish teachers sometimes complain about Finnish parents…!

Nearly one in five Finnish schoolteachers and one in three principals are targeted with bullying and mental violence by students’ parents. The primary level comprehensive school headmasters, in particular, are harassed.
    This was the finding of a survey conducted by the Opettaja (Teacher) magazine.
    Teachers interviewed by the trade journal said the bullying manifests itself in various forms varying from the spreading of unfounded rumours to verbal abuse and phone calls that can last for hours.
   
Bullying parents have threatened they would contact the board of education, the provincial administrative board, or the press.
    The root of the problem is often diverging views on education and upbringing.—Helsingin Sanomat 2005

Why do I bring this up? Must I ruin everything? Really? Well, it’s a bit perverse, I guess. But I find it encouraging to remind myself that while the US has its own extremes of dysfunction, we are all human. And excellent education outcomes are possible—-even in imperfect places occupied by humans.

OK, first let’s talk about the PISA index on socioeconomic status. The data for that index is indeed self-reported by the students taking the test, as some of the commenters have noted. I can see why people would wonder if that is reliable. In fact, I had the same question when I first heard about this.

Two things:

First, the research suggests that students are surprisingly accurate when asked specific questions about their family’s situation (for example, see this report on students’ reliability on such questionnaires.)

Secondly, the students are not asked to give their parents’ income per se; they are asked a long list of questions about their parents’ education levels, occupations, the number of books and computers in the home, etc.—all things that give a holistic sense of SES (and some of which, including education level, can better predict educational success than income alone).

Alright, as for the Free/Reduce Price Lunch (FRPL) breakdown of the PISA data referenced by people who insist our low-poverty schools are “No.1” in the world: this data comes from a totally different survey done in the U.S. only. Principals at U.S. schools where some number of students took the PISA were asked this question. They were told to respond in reference to the entire school—not just the students who took the test. So this is already a different unit of measurement than the average PISA scores for, say, Finnish students.

Moreover, the number of principals who said that between 0 and 10% of their students are eligible for FRPL is small; only about 10% of the 2009 U.S. PISA sample attended these schools.

But that’s all well and good. This FRPL data surely gives us a sense of the huge gap between the performance of the 10 percenters and the rest of the schools in the U.S.

But those last three words are key. This data is collected only to look at variance in the U.S. I agree that it would be fascinating to compare these figures to the same figures in Finland and around the world. However, we don’t have that information. We don’t know how Finnish schools with 0-10% of students from families earning less than 185% of the U.S. poverty level do on PISA.

We do know that Finland overall has far less poverty than the U.S. But the oft-cited figure—that Finland has about 4% child poverty—refers to a totally different definition of “poverty” than the FRPL definition. That 4% figure refers to the percent of people who earn less than 50% of the median income in Finland. (The comparable figure for poverty in the U.S. is about 20%—whereas under the FRPL definition of “poverty,” it’s about 40%, to give you a sense of the difference.)

Just to be sure, I spoke to the data experts who crunch this FRPL data in the U.S. and know it far better than I ever will, and they confirmed that it is inappropriate to use this data in the way that Ravitch is using it. You can’t compare the FRPL data from US schools to an entire country; it’s apples to oranges. The best option that I know of to compare apples to apples is PISA’s own ESCS index. And again, on that index, our richest kids do fine in reading—and not well in math and science.

OK, now back to writing the book! If you’ve read this far, you are probably trying to procrastinate doing something, too… Thanks for the company!

Our richest kids rank No. 7 in reading. OK, so it is not No.1, as others keep insisting, and we spend way more money per student to get there. But I’ll take it. No. 7 is still a perfectly respectable performance—well above the OECD average for rich kids.

But it got me thinking: What about math and science? How did our most privileged kids (who are, by the way, more privileged than most countries’ well-off children) do in math and science?

Oh Lord…Brace yourselves, suburban parents:

With thanks to the folks at the Education Trust who helped me ferret out this data from the PISA results, here we go:

MATH ACHIEVEMENT of the most privileged teenagers around the world:

1. Belgium

2. Netherlands

3. South Korea

4. Finland

5. New Zealand

6. Japan

7. Switzerland

8. Czech Republic

9. Canada

10. Australia

11. Germany

(Still going…)

12. Denmark

13. France

14. Sweden

15. Austria

16. Hungary

17. Slovak Republic (!)

18. Iceland

(Hang in there…)

19. Luxembourg

20. Ireland

21. Norway

22. Poland

23. UNITED STATES

There it is, No. 23 out of 29 countries in math, according to the 2003 PISA exam (which was the last time math was the primary focus of the test, yielding enough data to make such comparisons).

Wow. How to explain this? Our most privileged kids attend, on average, the most well-resourced schools in the world with some of the smallest class sizes and among the most credentialed, experienced, well-paid teachers. They have educated parents, books at home and computers to use, and this sample includes our private-school students.

And yet they score below the OECD average in math when compared to other countries most-privileged students. What is going on here?

SCIENCE ACHIEVEMENT of the most privileged teenagers around the world:

1. Finland

2. New Zealand

3. Netherlands

4. Canada

5. Australia

6. Germany

7. United Kingdom

8. Czech Republic

9. Belgium

10. Switzerland

11. Japan

12. France

13. Austria

14. Hungary

15. Ireland

16. Sweden

17. South Korea

18. UNITED STATES

In science, our most privileged students ring in 18th out of 30 countries, per the 2006 PISA test (the last one that had science as its primary focus.) This is, as in math, just below the OECD average for similarly affluent kids.

Why does it matter?

I bring this up just to point out that it is possible for kids to learn at much higher levels than our kids are learning—even our most-advantaged kids. I am not (repeat, not!) saying that poverty doesn’t matter; it obviously matters enormously. Let’s just stop talking about poverty as if it is some dark force that acts in isolation from the rest of our institutions.

Even if we could magically eliminate poverty in America (which would be a beautiful thing and something we should try much harder to do), then we still would not have world-class education outcomes.

Anyone care to offer a theory for why our most affluent kids score 23rd in math and 18th in science? Is it a lack of motivation? An overabundance of wealth? If so, why aren’t we below average in reading, too?

*And remember, before you send me links to wildly misleading blog posts and demand a recount: these rankings listed here rely upon PISA’s own carefully administered survey of students’ socioeconomic status known as the index of Economic, Social and Cultural Status—not a hijacked table regarding free-or-reduced price lunch ratios that was never ever intended to be used for international comparisons.