EDUCATION

A grade-six class settles down to a math lesson on simplifying fractions. Students open their textbooks and read: "The best-selling packaged cookie in the world is the Oreo cookie. The diameter of an Oreo cookie is 1.75 inches. Express the diameter of the Oreo cookie as a fraction in simplest form."

Here's a group of grade fours learning about energy. A local utility company, with the clearly stated objective "to increase public support for nuclear power development," has supplied the attractive teaching kit - complete with film strips, booklets and a board game on energy issues.

A principal is reading an upbeat memo from a school official about the board's contract with Coca-Cola. The cheque for the school's cut is now available for pick-up ($3,000 for elementary; $25,000 for high schools), but there's also some "not-so-good news," the official writes. "We must sell 70,000 cases of product (including juices, sodas, waters, etc.) at least once during the first three years of the contract." Then the memo suggests ways of achieving this, including putting vending machines in common areas and allowing students to buy and consume Coke products throughout the day ("If sodas are not allowed in classes, consider allowing juices, teas and waters"). The board official signs off as The Coke Dude.

Far-fetched? Paranoid? No. These are actual examples of what's happening in the United States. High schools in particular have become prime marketing venues, but elementary schools are fast catching up. From hair-care surveys and Clairol shampoo samples on school premises, to Prozac representatives giving presentations on National Depression Screening Day, anything seems possible. Indeed, when Vancouver's Adbusters magazine ran an article, complete with photos, about students in the US sporting tattooed logos for Nike, Pepsi and Guess as a school fundraiser, many readers didn't realize the Tattoo You Too! program was a spoof.

There's plenty of evidence to suggest that Canada is not far behind. With education funding on the decline, teachers, administrators and parents are accepting, and in some cases initiating, a diverse range of school-business partnerships. Meanwhile, many teacher federations warn that corporate support comes with strings attached.

Purists like Heather-jane Robertson, author of No More Teachers, No More Books: The Commercialization of Canada's Schools, argue that the term "partnership" is a misnomer. "When you talk about partners it implies that both parties have an equal say. That's simply not the case here," she says. "Corporations have the power and the money, and schools are dependent because they are cash-strapped." Robertson, who has been researching this topic for over a decade, is adamant that schools be off limits to all corporate exposure, however well intentioned it may appear. "Corporations are not in the business of educating a responsible citizenship," she says. "They are there to promote and market themselves. That doesn't make them evil. That's simply what they do."

Are corporations really taking advantage of a young and captive audience? It's not that simple. Many mentoring and work-placement partnerships are enthusiastically received by all concerned. And we should remember that, historically, schools courted business for help with a range of initiatives. Not surprisingly, companies view their role in a positive light. The Conference Board of Canada's 1999 Business and Education Best Practices Ideabook lists many lofty goals for its members, including "better awareness of schools' needs" and "opportunity to mentor youth." The closest anyone gets to acknowledging a self-serving motive is with phrases like "enhanced public image in the community" and "public recognition." What's wrong with that?

It depends on who you talk to. Jacqueline Latter, spokesperson for the Ontario Education Alliance, believes that public recognition is a euphemism for "creating marketing loyalty in very young consumers." An example is the Campbell Soup Company's Labels for Education project. Launched in Canada in 1998 (it's been running in the US since 1973), it was billed by Campbell's as a "fantastic opportunity for schools to further learning during times of tight budgets."

Debbie McCarthy at Campbell's says all K-8 schools across the country were "targeted" with a mailing that promised a 1,000-label credit to get the school started. About 3,600 schools have chosen to participate. "They just collect labels from a selection of healthy soups and then use the labels to get free educational products," McCarthy explains. "There's a catalogue for them to choose from, with everything from multimedia suites to science equipment." Asked why Campbell's runs the program McCarthy responds, "We are the top company in Canada in terms of soup consumption, and we wanted to do a good job as a corporate citizen."

Robert Gendron, principal of Beaver Lodge Elementary School in Winnipeg, which won Campbell's Race to the Finish Line competition last year, says, "I love the Labels for Education campaign. There was no pressure on us to advertise. Our community grasped it with great enthusiasm." There was some negative press about the program, he explains, from people who felt that only schools in more affluent neighbourhoods could participate successfully. Gendron doesn't buy that, but he does agree that schools must evaluate fundraising schemes carefully. The parent council discussed whether this program was "nutritionally and ethically sound" before it was accepted unanimously.

In contrast, mother of two Janice Harvey of Waweig, New Brunswick thinks "Campbell Soup-type promotions are sleaze philanthropy." In her opinion, all incentive programs that involve a product purchase should be out of bounds in schools. Campbell's position is that they are not selling anything but simply having participants remove labels from products that are on their shelves anyway.

Wal-Mart's Adopt-a-School Program also has its supporters and detractors. Each store chooses a school in its community to support, with activities such as in-store fundraising, and employees making donations and volunteering in the school. Wal-Mart's head office matches funds raised up to $2,000. Director of public affairs Andrew Pelletier says no school has ever rejected an "adoption" and that it's a "grassroots, community-based initiative with no strings attached." He says that Adopt-a-School has generated a lot of good publicity for Wal-Mart, but that's simply because it works. "Good deeds should generate goodwill. We are earning our place in the community."

At Stephenville Primary in Newfoundland, principal David Warr is as enthusiastic as Pelletier. "Wal-Mart employees donated money to our breakfast program and some of them volunteered to serve breakfast for a day to the students," he says. "And Wal-Mart matched dollar-for-dollar the money raised by the playground committee." He says there was no request to use the logo in the school or promote the company in any way. The media had photo opportunities when Wal-Mart employees served breakfast and when the donation cheque arrived, but Warr doesn't take issue with that.

Lisa Widdifield, a parent activist in London, Ontario, doesn't have such a sanguine attitude. "It's a strategic marketing plan. It's great advertising for Wal-Mart. Adopting a school - please. Are we orphans?" Indeed, businesses talk about educational sponsorships as being "strategic philanthropy," which is, in fact, an oxymoron.

"Schools have become a charity," laments Erika Shaker, a senior researcher with the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives, an Ottawa-based think tank. "They have been forced to look for outside funding and that's further contributing to inequities in individual schools. The only way to be fair is to fix it from a tax base." Corporations want to support this "charity," continues Shaker, "because the school is the most powerful environment in which to reach kids."

There are all kinds of ways to get into the classroom but no consensus as to what's OK and what isn't, and teachers themselves have mixed feelings. A recent survey by the Alberta Teachers' Association showed that there was 56 percent support for school-business partnerships and 40 percent support for accepting donations in exchange for public recognition. But only 16.5 percent supported exclusive sponsorship agreements. And a resounding 82.3 percent opposed advertising in schools. One respondent wrote, "This prostitutes our children's minds for bucks."

The most active watchdogs - people like Shaker and Robertson - say the biggest temptations are related to our society's love affair with technology. If a partnership involves schools receiving computers, televisions and satellite dishes, then school boards are eager to say yes. The most controversial example is the Youth News Network (YNN), which works like this: Schools get about $200,000 worth of technology in exchange for a contract that requires students to watch ten minutes of YNN's current affairs programming and 2 1/2 minutes of commercials. At the moment it's only being offered to secondary schools but rumours (impossible to substantiate) are rife that they plan to reach younger children.

Despite initial concerns about the commercialism of the venture - and there is still an active lobby against them - YNN is now making real headway. As one Calgary principal puts it, the drawbacks were ultimately viewed "through the lens of financial realism." It always comes back to cash.

Controversy is not what companies are looking for when they align themselves with a good cause, and for that reason some have chosen to put their dollars to work through a broker who understands both public sensitivities and educators' needs. Some, such as Toronto-based Classroom Connections, operate on a not-for-profit basis, claiming to match corporate clients with responsible, ethical, educationally valid projects. Often they create sponsored educational materials (SEMs), which are distributed free or at low cost to schools. The range of SEMs includes the good, the bad and the ugly, but even the idea makes Janice Harvey bristle. "Curriculum involvement is the most insidious of all."

Classroom Connections' unit on literacy, designed for parents of young children and paid for by UPS, gets top marks for being a hands-off sponsorship. The unit on money and banking gets a lower grade, since the Royal Bank's logo makes its way into the video in several places, and the expectation - made explicit in the teacher guide - is that students will visit not just any bank, but a Royal branch. And a unit on responsible pet care, sponsored by Ralston Purina Canada, clearly crosses the fine line parents and educators talk about constantly. Under the guise of a media project, students review promotional material from the company (which includes product coupons), are directed to its Web site, and design a responsible pet care ad that could earn the school a digital camera. A savvy teacher could include competitors' material and review the way Ralston Purina projects a warm, fuzzy image, but Classroom Connections has not written the curriculum from that perspective. It's all a bit too cozy.

The most problematic SEMs are those created by and about the companies themselves. This is particularly popular in industries facing a PR challenge, such as mining, nuclear energy and forestry. Canfor Corporation's Tree School primary lesson plans are full of value-laden statements: "In British Columbia our working forests provide jobs, products and many economic benefits. Stumpage fees and taxes help support our health care and education systems." Their description of forestry management is so gung-ho, children might actually believe that the industry's first priority is to provide a perfectly balanced ecosystem for future generations, rather than logging.

No discussion about school-business partnerships is complete without a look at the cola wars. Once upon a time schools had water fountains. Then some introduced vending machines, and in 1994 the former Toronto Board of Education entered into the first board-wide beverage contract in Canada, with Pepsi winning the tender. "It was a major issue when it first came up," says Brian Lenglet, comptroller of board services. "People were very concerned about nutritional issues, caffeine and the whole question of monopolies."

When several school boards in the Greater Toronto Area amalgamated in 1998, the vending machine issue came up again. But this time there was little debate about whether it was a good idea, only about how to negotiate the best deal. Lenglet says public opinion was muted - there were only three presentations made in opposition. (Schools can opt out of having a vending machine, and elementary schools can only sell juice and water unless the parent council approves soft drinks.) Coca-Cola won the day and board revenue rose from half a million to $1.8 million a year, which is divided between participating schools and system-wide initiatives, including the board's breakfast programs.

Lisa Widdifield understands why the pop machine protests have declined (many major urban boards have now succumbed). She's been active in persuading her own school board, Thames Valley District, to resist the temptation, but it's hard work and she's not convinced they'll hold off in the long run. "Parents are battling changes that are coming too fast. We have become reactionary because we don't have time to be proactive. It's impossible to keep up."

Perhaps for the same reason, public opinion seems to be shifting, too. A 1997 Environics survey reported a 74 percent disapproval rate for advertising in classrooms. But in 1999 Angus Reid asked a long, convoluted question about allowing advertising in classrooms in exchange for donations, and found 53 percent approval. Although likely answered by many who had insufficient information, it nevertheless demonstrates an increased willingness by Canadians to accept a Faustian bargain.

Last week there was a knock on my door. I live up a long country lane and don't get many unexpected visitors. I answered the door to my neighbour's ten-year-old son, Logan, complete with bike, helmet, a knapsack and rosy cheeks. He was selling chocolate bars for $2 to raise money for his school playground. I bought one immediately. A few years ago I might have said, "No thanks, Logan," but with everything I now know it seemed like such an uncomplicated way to support my local school.

October 2000