“Jonathan. Can you tell me which president delivered the Gettysburg Address, please?”

Jonathan stares at the desk in front of him. You wait. And wait. And wait. After the agonising torture of the seven seconds we now call “take-up time” has passed, you ask again.

“Jonathan? Remember the photograph of the American president we looked at last lesson? What was his name?”

Jonathan slowly raises his head to face you. His eyes, although they are now level with yours, avoid your gaze. You shift awkwardly to the left in the hope that you can make eye contact with him. Contact is made, but still nothing is said. Despite the fact that you want to smash your face into the nearest hard object, you smile sympathetically.

“Nothing?”

Jonathan frowns slightly, presumably at himself, rather than you and mumbles in a tone which perhaps only whales can hear, “Nah.”

Which is kind of annoying. Not because Jonathan didn’t know the answer. Of course he knows the answer - you’re an amazing teacher and Jonathan spends all his free time revising after taking pity on you after that time you fell off the table during your Dead Poets Society routine at the beginning of the year. It’s annoying because you spoke to him with respect and he spoke to you with, well, no respect. He ignored you and then he grunted a barely audible version of the words which most human beings learn before all others: “No.”

Different types of shy pupils

Jonathan is just one of a number of students who don’t communicate with adults appropriately. They’re the students who ignore you when you give a cheery, “Hello!” in the corridor. They’re the students who mumble “Here”, instead of “Yes, Miss” when answering the register. They’re the students who just stare at you blankly when you ask them a question, rather than explain, “Sorry sir. I can’t remember the answer to that one.”

Of course, for some students, there are valid reasons for this inability to communicate. Some students’ visual and hearing impairments may make it difficult for them to see or hear that you are addressing them. Other students may have genuine anxiety issues, which makes communication, however low-stakes, difficult in a public forum. In these cases, teachers must work with the special educational needs and disability (SEND) department and come up with a plan for giving these students the help, encouragement - and personalised care required to help them one day communicate in a way that will help them get the best from the adult world we are ultimately preparing them for. For other students, difficult circumstances at home could affect a child’s willingness to talk. In this instance, you’re going to have to liaise with the pastoral leads.

Quietly disruptive

For those students who do not have a SEND related explanation for their poor communication skills, there can only be, as far as I can tell, one of three reasons for not responding to being addressed by an adult appropriately. They’re introverted by nature, they’re shy, or, they’re being rude.  All of these students, via their shared practice of monosyllabic mutterings, or reluctance to speak at all, can be termed as “quiet”.

Quiet kids, if we allow them to continue being quiet, are disrupting their own chances of success. In the adult world, the ability to communicate is a valuable skill. And I’m not saying that everybody needs to be a master of oratory and rhetoric. But at the very least, success is founded upon the ability to articulate yourself clearly - even if it is to say, “I’m sorry. I don’t know the answer to that question” - and respond with a greeting or a courtesy when you are offered one yourself. If classroom chatter is “low-level disruption” then, when one considers the job interviews, dates, and encounters that could go awry because of a lack of a basic ability to communicate,  classroom muteness is a form of “high-level disruption”.

As teachers, it’s easy to be quiet with the quiet kids. We don’t want to embarrass them. Because we care, we don’t want to put them on the spot. But in truth, in not trying to bring them out of themselves, we could be hindering their chances of success later in life.  Next time a quiet kid ignores you, or mumbles at you, have a word with them at the end of the lesson, or in the playground, and clearly and politely explain your expectations of them next time. Explain that you’re trying to prepare them for a future. Set a small target. This lesson’s “Nah”, could be next lesson’s “No.” And next lesson’s “No” could become next week’s “No sir. I’m afraid I don’t know that one.” There’s no harm in being shy or quiet. But rudeness, in whatever form, is cacophonous.

Matt Pinkett is a head of English in the South-East of England. He tweets at @Positivteacha

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