Month: April 2026

Dear Educators,

They say it’s cheesy to start a letter with a pun, but honestly? I think you all are just grate. 🧀

As we kick off Teacher Appreciation Week (May 4–8, 2026), we want to take a moment to pause and recognize the heart of our iCivics community: you!

As Director of Educator Engagement here at iCivics, it’s a true privilege to work alongside such dedicated, thoughtful educators. The resilience, initiative, and care you show for your peers and students shape everything we create. Whether you are new to the profession or have spent years in the classroom, your commitment shows up in ways both big and small.

Beyond fostering curiosity and independent thought, you are helping build a healthier, more engaged democracy, one student at a time. That impact is not lost on us. Your work fuels our sense of purpose and keeps us grounded in what matters most. We know the communities, families, and young people you serve feel that same impact every day.

We also recognize that your time and energy are constantly in demand. While we can’t solve every challenge, we remain committed to supporting you in meaningful ways. Even as summer approaches and classrooms wind down, our work at iCivics is ramping up. We’re preparing for what we hope will be a strong, supportive start to the next school year.

We’ve heard your insights and feedback, and in that spirit, we’re excited to share a preview of what’s ahead:

A more intuitive iCivics experience
We’re working on a new way to find what you need in our vast library of resources, making it easier to send and track student assignments.

New ways to engage students
We’re partnering with a well-loved gaming company to bring you something exciting.

Expanding content
This fall, be on the lookout for some brand-new resources to help you teach the rule of law.

Thank you for being part of the iCivics community. Your ideas, your feedback, and your daily efforts shape not only your classrooms but the future we’re all working toward together.

Happy Teacher Appreciation Week! The iCivics staff, board, and donors are deeply grateful for all that you do each and every day.

Warmly,

Natacha Scott, Director of Educator Engagement

I teach history as the story of people making choices and living with the consequences. But one of the biggest challenges I find in telling that story is apathy in the audience; students pick up the “why bother” attitude from wider culture. So I try to start local—hyper local, even—by framing lessons around school, friend groups, and real choices students face. 

For the Civic Star Challenge, I created a lesson around one line from the Declaration of Independence: governments derive “their just powers from the consent of the governed.” The lesson had three parts: a quick, relatable hook (“What rules would you keep if you ran your ideal school or friend group?”); a close read of an annotated excerpt; and small‑group scenarios work with choice‑based roles. During that last part, students debated classroom policies and social dilemmas: “If the majority of your friend group votes to exclude someone, but you don’t, does that still count as consent?”

As the discussion deepened, one student suddenly said, “So it’s like America isn’t just something we have. It’s something we all have agreed to keep going.” That comment completely shifted the tone of the room. Students began connecting the idea of the “social contract” not just to 1776, but to their own lives. They saw it in the daily balance between personal freedom and responsibility to others. The Declaration became more than a dusty document; the students understood it as a living principle, a blueprint for creating community and cooperation today. 

The students decided consent in friendships is ongoing, that belonging involves trade‑offs (such as privacy and spontaneity), and that legitimacy needs clear information and fair processes. They also pointed out instances where consent breaks down, such as when someone accepts online terms without reading them. They even suggested reparative steps, including apologies, new norms, and stepping away, that mirrored civic remedies. 

Middle schoolers often don’t get enough credit for what they can understand. But I was impressed by how quickly they pulled 18th century ideas into modern situations. That transfer showed me that giving students clear, relatable stakes can turn apathy into agency and prove to them that civic life matters to everyone—not just old people!

At Nicolaus Copernicus School, our curriculum is demanding. My mission is to ensure that the challenge is met with excitement. To achieve this, I transform traditional lectures into interactive experiences. By integrating game mechanics like point systems, collaborative team missions, and healthy competition, I aim to turn every unit into a quest for knowledge.

Recently, as part of the Civic Star Challenge, I set out to turn the concept of taxation without representation into a felt, lived experience. I wanted my students to move from passive observers of history to active participants, feeling the colonists’ frustration and shifting from learning about liberty to demanding it.

So I built a physical simulation designed to spark a visceral reaction. I turned our classroom into a microcosm of the British Empire. I began taxing the very supplies the students needed to function as scholars. A stamp was required for everything: notebook paper, access to a pencil sharpener, and even the “luxury” of using a chair. The taxation wasn’t just a discussion; it was an active, bureaucratic obstacle. Each time they reached for a supply, I acted as the Crown’s agent, demanding their “stamps” before they could proceed. At first, there were giggles, but as their currency (merit points they had earned through gamification) dwindled, the mood shifted to genuine indignation.

The real aha moment happened when we transitioned from the Stamp Act to the Boston Tea Party. They realized that their hard-earned points and labor were being taken by a power (me, the teacher) who hadn’t consulted them on the rules—and that I could change those rules at any time. When we reached the First Continental Congress, the classroom literally erupted. It wasn’t just noise; it was organized dissent. Students who were usually quiet were suddenly at the front of the room, drafting petitions and arguing that the rules of our classroom needed to be a social contract, not a monarchy.

During our debrief, we explored the fine line between loyalty and liberty. The students began to articulate that loyalty is a choice made in exchange for fairness, and liberty is the right to have a say in one’s own destiny. Seeing their eyes bright with the understanding that ordinary people—farmers, shopkeepers, even 5th graders—could challenge the most powerful empire on Earth was the highlight of the year. 

They realized history isn’t something that just happens to people; it is something people create.