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Teaching civics at a career technical school is sometimes an exercise in translation. Wayne County Schools Career Center hosts 26 programs for high school juniors and seniors; from animal science to culinary arts to sports medicine, it really runs the gamut. My students are sometimes skeptical that knowing about government will help them excel in their trades. I like to say, “You may not need the Pythagorean theorem every day, but you do need to know your constitutional rights! You need to know what the law is!” And it’s my mission to show them why.

I do that by bringing the trades into my lessons. With criminal justice students, we connect the Bill of Rights to the work they hope to do. With nursing students, we talk about Medicare, Medicaid, and the policies that shape patient care. With students in service fields, we talk about the rules, rights, and responsibilities that affect the people they will serve. And we talk about how WCSCC, itself, resembles our country in its earliest years: here, students from a dozen other schools come together in pursuit of a common goal.

One way I build that bridge is by helping students see civics in the places they already know.

Sometimes it’s helpful to see the connections on paper—specifically, on maps of our region. As part of the Civic Star Challenge, I built a series of classes based on the Northwest Ordinance and Ohio’s path to statehood. Students aren’t used to using physical maps these days – they look on their phones for directions. So it was a bit of a novelty when we broke out maps of Wayne County and I asked them to start plotting coordinates. They were struck by the tidy grid of our 16 townships, each 6 by 6 miles. That framework is lasting evidence of the Land Ordinance of 1785. 

I pointed out that Section 16 of each of these townships was reserved for public education. Why? Because the founders understood that if people are going to live in a republic of self-government, it would be vitally important that they have access to education. And so, we can connect the Northwest Ordinance to the free public education enshrined in the Ohio Constitution.

I also explained that the way each township is zoned determines whether you live next to a farm, a store, a factory, or a new housing development. And of course, each township has a trustee. When my students turn 18, they will not just vote for president. They will vote for local leaders who make decisions that shape the roads, land, services, and neighborhoods around them.

I see it as a calling to produce educated citizens. Although I couldn’t serve in the military like my siblings, teaching is a way I can fulfill my patriotic duty and keep our nation thriving for generations. If I can make the US Constitution feel tangible and alive to my students, they’ll be more likely to defend and preserve it. From time to time, I’ll get a letter or a message from a former student who is serving overseas and I’m reminded that civic education is not abstract. They understand that the Constitution is not just something we study. It is something people serve, protect, and carry with them. That makes me incredibly proud. That is what I want for all of my students, whether they become nurses, mechanics, chefs, public servants, business owners, or members of the military. I want them to see that civics is not separate from their lives. It is part of the communities they will work in, vote in, serve in, and help shape.

My students love learning and they excel academically. And recently, I discovered that they also have a flair for the dramatic.

It was the beginning of the school year. As part of the Civic Star Challenge, I adapted a unit created by my mentor Jeannie Holloway. The goal was to help students see that the Constitution did not appear out of nowhere. It grew out of real arguments about power, rights, government, and human nature. I kicked things off with a short video introducing the Enlightenment thinkers: it’s a lecture/infographic featuring Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, Montesquieu, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and others.

Then I asked the students to become those thinkers. In groups, they wrote skits that placed the philosophers in contemporary, sometimes wacky scenarios. Then they grabbed their scripts and got on their feet.

We were transported to a pizza parlor, where the thinkers tried to decide the best way to split a pizza – an allegory for the separation of powers. (Hobbes also argued that putting pineapple on pizza was evil.) Then we visited an extravagant hotel restaurant, where they debated effective leadership over pancakes. Another skit—considering life, liberty, and property—was set in a bank: Locke and Hobbes were security guards confronted by some would-be robbers, Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Montesquieu:

Montesquieu: (interrupting, now deeply focused on dividing the cash) Calm down, Hobbes. I’m simply restoring order—true order. (Starts separating the bills into neat piles.) Equal separation of power, just like how the government should work.

Hobbes: (near breakdown) This isn’t about power! You’re robbing the bank! We need strong laws, a king, someone in charge! Without that, everything falls into chaos—like this!

Rousseau: (shaking his head) Laws? Kings? Hobbes, you’ve been brainwashed by corrupt authority. Society is what corrupts people, not the other way around. We’re just taking back what society has stolen from us!

There were props (including tea cups and fake money), accents, and robust discussions after each performance.

America is a country founded on debate. Even the idea of establishing a federal government caused a vigorous disagreement, which continues to this day. I want students to understand that disagreement is not a problem to avoid. It is part of how our country was built. When students can step into different points of view, argue from them, and even laugh with them, they begin to see civic learning as something alive.

I’m the only teacher in Baltimore County Public Schools focused solely on Homeland Security. I sometimes describe the subject as “social studies with all the lessons coming from the last 30 years.” We mainly focus on the government response to threats – foreign, domestic, natural, and man-made. My classes are part of a pathway program that supports students as they explore a range of careers; from law enforcement to law school, even cyber security. 

My students are especially interested in understanding their own rights, including at school. They ask direct questions: Can our phones be tracked? When can a locker be searched? Where is the line?

We ground the answers to those questions in the Constitution itself. In my Law class, we spend a lot of time talking about the Bill of Rights. I was searching for a resource that could help tie together ideas from across the unit and the Civic Star Challenge led me to Accused? Know Your Rights. It was exactly what I was looking for. The lesson considers the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 8th Amendments using a variety of formats, including narrative, match, and personal reflection. It spoke to students with a range of abilities, and I was impressed by the very high percentage completion rate.

I look for ways to extend learning beyond the classroom. As it happens, our area is resource-rich in lawyers! So following the iCivics lesson, I invited one to visit our class. Students were able to ask about how the rights we’d been discussing applied in a court of law. They were shocked to learn that the Miranda Warning they’d heard so often on TV wasn’t a common issue. Why? The proliferation of body cameras. But perhaps the ubiquity in pop culture is also part of the Warning’s effectiveness: students almost instinctively know they have the right to remain silent and request a lawyer. Now they also understand where those rights come from.

This year marks the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. It’s also the 25th anniversary of 9/11. For this course, those connections are immediate. To deepen that learning, I plan to take students to the 9/11 Memorial and Museum in New York City next fall. We are raising funds by selling small American flags, with a goal of 2,977, one for each victim. Students are also creating a display to honor those lives. It’s a way to connect what we study in class to real people and real events.

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.