Category: Educator Blog

Sometimes it only takes 30 minutes to set the stage for an entire school year.

When I introduced the Constitution and the Bill of Rights to my 8th graders, they were overwhelmed. Some of them even looked like they wanted to give up before we really began. Honestly, I could understand why. Navigating proclamations written by colonial bureaucrats nearly 250 years ago would be intimidating for almost anyone. 

But these documents contain ideas and ideals that served as the foundation of our nation, so I wanted students to engage with them directly instead of just hearing about them from me. As part of the Civic Star Challenge, I created a scavenger hunt to help students explore the documents on their own.

After a brief primer on the primary sources, I gave the students a map, of sorts: a series of prompts that guided their search. Then they started digging. The first part of the hunt was a scramble, in which they had to organize the parts of the Constitution in order of appearance. Then they had to examine the documents for the answers to 20 questions, including:

• Which branch’s powers are defined in Article II?
• What are the qualifications for being president?
• What does the judicial power extend to?
• What is the 10th Amendment?
• What are the five freedoms guaranteed by the 1st Amendment?

Many of the students’ discoveries led to questions of their own. For example, they wanted to understand the differences between the 9th and 10th Amendments. And they were shocked to discover that the 1st is about more than free speech. As we talked about freedom of expression, they wanted to know how that right extended to a school setting. That, of course, brought us to Tinker v. Des Moines Independent Community School District. Many of these students are getting their first phones, while also being required to check them at the classroom door. So they had a lot of questions about the places where freedoms, laws, and social norms collide. I could see the connections they were making, like little light bulbs popping up over all of their heads!

When we embarked on this brief activity, it quickly became clear how little the students knew about how the government works. But focusing deeply on the sources, they were able to both learn and retain the information they encountered. And I’ve seen them apply it in almost every conversation that’s followed. They get so excited when they remember things! Of course, I do too! 

In honor of the 250th, I challenged myself to incorporate the Declaration into every unit I’m teaching. From the western expansion to the Industrial Revolution to the Civil War, we’re looking at the text to understand the historical moments that tested the ideals set forth within it. We’re also looking at the movements it helped inspire. One especially meaningful moment came during our study of the Seneca Falls Convention. Students noticed how carefully the authors of the Declaration of Sentiments echoed Jefferson’s language when they wrote that “all men and women are created equal.”

They immediately understood why those words mattered.

My middle school students understand that I have high expectations and that I’ll show up consistently and authentically—whether we’re working together in class or running into each other at church. And even though they yearn for independence, I know they also crave that relationship. It’s a priority for me too. Trust is key to ensuring my classroom is a place where they can feel safe honing their ideas and trying out new ones. That’s what civics—and the Civic Star Challenge—is all about, especially as we near the country’s 250th birthday.

This is a moment to consider the ways we’re living up to the ideals in the Declaration of Independence and our other founding documents. That’s what two great American writers were doing in 1852. It’s the year Harriet Beecher Stowe published Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Frederick Douglass delivered his speech “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” These were two people with starkly different backgrounds, but who shared a faith in their nation’s potential.

Drawing on a lesson from the Four Question Method, my 8th grade US history class analyzed key passages from each text.

Students were especially struck by what pushed Stowe to write Uncle Tom’s Cabin. After losing her young son to cholera, she reflected on the grief enslaved mothers experienced when their children were taken from them.

We discussed Stowe’s admission that she had once avoided thinking deeply about slavery because it felt too painful to confront. By the end of the novel, she directly challenges readers to act against the Fugitive Slave Act, appealing to them as parents and Christians.

It’s as if she’s looking her readers directly in the eye.

That was what Douglass was doing as he delivered his landmark speech to the Rochester Ladies’ Anti-Slavery Society. He is blistering in his critique of the July 4th holiday, calling it “a sham,” its “shouts of liberty and equality” nothing but “hollow mockery.” But what surprised students most was how the speech ended.

“I do not despair of this country. There are forces in operation, which must inevitably work the downfall of slavery. “The arm of the Lord is not shortened,” and the doom of slavery is certain. I, therefore, leave off where I began, with hope. While drawing encouragement from the Declaration of Independence, the great principles it contains, and the genius of American Institutions, my spirit is also cheered by the obvious tendencies of the age. No abuse, no outrage … can now hide itself from the all-pervading light.”

My students immediately recognized that Douglass was opening himself up to great personal risk by speaking out, and they marveled at his decision to use his public platform in this way. We also discussed how Douglass was able to criticize his country, while loving it ardently. This ability to consider two competing truths simultaneously—with rigor and respect—is one of the most valuable lessons civics can offer us.

Ultimately, my goal is to help my students notice that both Stowe and Douglas are profoundly hopeful. They refused to turn away from the darkness of their time and in facing it, helped push our country forward. To me, hope is a theme that is woven throughout our nation’s story. Even – or perhaps especially—when it is difficult to see, these great American voices remind us and future generations it’s worth declaring.

I’ve been teaching for more than 20 years, but this year is my first teaching 7th grade civics. So over the summer, I went on a hunt for resources that would engage those students. I love using immersive activities like mock trials, escape rooms, and simulations to help them connect theory with experience. When I discovered the game Race to Ratify, I knew I’d found something good. We played it recently, as part of the Civic Star Challenge.

The game takes place in 1787-1789, right after the Constitution is written, during the debate over whether the states should ratify it. Players travel across the 13 states, interviewing different people to gather arguments to create pamphlets that support either the Federalists or Anti-Federalists. They might encounter a farmer who’s worried about taxation and federal power, or an enslaved person who raises questions about whose rights the Constitution protects. As they gather these myriad perspectives, the game really drives home how difficult it was to rally support. 

After each conversation, the player gets an “argument token” they can use for their pamphlet. Then they must carefully evaluate which arguments will allow them to build their case and lead to a favorable vote. On more than one occasion, a student admitted “Mr. Knox, I’m starting to run out of evidence to support my side!” That led to some good conversations around strategy: Have you talked to the right people? How might you best use the evidence you have left to make your argument?

I was surprised to see several students enthusiastically lobbying against the Constitution—but maybe I shouldn’t have been! Seventh grade is often when students begin testing ideas more independently. They are asking: What do I think? What do I believe? What would I change if I could? These questions lead naturally to: How can things be different? As they tried out a counter-factual narrative of history, I knew they were starting to see how their own actions will impact the next chapter of our nation’s story. 

I find that so exciting. So much of what we focus on in the study of history is the timeline of events: here’s what happened, here’s what happened, here’s what happened. Race to Ratify reminds us that each of those things happened because a person or a group made a choice. Each decision we make has a domino effect, which is why it’s so important for us to carefully consider the impact of our choices.

Civics lessons are often about laws passed on the state and federal levels, and elections my students won’t vote in for years. Here in middle school, we don’t have laws, per se, but we do have policies that students can shape right now. In my class, we’re learning how to build a strategy. Students chart the steps: here’s the change I’d like to make; here’s the information I need to learn and evidence I need to gather; here are the change agents I need to engage; and here’s how I would convince them to join my initiative. These become the building blocks for 12 and 13-year-olds to truly engage in civics.

In my classes, I strive to create an interconnected narrative, each topic building upon the next. 

We start by analyzing the Declaration of Independence and the Preamble. The language and ideas in these documents become the golden thread that pulls us through the school year – and through America’s story.

I ask my students to be part of that story.

The Civic Star Challenge inspired me to develop a lesson in which students apply the concepts in the Declaration to the push/pull factors around immigration – specifically, the experience of immigrants on Angel Island. Unlike Ellis Island, Angel Island was often used to restrict immigration, especially from Asia, and to enforce laws such as the Chinese Exclusion Act. Many people who arrived there faced long detentions, harsh questioning, discrimination, and dehumanizing treatment. I wanted students to consider: if they were pulled to this country for a better life, what would they feel if their first encounter with America was such blatant mistreatment? 

We stepped into that experience through a virtual field trip to the Angel Island Immigration Station (which we accessed through the California State Parks’ PORTS program). Our ranger guide brilliantly led us through the museum, really listening to the students along the way. We saw the rooms where immigrants slept and spotted Chinese poetry carved into the walls – a small act of resistance. 

Every single class period, students asked “why would the immigrants still choose to come?” They were learning that the promise of American ideals were strong enough for immigrants to take incredible risks. At the same time, they were able to reflect upon the historical forces that would degrade these ideals and imagine how it would feel to be caught up in their negation. After the visit, some students wrote about the shock immigrants must have felt when, at the end of the long journey in search of a better life, they were met with invasive interrogations, onerous paperwork, and very little privacy. One student drew the image of money locked behind a barbed-wire gate, to show how immigrants discovered that the dream of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” wasn’t free.

This is a complicated concept for students in middle school, but I was thrilled to watch them considering it with nuance and depth. They recognized that while the discrimination immigrants faced challenged the idealism they might have had when they arrived, it may have also made them even more determined to succeed here. Many of my students have immigration stories in their own families, so this lesson felt especially personal. But even for students without that direct connection, Angel Island helped them see a larger civic truth: American ideals matter most when we ask who has been allowed to claim them, and who has had to fight for them.

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.