My journey as an educator (1940s–2009):

1. Early Schooling — External Control Psychology (1940s–1960) 

I was a child of the 1940s, educated in a time when schooling was built on certainty, obedience and external control. I completed my Leaving Certificate in 1960 at a classical boys’ high school where rugby and swimming were compulsory, uniforms mattered, and discipline was unquestioned. Subjects were traditional—English, History, French, Latin, Mathematics, Physics and Chemistry—delivered through memorization, repetition and competition. Shakespeare was learnt by rote; scientific formulae were committed to memory and reproduced in examinations. 

Primary schooling reflected the same expectations. Classes commonly exceeded forty students. There was no library. Tables to 12× were mastered early, spelling bees rewarded strong readers, and public comparison was normal. Children had considerable independence—we walked home for lunch and travelled alone on public transport—yet inside classrooms, authority was absolute and teacher‑centred. 

At the time, this contradiction was invisible. External control worked because it was never questioned. 

Teacher training in the early 1960s simply reproduced this model. Motivation meant competition; behaviour management relied on fear, shame and punishment. Writing lines, public reprimands, exclusion from class and the cane were considered legitimate tools. Reflection, student voice and internal motivation were absent concepts. Responsibility for learning rested entirely with the teacher. 

2. Early Professional Disquiet — Relationships and Belonging (1960s–1970s) 

My early career took me from NSW city schools to rural and remote settings, including one‑teacher schools and mixed‑age classrooms. Later, eight years in Papua New Guinea proved pivotal. In isolated, culturally diverse communities with limited resources, rigid control was both impractical and ineffective. 

Students engaged when learning was purposeful, active and relational. Movement, sport, music, agriculture, culture and shared responsibility mattered more than discipline systems. When students felt respected, trusted and capable, behaviour problems diminished.

Although I lacked a theoretical framework, I could see that learning flourished where relationships were strong—what Glasser defined as addressing the need for *belonging*. 

Returning to Australia in the mid‑1970s, I found classrooms largely unchanged. Corporal punishment remained available through education suppliers of canes. Curriculum was content‑heavy and teacher‑controlled, even as social change, migration, Indigenous education needs and family diversity were rapidly increasing. 

At Darwin Primary School, however, I worked with an energetic staff and supportive families. Parent‑led early reading programs hinted at a shift toward partnership. Professional studies introduced curriculum theory and raised uncomfortable questions: Why do schools do what they do? Who succeeds? Who fails? 

3. Leadership Without a Name — Lead‑Management in Practice (Late 1970s–Early 1980s) 

As principal of Jabiru Area School, I was supported to shape the school around participative decision‑making—unknown to me then as a clear example of Glasser’s *Lead‑Management*. A whole of school program, “Task Oriented Team Development” saw us on the way. Now staff debate and voted on key policies. Decisions were not imposed; they were owned. 

Parent engagement was exceptionally strong, and the school became a collaborative community. Having “skin in the game” mattered. 95% of families attended parent teacher sessions.

4. Encountering Glasser — A Conceptual Turning Point (Mid‑1980s) 

My postgraduate study at Flinders university led to a decisive intellectual shift when I encountered Dr William Glasser’s *Schools Without Failure*. For the first time, I had language for what I intuitively knew was wrong—and what might replace it. 

Glasser argued that behaviour is purposeful and internally motivated, driven by five basic needs: belonging, power, freedom, fun and survival. External control—threatening, blaming, punishing—destroys relationships and produces only short‑term compliance. Quality learning requires quality relationships and meaningful work, judged through self‑evaluation. 

The critical question shifted from: 
“How do I make students behave?” to: “Is the work worthwhile, and is the relationship strong enough to support learning?” 

Research with a school‑based colleague using Glasser’s *Classroom Meeting Model* confirmed this shift. A previously ‘difficult’ Year 5 class made significant progress over ten weeks. Owen, a principal sceptical that a meeting style could be useful, became a committed advocate for Glasser. Students labelled “problems” responded positively when given responsibility and voice he reported.

5. Systemic Implementation — ANZAC Hill High School (Late 1980s–2000s) 

A most comprehensive implementation of Choice Theory occurred at ANZAC Hill High School, a newly established junior high in Alice Springs. From inception, the school deliberately rejected fear‑based compliance and *Boss‑Management*. 

Governance, curriculum, assessment and discipline were developed through collective inquiry and shared decision‑making. A clear, staff‑owned “bottom‑line” discipline policy existed, but restoration over time replaced this punishment. Suspensions were rare because students were taught to reflect on choices and consequences. 

Assessment shifted fundamentally. Grades and rankings were removed. In their place were clear standards, negotiated learning levels and work‑based assessment.

Judgement moved from teacher to learner, aligning directly with Glasser’s insistence that *self‑evaluation is the heart of quality education*. 

6. Choice Theory in Action — Internal Control Psychology (2002 onwards) 

Formal Choice Theory training after 2002 unified staff, students and families. A shared language developed: needs, quality work, internal control, choice and responsibility. Training was voluntary initially, later whole‑school. Engagement deepened as outcomes became visible. 

Curriculum became flexible and integrated. Teachers designed thematic units within broad outcomes, responsive to student interests and local contexts. Mixed‑ability and multi‑age groupings normalized diversity and removed failure labels. 

Suspension rates dropped dramatically while attendance rose. Academic outcomes improved, particularly for Indigenous students endorsing the vision statement, “Apurte Akultye-irretyeke – Learning Together” and School Council leadership became genuinely representative, with Indigenous voices prominent and leading.

The most significant change was a confirmed cultural shift. Monitoring gave way to reflection. Teachers evaluated the impact of their instruction. Students evaluated effort and learning. Leaders evaluated relationships and systems. 

Improvement became self‑sustaining because it was internally driven using a tool developed by staff for self-reflection and co-verification.

7. Resistance and Legacy — The Fragility of Reform 

Despite success, the school faced persistent external pressure. Authorities remained uncomfortable with low suspension rates and strong local autonomy. Repeated closure threats ultimately ended the school despite parent protests and student petitions.

Yet the legacy remains. ANZAC Hill High School demonstrated that Choice Theory is not an ‘add‑on’ program. It is a coherent framework aligning discipline, curriculum, assessment and leadership around responsibility and respect. 

8. Professional Conclusion — What This Journey Taught Me 

This journey—from external control to Choice Theory—confirmed a single enduring truth: 

Schools improve when they stop trying to control students and instead teach them how to control themselves. 

I learnt that

1. Self‑evaluation is not a soft option. It is the foundation of durable learning, ethical behaviour and professional growth. Choice Theory provides the structure through which this becomes possible. 
2. Educational reform is never merely technical. It is philosophical. We must know “why”. Once lived, belief cannot be unlearned. 

Serendipity and coincidence assisted. Would not have been recognised had we not been open always to and seeking more ways to engage our students.

A rewarding, short lived, once in a lifetime chance. — Coops 
Reflection, 20 April 2026