Argument of "The Silent Dialogue: Power and Pedagogy in Educating Other People's Children" by Lisa Delpit 

By April Federico

    Progressive teaching often avoids "direct instruction" because it feels too controlling. The solution that Delpit proposes is to not teach the "codes of power" is to act out of "power-blindness" that only hurts the very children teachers claim they want to help. In fact, there is a quote on page forty that highlights this solution: "I tell them that their language and cultural style is unique and wonderful and that there is a political power game that is also being played and if they want to be on that game there are certain games they too must play" (Delpit 40). 

As a former special education teacher, I once believed that direct instruction was inherently too controlling. I associated highly structured lessons, explicit modeling, and step-by-step skill practice with compliance rather than empowerment. I feared that by directly teaching students how to write in Standard English, follow rigid academic formats, or adhere to institutional norms, I would be asking them to conform to a system that had not been built for them. In my mind, open-ended, student-led learning felt more liberatory.

Reading Other People's Children by Lisa Delpit forced me to reconsider that assumption. Delpit argues that education must move beyond simply affirming students’ cultures and instead provide them with explicit access to the “codes of power” that govern academic and professional success. What I had framed as progressive resistance to control, she reframes as potential harm when it results in withholding critical knowledge.

Delpit makes another provocative claim on page 40, “I do not believe that political change toward diversity can be effected from the bottom up […] we must take the responsibility to teach, to provide for students who do not already possess them, the additional codes of power” (Delpit 40). This statement unsettled me. As a special educator, I wanted my classroom to be a space of equity and voice. But Delpit suggests that equity without access is incomplete. If we do not explicitly teach the rules of the dominant culture (e.g., academic language, behavioral expectations, institutional navigation) we leave those rules invisible. And invisible rules benefit only those who were already born knowing them.

In special education, many of my students were navigating multiple layers of marginalization such as disability, race, language, and class. By resisting direct instruction, I believed I was protecting their autonomy. Yet Delpit’s argument reveals a difficult truth: access is the prerequisite for change. If students from marginalized backgrounds never learn to “play the game,” they will never reach the gatekeeping points: high school diplomas, college degrees, and leadership roles where they would actually have the power to challenge and reshape the system. Avoiding explicit teaching does not dismantle power; it simply ensures that only the already privileged can navigate it fluently.

Delpit’s “both/and” approach offers a reframing that feels especially relevant in special education. We must validate students’ home languages, communication styles, and identities. Their ways of being are not deficits. But we must also demystify the dominant codes. Teaching essay structure, professional email etiquette, IEP advocacy language, or how to interpret a rubric is not assimilation, it is transparency. For many students with learning disabilities, clarity and direct modeling are not oppressive; they are supportive. Explicit instruction can reduce anxiety, eliminate guesswork, and build confidence.

From this perspective, what I once labeled as “too controlling” becomes something different: intentional access-building. Direct instruction, when paired with cultural respect and affirmation, is not about silencing students. It is about ensuring they understand the rules well enough to choose how and when to follow them and, eventually, how to change them.

Delpit ultimately challenges educators like the former version of myself to examine our intentions versus our impact. Refusing to teach the codes of power may feel ideologically pure, but it risks perpetuating inequity. Teaching “the game” explicitly, while affirming students’ identities, does not surrender to the system. It is preparation for agency and, ultimately, liberation.

This article by Rebecca Crutchley sufficiently outlines the importance of not taking away the agency of children.