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Oregon health and education officials have a problem. Voters gave them $17 million last year and told them to do the near-impossible: persuade kids not to suck nicotine into their lungs. As any adolescent can tell you, harping on health risks doesn't do much for a group of people who feel they are immortal. Kids today, like kids of the '70s and '80s, know that cigarettes cause cancer. It didn't stop their parents from smoking. It won't stop them. "They are not ignorant," says Marilyn Richen, a Portland Public Schools spokeswoman. "I was surprised at how much they knew. That didn't affect their decision making, which is a little disappointing." A month before the state is poised to dump millions of cigarette tax dollars into anti-smoking education, many teachers haven't figured out that showing kids pictures of blackened lungs isn't enough. They'd do well to listen to Dave Goerlitz. Instead of telling students that cigarettes are bad for them (duh), he tells them something that really catches their attention--the people who make cigarettes think kids are stupid. Shortly after lunch hour on a Wednesday late last month, more than 500 students from three middle schools converged on the auditorium of Madison High School in Northeast Portland. Junior-sized cotton T-shirts bearing the monikers of Abercrombie & Fitch, Calvin Klein and Tommy Hilfiger attested to the effectiveness of age-specific advertising on America's youth. Ironically, the seventh- and eighth-graders had assembled to listen to a Madison Avenue dropout. Goerlitz, the former "Winston Man," was on hand to talk about his years as a tobacco model and former smoker. Goerlitz, who appeared in dozens of Winston ads in the '80s, has since suffered a cigarette-induced stroke that left him unable to taste food. He now spends his time taking his tobacco-prevention message to middle-school children across the country. His Portland trip was sponsored by Oregonians for Tobacco-free Kids, a group that works with the American Heart Association. Despite his smoking-related health problems, Goerlitz bypassed the tired medical refrain. "I refuse to tell you what you already know," he told the crowd. "It's an insult to your intelligence." Instead, Goerlitz offered a quick-paced insider view--laced with humor and double-entendre--of the advertising machine that cigarette companies use to "seduce young boys and girls." On this day, however, it was Goerlitz who had captured the youth's attention, as he explained how cigarette companies are desperately trying to lure a new generation of smokers. "It's a perverted thing, isn't it?" he said. Most of the kids nodded in agreement. All Oregon students, at some point, are told that smoking isn't good for them. At least state education officials hope so. There is no specific requirement that schools teach about the evils of nicotine, but it's assumed the topic is discussed in state-mandated health classes or drug and alcohol education. While we can be reasonably sure that Oregon students are getting some anti-smoking lessons, there's no way of knowing how effective the lessons are. Peggy Holstedt, a state school-health specialist, says that, among Oregon's 220 school districts, there are "220 different ways it's being done." In Portland, most of the anti-smoking education takes place in high school, where students are required to take a year of health classes. "The expectation is that tobacco will be included," says Deanne Larsell, a prevention specialist who works with the roughly 100 schools in the Portland Public School District. Larsell says that some instructors are very creative in the ways they approach anti-tobacco education, but she concedes that a lot of health teachers still rely on the pictures of black lungs. "There are some great resources out there, and we're trying to get schools interested," she says. "But with 100 schools, it's tough." Goerlitz's Madison High lecture, however, offers some insights. Hearing him harp on the media manipulations of politically powerful tobacco companies, one envisions an anti-smoking curriculum where the pictures of cancer-ridden lungs are supplemented with lessons in economics, politics and media criticism. If a team of teachers explained the "every-dollar-spent-is-a-vote" maxim to teen-age consumers, kids might begin to boycott an industry that lies to them about the dangers of smoking. "Wait a minute," says Jill Thompson of the American Cancer Society when approached with this idea. "You're talking about integrated curriculum. That's out of our jurisdiction." Unfortunately, it seems to be out of everyone's jurisdiction. Holstedt, of the state Department of Education, says it's no secret that tobacco education has too long been relegated to the health class. Sure, she says, it would be great if teams of teachers would get together to get beyond the well-known health risks. The problem, she says, is inertia. "Nobody wants to change their lesson plans," she says. "We can't get them interested." Grant High Principal Toni Hunter says tobacco education at the Northeast Portland school is pretty much confined to health class. She agrees that an integrated curriculum makes sense. "We probably should be addressing it, but this is what we have," she says. "This is how we teach health right now." The state's massive education overhaul in 1991 offered a chance to change that. While lawmakers crafted specific guidelines as to what Oregon students must learn in math, science and languages, they chickened out when it came to setting standards for health education. "They weirded out because of sex education," says Larsell. As a result, the new Certificates of Initial Mastery don't have any specific requirement that anti-smoking education be given at all, let alone that it be dragged out of health class and into social studies, political science or economics. Now, the state is poised to drop a bundle of cash on anti-smoking classes, with no guarantee that it will be spent effectively. Last year, Oregon voters passed Measure 44, tacking a 30-cent increase on every pack of cigarettes sold. Ninety percent of the revenue was earmarked to expand the Oregon Health Plan, with the remainder devoted to anti-smoking education. Starting in January, the state Health Division will dole out a portion of the money to school districts that partner up with local health departments. To receive money, the school districts will have to submit proposals that meet the Health Division's seven standards, such as involving parents and community members. Exactly how schools foster parental involvement is up to them, and it's unclear how the programs will be evaluated. Still, despite the lack of accountability, anti-smoking advocates and school officials welcome the chance to get more money. It takes a lot of time to integrate education programs, says Hunter. She says that Grant used to have a tobacco-awareness course that touched briefly upon the socioeconomic impacts of cigarettes in society. That class was cut during this year's budget crunch. Over at district headquarters, Larsell is hopeful that new funds for tobacco education will bring back classes like the one cut at Cleveland and produce even more efforts at moving beyond health risks. "Now that we have the financial resources," she says, "we can encourage teachers to find some creative ways to get the word out." |
