There’s a blackboard in Carl Chew’s classroom at Eckstein Middle School. It’s a real blackboard, with chalk and everything; a replacement for the now standard whiteboard because of Chew’s allergies. Typically the board holds pictures Chew has drawn for his students, maybe an announcement or two. But in the week before WASL testing began the board held something different: a note informing his students that he wouldn’t be there over the period of testing. It asked them to be polite to the guest teacher, and wished them luck on the WASL.

Although many of his students were curious, most thought he had something important to do. A few thought he might have been sick. None thought he would be banned from being on Seattle Public School property.

In his eight years of teaching, Chew had observed the panic and breakdowns associated with the WASL, especially at Graham Hill Elementary, where he ‘s taught for three years. While teaching at Graham Hill, Chew taught many students for whom English was a second language, putting them at a disadvantage for the test. Other kids faced different obstacles, such as learning disabilities or just struggles with test-taking. When they found out their scores, they would be devastated. For some, the dismay was even worse when they learned that their score was within a range that could have been passing, due to the margin of error in grading.

Carl Chew knew that something had to be done. A week before test day, Chew sat at his desk and composed an email to the Eckstein staff that said, based on “personal, moral, and ethical grounds,” he could not support them in proctoring the WASL. He was going to refuse to give the test.

In the hubbub that followed, Chew issued a press release which included lists of why the WASL was bad for students, teachers, parents and schools. Each section has around five bulleted points with reasons like, “Teachers’ relationships with parents are compromised because they cannot talk freely with them about opting their child out or other WASL concerns,” or “Parents are not informed that the test is biased, culturally insensitive and irrelevant and not a real measure of anything.”

As Chew puts it: “If you don’t perform in a culture of testing, if you don’t produce the results, you lose.”

The convictions needed to take a stand against an institution like the WASL require a belief that what you’re doing is the right thing. Carl Chew is one of those lucky people who seem to be born with this: he is confident and eloquent yet neither cocky nor condescending. When he shows up to meet me at a Wallingford coffee shop, he is wearing a collared polo and khakis with flip-flops. The minute he introduces himself he hands me a white tube, opening a whole new dimension of himself: he’s an artist. In the tube, covered in colorful “artist stamps” of his design, is a print he has made with a poem he has written on it. The paper is autographed, with a personalized note to me.

In his 30 years making art, Chew has designed a Bumbershoot poster and Blue Dog Park in south Seattle, but his big project — one that took twelve years of his life — was making rugs in Nepal. After visiting and studying the technique, he and a Nepali friend built a small factory in which employees wove rugs he had designed. He managed to both monitor the factory and his family by spending his time going back and forth between Seattle and Nepal.

A decade later Chew is back in Seattle for good, and has settled down as a teacher at Eckstein Middle School. At 7:45 a.m. on Tuesday, April 15th, Eckstein teachers began to read the monotonous instructions: “We’re now going to take the Part 1 of the reading section of the Washington Assessment of Student Learning…” In Carl Chew’s room, students stared curiously at the note on his blackboard and their teacher, who had refused to pick up the tests that morning. Other than that, Chew acted normally. He welcomed his students and took attendance. His students did not know what he was planning.

Soon, Principal Whitworth and a school district administrator walked into the room. Without putting up a fuss, Chew said goodbye to his students and walked out. His students suspected he was off on an important mission.

“Well, what is it that you’re doing?” one student asked.

“I can’t tell you,” Chew said, “but you’ll find out soon enough. And I think you’ll be proud of me.”

Chew was escorted from the building, handed the address of the Science Materials Center in Fremont and told, “You need to go work there until we figure out what to do with you.” He met with school district lawyers Thursday afternoon, and the next morning he received an email from the superintendent, Dr. Goodloe-Johnson, informing him of his punishment.

Chew had not discussed his WASL protest with his wife and daughter, who were preparing to go to China with his daughter’s orchestra. When he told his wife, she immediately knew the implications. “I am way too stressed out right now to have one more thing in my life,” she said. His fourteen-year-old daughter, on the other hand, was proud. “My rebellious papa!” she cried, before giving him words of advice, namely that he should contact people who supported his cause. Chew did, getting in touch with the Parent Empowerment Network and Mothers Against WASL.

In the greater scheme of things, the verdict wasn’t so horrible. He could have been fired. But in Chew’s mind the punishment was horrific: two weeks suspension. It wasn’t about the money; it was the students that he’d miss.

One thing that should be understood is that Carl Chew was never asking for publicity. “This is not about me getting attention, this is about me saying there’s something wrong in the school system,” he says. But his connections at the Parent Empowerment Network sent out the press releases, and he’s done countless interviews in nearly every major Seattle media outlet. “Even if you never started out with an intention of getting any kind of publicity, the interviewers start to bring that out of you if they start to treat you like a celebrity,” he says. After only a few days he started to decline interview requests. He’d said all there was to say.

He’s since received emails from nearly all his own students and parents, and also from people all over the United States and Canada and New Zealand. His students have been putting up signs around the school with sayings such as “Chew on this,” although other teachers at Eckstein have been taking them down. Strangers sent him money to cover the lost salary, and some sent books that they’ve written on school reform. “It’s truly amazing what’s been happening because of this one tiny thing that I did,” he says.

Chew has also been receiving angry messages, which have led to some feelings of regret. “The face that you have to present to people as somebody in the public is many times a different face than what you feel inside,” he says. “Once you decide to do something, it’s really hard to backtrack, and I felt very strongly about it right up until the moment that I left the classroom.” Recently he realized that his original message was being hidden under the barrage of publicity and he needed to get back to his original act. And that act was simply “a small act about a stupid test that means nothing and causes a lot of people trouble.”

Chew’s greatest worry through all of this was only that he wouldn’t be able to return to the classroom, a sentiment he expressed many times throughout my time with him. Perhaps one of his favorite parts of the day is the morning, when he roams the halls with his button accordion. Although it’s a fun activity for him, he really does it to show students that they can be at school to learn but still have a good time.

In fact, even the learning part sounds like fun in Chew’s class. His students talk about issues, do investigations, look at pictures and read things. And then he’ll throw a test at them. They won’t be warned of the test, but it is always open book and open partner. That way, when Chew grades them, he can see what students are still confused about. Since his goal is for them to learn, they’re often allowed to correct their answers and turn it back in for more credit. He describes the entire process as a learning experience. “The more learning you cram into the day, the better. The WASL is totally lost to any kind of learning. I think standardized testing is bad. Period. But do I think assessment is important? Absolutely.”

As for his act, Chew thinks it was a “pretty good shot.” He says many people have written to him and said he’s put a crack in “the foundation of what people are being imprisoned by and struggling behind.” But can anything really shake such as large an institution as the WASL? Who knows. Chew just hopes other teachers and parents will find ways to speak up, and in the meantime he’d like to get back to teaching.