One M&M Plus Two M&Ms Equals ...
by Clay Risen

It is a problem we have been hearing about for years. Ad-laden Channel One on TV, Coke machines in the hallway, Microsoft-sponsored computers in the science lab — commercialism in education is nothing new. Nor is it likely to go away; despite the best efforts of groups like the Center for Commercial-Free Public Education, the grade-school set is just too lucrative a market for big corporations to ignore.

But recently there has been a new addition to the commercialism debate — the use of products and corporate symbols in educational materials for the very young. Say three, maybe four years old. Kindergarten, tops. "The Oreo Cookie Counting Book," "Skittles Riddles Math," "Kellogg's Froot Loops Counting Fun Book." Over the last two years "The Cheerios Play Book" has sold over 1.2 million copies, according to the New York Times.

It was really only a matter of time. Thanks to "The Teletubbies," the media world discovered a few years ago that just because a kid couldn't read or write or count, it didn't mean he or she couldn't be hooked up to a television. Companies have now figured out that this also doesn't prevent them from being marketed to.

And the idea is catching on. Teachers love the books because the kids pay more attention. Parents buy them in droves because they keep the kids quiet. Kids love them because, well, kids love all things sweet. And companies can't get enough — recently released are books using Hershey's Kisses, Pepperidge Farm Goldfish, Necco Wafers and Reese's Pieces.

Compounding the problem is the willingness of both proponents and opponents to lump this sort of marketing into the general debate over commercialized education. But the two could hardly be more different. Showing jaded high-school kids ads on Channel One every day just contributes one more level of commercialism to their daily media diet; teaching a very young child brand loyalty (and loyalty to sugary cereals, nonetheless) at the same time you teach them to count is another thing entirely.

Marketing to extremely young children can hardly be called marketing at all — it is more like consumer colonization. Children this young don't yet have a conception of what is good or bad for them; for most, good nutrition is still equated with Brussels sprouts and cabbage. According to a report by the American Academy of Pediatrics, "young children under 8 years of age developmentally are unable to understand the intent of advertisements and, in fact, accept advertising claims as true. ... The youngest viewers, up to age 8, cannot distinguish advertising from regular television programming." And in any case, teaching kids to do basic math by way of Froot Loops may be a "fun way to learn," and it may teach them that math is a good thing, but it will also teach them, on a really visceral, hard-wired level, that Froot Loops are good, too.

American-style marketing is an amazingly complex philosophy, having mutated over the past few decades to deal with things like consumer cynicism, conflicting brand loyalties and the explosion of irony as a cultural statement. It is designed to make even the most doubting of Thomases buy this or that product; how, then, can we expect kids just out of diapers to deal with this kind of promotion?

Commercialized education is a misnomer, if not an oxymoron. Education is supposed to be about teaching a child to think objectively, to use independent, rational thought in making decisions. But bundling education with products and corporate symbols makes one predisposed to favor things like consumption and materialism when making judgments. Not only are these things wrong in and of themselves, but by occupying such a central role in a child's thinking process, they negate the very purpose of education.

Of course, proponents of commercialism in education argue that this is no different from advertising outside of the classroom, that kids are showered with ads anyway, and, besides, we live in a media-savvy culture where kids have the mental defense mechanisms necessary to weed out that kind of schlock.

This is may be true for the average 15-year old, but what about the average four-year old? Would anyone argue that a pre-schooler is media savvy enough to avoid becoming a brand-loyal slave? What's more, what happens when these kids grow up — and forever associate math or spelling with Oreos and Skittles? Will they, in fact, be media savvy at all, or will they be so inculcated with brand loyalty that they get a craving for Froot Loops every time they pay the bills?

E-mail Clay Risen at risenc@yahoo.com.