Craig Nicoletti is an AP® U.S. History teacher and Humanities Program Chair at Christian Brothers College High School in St. Louis.

The realization happened at our school’s open house. For weeks, our school had planned to “put our best foot forward,” preparing to welcome prospective students and their families on our campus in the hopes of having students choose our school for the upcoming year. At an all-boys private high school, these events matter. They’re the moment when families decide if this place will be where their sons will grow, learn, and thrive. The moment when prospective students decide whether this will be their school. 

Our social studies department felt good about where we could contribute to the showcase. We just reorganized our curriculum around skill development, added a few exciting electives, created some project-based experiences, and wrote an inspiring list of outcomes. Assigned to the social studies table, I pored over curriculum documents, drafted several versions, sought out feedback from colleagues and administrators, and cranked out what seemed like the perfect handout. At my table, I eagerly awaited the chance to engage parents and students in conversation about the importance of engaged citizenship and lifelong learning—two phrases that screamed off our department sheet in bold. I even printed the handouts in color, a rare honor reserved for only the most important of documents. 

But as the gym filled, my enthusiasm gave way to disappointment. Across the way, families crowded around our STEM display—their area buzzed like a learning arcade. Students jumped at the chance to try the racing simulator, strap on VR headsets, or take flight in the simulator cockpit. Parents leaned in with awe, whispering to one another, “I wish school was like this when I was in high school,” as they watched our students design, create, and immerse themselves in the learning. Meanwhile, I stood across the way, alone with my handouts and a full bowl of complimentary mints. 

The message was clear: STEM had found a way to make learning irresistible. And it wasn’t just the gadgets. The draw was that students were the ones demonstrating their learning—visibly, tangibly, proudly. STEM didn’t just tell its story; it allowed students to share theirs. 

STEM was engaging not only our visitors but the national imagination. Everywhere, it was hailed as the antidote to a stuffy, abstract education. Some of my social studies and English colleagues shrugged and said, “That’s just STEM. Our disciplines require knowing before doing.” 

But what if we were wrong? I thought. What drew students to STEM wasn’t the learning gadgets. It was the expression of critical thinking, creativity, and collaboration. And that’s exactly what the humanities do best, I thought. We shine in these important areas hailed as twenty-first-century skills. So, we didn’t need to mimic STEM’s arcade. We needed our own model—a learning festival. 

A festival is a celebration of voices, stories, and community. It’s a place where projects are performed, discussed, and displayed for a larger audience. And that’s what eventually grew into the Humanities, Arts, and Music Festival: HAM Fest.  

At its core, HAM Fest is about creation. Focusing on creation gives students a sense of purpose. Using design thinking principles, students produce work together that they find valuable—not just for a grade, but for themselves and others. Along the way, they acquire the knowledge and skills of English and history in ways that feel alive. Students also know they’ll have to present their work to parents, teachers, alumni, local university professors, community leaders, and school benefactors at the end of each semester.  

Learning becomes increasingly social and visual. Producing work collaboratively encourages students to take risks, manage timelines, consider multiple perspectives, navigate ambiguity, identify their personal contributions, and develop lifelong relationships. For example, our freshmen designed museum or memorial installations on what makes civilizations successful. In one recent exhibit, students argued that Italy’s wealth gave it an advantage in combating the Black Death. Visitors dropped resin “plague molecules” down two angled pipes—one representing Italy, the other poorer nations—to see how stronger resources and stricter enforcement slowed the spread in Italy. These installations were later presented at National History Day to professors at a local university. 

Our freshman English course, in conjunction with our Student Book Club, designed a pop-up bookstore. Students presented their Reader Profiles—based on their ongoing reflection of independent reading—with recommendations for various books they read throughout the semester and a re-creation of the Globe Theatre where students performed their reimagined scenes from Romeo and Juliet. 

Our juniors shared their carefully crafted pieces of digital historical fiction—immersive multimedia stories that brought eras of American history to life, blending documents, literature, and imagination. A recent project followed a Harlem Renaissance musician navigating art and survival, while another told the story of a Vietnam soldier using oral histories and photographs. Some students created virtual 1960s and 1970s dorm rooms to show the complexity of various issues of the era through the perspectives of college students. When seen together, visitors saw the changes and continuities in the student protest movement. 

In these projects, students are tasked not just with explaining their work, but with a collaborative design process. Reflection is crucial. Students aren’t just creating final products; they are interrogating their own thinking along the way. They are asked to explain their choices, defend their decisions, and revise their work based on their feedforward. 

You see this at HAM Fest especially with our sophomores, who create documentaries for the national C-SPAN StudentCam documentary contest. One group explored policing reform by blending expert interviews with the experiences of local community organizers. Another examined climate resilience in St. Louis, weaving together data and testimony. At HAM Fest, they screen their films, take live questions, and use feedback to strengthen their final submission. Students present their work to a group of juniors, who offer suggestions and further research questions to move their work forward. 

Traditional assessments can’t capture the dynamics of collaborative, creative work. Report cards measure progress, but they don’t show students who they are becoming. These exhibitions work in many cases to take the place of these assessments, allowing students to proudly display their work. 

HAM Fest also provides a platform for students to share their work with audiences that extend beyond the classroom: parents, alumni, professionals in humanities-driven fields, and even students from other schools. This changes the stakes and the level of engagement throughout the semester, especially for our seniors, who are showcasing their Humanities Civic Action Projects (H-CAP). In the capstone, students are asked to identify a community issue and take steps toward change. One group led a voter registration drive at a local parish. Another partnered with a food pantry to map hunger disparities and redesign outreach. Presenting these projects at HAM Fest, seniors not only demonstrate their research—they show their impact. 

I’ve come to realize that exhibitions don’t just display student learning—they transform it. 

When students know their work will be seen by a real audience, the quality rises. The stakes shift. Projects no longer end with the teacher’s gradebook; they live on in conversations, reflections, and shared experiences. Students showcase the work they are most proud of, and in doing so, they take ownership of their learning journey. 

Exhibitions also make learning visible. At HAM Fest, a ninth grader explains their museum exhibit to an alum, a sophomore answers tough questions after screening a film, a junior shares a multimedia story of the Harlem Renaissance, and a senior outlines their plan to address food insecurity. These moments bring humanities learning into the open. 

Most important, exhibitions give students agency. They see themselves as creators, storytellers, and citizens. They discover that their voices matter and that their work has real impact. 

Our humanities program needed a festival. Because humanities learning is not a private act. It is—and always has been—a public one. 

The first step to your learning festival is just providing opportunities that are “fest-able” or “portfolio-able” for your students and having parents attend. Our first HAM Fest included a few art projects, my freshman discussing their museum installations, a semiannual band concert, and, of course, some ham for students to eat after setting up their exhibitions. Start small with like-minded teachers and watch it build toward a full festival–the excitement of students sharing their learning and their semester work is contagious. 

That first year at open house, I stood behind a quiet table with my handouts while families lined up at STEM’s learning arcade. But this year, when families arrive at open house, they’ll experience something different. Our “best foot forward” this year is a mini HAM Fest—based on our end-of-season festival of humanities where students exhibit their projects, explain their thinking, and invite visitors into their learning. Even more telling, we are working with our colleagues to plan a STEM Expo for next school year.  

To see how HAM Fest is going or to learn more, you can reach Craig at nicolettic@cbchs.org.

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