My Waterloo: A Teacher Surrenders
The ineptitude of teachers is renowned. I’ve witnessed random people repeat the quip “…those who can’t, teach” and with self-approving smiles look around for nods of confirmation. Sadly, like most things, George Bernard Shaw’s quote is often truncated and taken out of context to denigrate the teaching profession. It isn’t uncommon for some parents to harangue teachers over petty stuff, just because they can. Some have prided themselves on having physically accosted us and others have engaged in personal campaigns to remove certain teachers from classrooms. Our low salaries also confirm our standing on the totem pole of professions. Even the students know the mighty power they wield in the eyes of school administrators and use it capriciously. Johnny might not be reading on grade level, but he sure knows the name and number of the school board’s president.
When the Covid-19 pandemic descended, it required students’ online instruction to be aided by their omniscient parents. The teacher’s day: chockful of inane remarks, ebbing student engagement, and tasked with reteaching and explaining concepts would now be shared by shellshocked guardians via Zoom. Overnight, the value ascribed to teachers ascended. Like soldiers who fight in foreign wars, they were commended for their service. Multitudes parroted on social media: “I don’t know how they do it,” and “I could never be a teacher.”
I rallied through the initial phase of this online aberration. With the helpful guidance of a younger, more computer-literate colleague, I spent innumerable hours adapting course materials and quickly became proficient in operating the platform. For several months I watched students flip pancakes, clean bathrooms, check their notifications, and pretend to be on task while the ambient noise of vehicular traffic or the television proved otherwise. My daughter noticed my fatigue. She listened to my daily complaints about irate parents entering the video chats and students Googling answers instead of studying for tests. Most days I felt alone and unsupported peering at my laptop camera.
Social media showcased parents and their progeny baking batches of cookies, walking in nature, and finding creative ways to pass the time between lessons. However charming, these activities could not assuage some parents’ angst for adult interaction. Many confessed on various platforms that they had reached the end of their tether and needed a respite from their kids (specifically at the local Happy Hour). Some crass politicians and Chambers of Commerce connected the lethargic economy to closed schools. It was time to restart the economy and resume face-to-face teaching even if plans for resumption were chaotic!
Teachers were asking: what were the protocols for the sanitation and ventilation of schools? Were we returning to school, while students remained at home? Would students’ desks be three feet or six feet apart? Would we be given shields around our desks? Would teachers teach from their computers or provide regular instruction? Would they do both simultaneously? Would masks be mandatory? In the midst of this tumult, I became scared of returning to work and contracting Covid-19. My daughter insisted I take personal leave. I did
In a twinkling of an eye, the temporary gravitas associated with being an educator has dissipated. Ballooning inflation; increases in the costs of housing; lagging wages and hesitancy to be vaccinated have produced an overall feeling of unease. Last year what was heralded in the media as “America’s Reckoning” with Black and other marginalized communities demanding parity has jackknifed. Lawmakers across the country are curtailing critical thinking in classrooms around issues of race, class, and gender. The architects of these bills feign concern for the rights of parents and state their avid interests in upholding the morality of our youth. Wily politicians who framed soundbites to target specific demographics have reaped bumper crops of prejudice.
Blocking out the theatrics, it’s easy to discern that school boards and state legislatures are really interested in dispensing what Paulo Friere refers to as “banking education”. Some groups are becoming too academically uppity! In his famous text, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Friere maintains that the primary goal of education is freedom. In order to achieve freedom, he contends that people must be taught how to think critically. In societies where banking education is practiced, students are passive vessels waiting to be filled with random information. The teacher’s job is to make occasional withdrawals to see how much information students can regurgitate from memory. In this academic setting, the material the students learn has no bearing on their authentic or real-life experiences.
Many of us have read the novels 1984 and A Brave New World, and have watched dystopian television shows, but it’s surreal to be living in this time. The emotional and intellectual bonds teachers would’ve established with their students by grappling with difficult subjects or through the praxis of reflection are rendered inchoate. Over the years, class discussions on existentialism redounded in students thanking me years later for having gained a better understanding of their life’s purpose. When college professors explored “race as a social construct”, former students happily reported back that they had prior knowledge of the concept. Young men exploring toxic masculinity in college fora could lend an informed perspective on patriarchy. The eyes of Haitian students often reflected pride when we discussed the Haitian Revolution and its pivotal role in the formation of western democracies and the reasons behind Haiti’s current state of affairs. A law passed in South Carolina would forbid teachers from making any reference to the impact of historical events on contemporary life.
Several years ago, I assigned Patricia McIntosh’s “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack” to an International Baccalaureate class of sophomores. The next day, my class was interrupted; someone was sent to cover for me and I was summoned to a meeting with an Assistant Principal. A parent had contacted the school’s administration demanding an explanation for the racist essay I had assigned. (McIntosh’s piece was supplemental reading for the novels The Great Gatsby and The Catcher In The Rye.) After perusing the article, my supervisor concluded that there was nothing racist about the text since the author was a white woman (and not Angela Davis).
Those halcyon days are over. No longer can teachers and supervisors sort things out among themselves. School districts have outlined strict guidelines for principals. The Moms for Liberty New Hampshire chapter has set up a hotline for individuals to report teachers for a $500 “bounty” with the possibility of teachers losing their certification and licenses. The American Library Association has recorded over 230 “challenges” of books, meaning they’re under review for removal from circulation. The state of Texas can be credited with 75 of those challenges. In Virginia, districts are calling for burning books. In other states, schools’ syllabi and course materials must be posted online so persons anywhere in the world can access them and launch criticisms. In North Dakota politicians have stated that racism must be taught as an individual bias or prejudice but not as something systemically embedded in American society. Florida lawmakers are presenting the “Don’t Say Gay” and “Stop Woke Act” to their legislature. What a time to be a teacher!
Today, reciting Nikki Giovanni’s “kidnap poem” might be equated with espousing sexual violence. H.A. Vaughan’s poem, “Revelation” explored in contrast to eurocentric standards of feminine beauty, could result in a formal reprimand for making white students feel uncomfortable. Each year, my first homework assignment was to have students define a specific list of vocabulary words and cite concrete examples for each definition. The list comprised words like patriarchy, misogyny, colonialism, and imperialism and introduced students to keywords and concepts before they explicated any works of literature, be it poetry, drama, or prose. Prior to reading, say, Of Mice and Men, I felt cursory knowledge of capitalism and misogyny was needed. The tenets of womanism and feminism would be explored before reading Their Eyes Were Watching God or Sojourner Truth’s “Ain’t I a Woman?” In this regressive environment, it would be impossible to create meaningful experiences for my high school students.
For the past year, I have traveled and spent my days doing only what I’ve wanted to do. Some mornings I sleep in or I set out on my bike for a ride around my neighborhood. Some Fridays, when my daughter is off, we go out to lunch, grocery shop, or just sit and talk. However, some days ambivalence descends and I miss the interaction with students and not receiving that bi-weekly direct deposit. Yet, I don’t miss defending myself for assigned materials or for statements taken out of context. I don’t miss parents’ threats to lodge complaints “downtown” or supervisors’ craven need to exercise their power to “write me up”. Being a teacher in the United States is to have no agency.
Many years ago, I resigned from the New York City school system. I felt I was complicit in the criminal enterprise of “dumbing down” inner-city students. The standard of education I demanded for my child, I couldn’t deliver to my students. Similar feelings have again erupted in my chest. I am equally angry and terrified as I fear for the generations of mindless automatons who will be able to swipe and click and not think. I don’t know if I’ll ever enter a classroom, again. The emotional and physical stakes are too high. I don’t blame most administrators for wanting a quiet plant, where teachers toe the line and feed young minds on academic pablum. It is no secret that for centuries U.S. laws denied a large segment of its population access to education. In the 21st century, although every child can attend school, the type of education they receive is vastly unequal. The students enrolled in AP, IB, and Cambridge courses and those in private schools will continue to explore controversial themes and read banned books that their special curricula mandate. If necessary, school boards will grant them waivers. They will not be casualties of the war of attrition being waged on education for children of the proletariat.
