Category Archives: Education

Education, On My Mind

Forward

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On the phone this morning, my mum pointed out that I haven’t blogged in a while. I haven’t written in my journal as often as usual, either. I started thinking about why that might be, and I feel that nothing I have to say is important compared to all of the hate the world is experiencing. My grade 10 students write up current events reports every two weeks, and some of them have already come in.

As the world is aware, it has not been a good two weeks.

My students are genuinely concerned, not just about Paris but also about Nigeria, Lebanon, ISIS, and the debate over refugees in the US. They’re concerned about potential evacuation drills, and they’re concerned about why there’s been so much violence in the world lately. One of them told me, “I wanted to find a current event that’s not about war. But I can’t.”

As I listen to student concerns, look over news articles in class, validate fears, and explain what/who/why ISIS is, I have also come to terms with my own unease. I realized this while journaling just a few minutes ago, and I thought it would be a good time for a post.

What frustrates me, and always has, is hate. Hate is not something I understand, not when it’s directed at a specific group of people (and I mean people, not monsters like ISIS, Boko Haram, or the Nazis). I understand fear, though I don’t always agree with it. However, I don’t understand the underlying racism, the hate, that accompanies fear. How is it that we don’t know better? Where did we, as educators, go wrong? Where did we, as people, as humans, go wrong? I’d expect that if asked, everyone in the people category (again, excluding monsters and their affiliates) would claim to want peace.

But we know that wanting peace isn’t enough. Peace doesn’t happen overnight. Peace needs time. It needs to be built. It needs to be strong so that it lasts.

As a student and a teacher of history, I know that peace is fragile. Peacebuilding itself is fragile. Peace is scary for some, I think, because it means letting go. It means admitting fallacy. It means apologizing when you’re in the wrong, when you’ve hurt others. It means compromise.

The way I see it, peace is the only way forward. And if we can’t build peace as a world right now for whatever reason (and I do understand the obstacles) maybe we can start by building peace within and among ourselves. We do that with children. We say things like, “Two wrongs don’t make a right!” (And we smile indulgently when cheeky kids respond with, “But two negatives make a positive!”) We tell children that “hands are not for hitting” and that it’s important to be nice to our friends. Sharing is caring, right? We teach children that everyone is unique and we teach the acceptance of difference. We teach about different cultures, different customs, and the importance of the Golden Rule. We teach friendship and respect and fairness and trustworthiness. We teach about taking risks and about trying again. We teach about perspectives and beliefs and opinions. We teach about hope for the future.

We teach children how to stop, listen, reflect, apologize, shake hands, and move forward. We teach children how to live.

As an educator, I am not in a position to negotiate world peace, and I do not envy those who are. But I do believe that it the responsibility of every person to create a better world. I became a teacher because I firmly believe that every person can play a role in doing so. In my classroom, we build peace. We communicate. We debate. We reflect. We listen and respond to one another as people, regardless of our differences. We highlight those differences to understand them, and we ask questions when we are uncertain. In my classroom, my students are safe. They are learning how to create a peaceful environment, and what it means to be a member of a community.

It is those lessons that I believe the world needs. Bombs aren’t going to stop us from hurting.

Peace, even in the smallest of ways, is our way forward.

Education, On My Mind

Choices

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I’m Jewish.

Among other things, that means I celebrate holidays that most people can’t pronounce. That also means my holidays aren’t included on most calendars. As a student, I always had to inform my teachers of the days I’d be out for Rosh Hashanah (New Year) and Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement). I was lucky in that I never had to explain myself; my teachers were aware of a) the existence of my holidays and b) my need and right to miss class to practice my religion.

When I moved to Malaysia, I wasn’t allowed to be Jewish. I wasn’t able to practice my religion. I had to go to work over Rosh Hashanah because I wasn’t allowed to miss work without medical documentation; I certainly was not going to spend the holiday in a doctor’s office faking stomach cramps. Yom Kippur fell on a Saturday, and while I couldn’t go to synagogue, I could pray on my own.

Now that I’m in Singapore, I had (note the past tense) different expectations. Considering the amount of diversity here in Singapore, particularly the diversity in an international school with a student body from over 60 countries, I did not anticipate having trouble obtaining recognition of my religious rights and freedoms.

But I’m having trouble.

My school does not allow paid sick days until the fourth month of our contracts, which means that I can’t be sick and get paid until November 1. This is ridiculous for multiple reasons, but mostly because we work with kids, all of whom are sick right now. That aside, I checked with HR to see if I could take time off and be paid for religious reasons in the first three months of the school year. HR said no, but a colleague encouraged me to take the question to the superintendent. In what I think was a very well-worded email, I expressed my disappointed with HR’s response and explained how upsetting it is to choose between pay and adhering to religious principles. I went as far as to “respectfully ask for a reconsideration of this policy.” (I didn’t point out that we have Christian, Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist holidays off, which probably covers 99% of staff.) The superintendent assured me he would discuss it with HR and get back to me.

Two days later, I got an email apologizing and saying that school was unable to adjust the policy because, in a multicultural environment, they did not want to be seen as favoring one religion over another.

I didn’t point out that they were doing exactly that simply by following the existing calendar.

I didn’t point out that this wouldn’t be an issue if the holidays fell later in the year when I could take paid sick days.

I didn’t point out that I am now being treated differently than other members of staff.

I didn’t point out any of that because there’s no point. School has clear made a decision, and that decision reflects who the people in charge are and what they seem valuable. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that the query is now on record and it might help someone else in the future. I do feel discriminated against and I do feel misunderstood. While I understand the need for consistency in HR policies, I also understand the need to treat everyone fairly.

Fair, however, does not always mean equal.

Education, On My Mind

This is for the Haters

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With my summer at home drawing to a close (leaving in one week!) I’ve been thinking about my role as a teacher, and my responsibility in the lives of young people. I’ve written about why I teach in the past, but I don’t think I’ve touched on some of the experiences that helped me understand that my job is really to shape minds.

The way I see it, one of my responsibilities as an educator is to make sure that my students grow up to be responsible global citizens who are empowered to affect change. I believe that everyone has the power to make some sort of change, either in one’s own life or in the wider world. The way I choose to do that is to help young people realize that such change is possible. I affect change by cultivating my students’ ideas so that they believe in themselves.

Or, at the very least, I try my hardest.

When I was in high school, it used to be cool and slangy to use the phrase “that’s so gay” to describe something obnoxious, irritating, annoying, boring, or simply uncool. (With any luck, I have just dated myself.) That bothered me long before being an ally was an accepted part of society. I felt the same way about the word “retarded”, which was also in vogue amongst my peers, and which also takes on a variety of negative meanings when tossed around by teenagers with pants around their knees (yes, that was also cool at the time, which should say a thing or two about how we’ve all managed to grow up). When I was 17, I finally felt comfortable enough with myself to stand up and say something. I remember looking at my boyfriend, and later at a handful of other friends, and saying, “That’s offensive to me. If you mean “stupid,” just say so. You wouldn’t say “straight” for “cool”, so you shouldn’t use “gay” for “stupid. Please don’t do that around me.”

They rolled their eyes, they scoffed at my attitude, but they listened. I remember my boyfriend giving me a what-the-hell look and then saying to me, “I’ll stop if it really bothers you, but you’ll have to help me.”

And that’s the way it went. It turned out that a lot of people in my social circles back in 2007 had similar feelings but had tossed around slang the way kids toss around slang; without thinking. As a teacher, I try to use language that empowers my students. I vividly remember opening a class discussion my first year teaching about the difference between being ignorant and not knowing. The comment, “I just can’t talk to her! She’s ignorant, she doesn’t know anything!” following a disagreement between two students about race promoted the discussion. We concluded that ignorance is knowing and ignoring, while not knowing is simply not knowing. Rather than blaming one another for being uncertain, or for lack of knowledge, we can teach. I honestly don’t remember the comments made leading to this discussion, but I remember taking my teacher voice out of my pocket and saying, “Stop. We need to back up here.” And both of those students later thanked me for doing it.

As simple as it sounds, the biggest idea I can help my students understand is that if you choose not to act, there will be no results. I’ve heard every excuse for inaction: “But I’m just one person.” “No one will listen.” “Honestly, I have other things to worry about.” “That’s so much work.” “I’m just going to live in a cardboard box and be happy.” “There’s too much hate and too many haters to even bother trying.”

So, haters, here I am calling you out for ignorance.

Haters claim that the world is too big with too many problems so individuals can’t solve them. Haters claim that there’s no point in looking out for others because you never know when someone’s going to stab you in the back. Haters claim that you can’t fix other people so you should only worry about yourself.

Haters are ignorant, because they know better. They have seen change and they know that it comes from people doing exactly those things that are really very hard.

Haters, in short, are wrong.

Wrong because there are people who care, who dream, who believe, who yearn. There are people who look around dissatisfied and are not content to remain dissatisfied. There are people who hope, who watch, who wait and get impatient; instead of giving up, those people act. They do something. Instead of growing increasingly irritated with people with whom they do not agree, they make changes. They work to understand. They surround themselves with like-minded people, and find power in groups.

History is full of groups who acted, groups who fought, groups who won. There is strength in numbers, and I want my students to believe in themselves, join those groups, and make the changes that they, at 14, 15, 16, or 17, represented and endorsed in my classes. If I didn’t believe they could do it, I wouldn’t say so; I would lose all credibility as a teacher, as a mentor.

Haters, I know some people who are going to rock your world. Hold on tightly.