Why Rebranding Teachers Will Save Lives by Christine Vaccaro
Image by Christine Vaccaro
Teachers, we have a PR problem.
It’s dire, but not new. We can trace it to 1903, when Helen Keller’s autobiography introduced the world to Annie Sullivan, the teacher who transformed Keller from a deaf, blind and mute child into a college-educated, globally-renowned author and activist. Sullivan’s relentless, lifelong devotion to her student was memorialized on Broadway and in film adaptations. The title? The Miracle Worker. Thus began our trouble.
Countless teacher portrayals since have echoed this holy light, shaping the public perception of our job, while further estranging it from reality. An iconic strain of this trope is the Inner City Martyr, whose passion and self-sacrifice catalyze abject student indifference into dizzying heights of achievement. Not only does this mawkish cliche often reek of white tyranny, it perpetuates a narrative that it just takes some real talk, a leather jacket and overzealous DNA to scoot around the systemic racism, economic disparity and deplorably underfunded public schools that siphon the lifeblood of our education system. Miracle work, indeed.
The only nuance usually applied to this archetype is its shadow: teacher-as-hack stories, showcasing individuals of ill-repute and incompetence performing derelict babysitting duties. These emblems of wasted tax dollars and drop-out rates frequently appear on-screen wheeling VCR carts into classrooms while under the influence, or taking feet-on-the-desk siestas, clocking hours until a pension kicks in.
Our brand is binary: Savior or Slacker. If we are not on the level of near-divine intervention, then by default we are failing -- the very face of public education’s crumbling facade. These one-dimensional options reflect the confused and generally ignorant understanding the public has about our day-to-day work life. But this media-created image is not just society’s perception of us. The predicament is that, somewhere along the way, it became our own as well.
For many teachers, if not sacrificing ourselves beyond the fraying edges of our mental, emotional and physical limits, we are not doing enough. Like a toxic marriage that slogs on “for the sake of the kids”, we put up with the disenfranchisement, inequities, public scorn and disregard so pervasive we are blithely expected to take a bullet during the work day, all for our students. Too many of us accept this dysfunctional paradigm, and it must end here -- at the hard line drawn by this virus, and its grotesque and unconscionable mismanagement. We can be both devoted to our students, and not want to die.
Summer 2020 has finally forced the need to rebrand the Dedicated Teacher image. Lives now depend on reframing what it means to support our students. Paralleling the institutionalized misogyny on which our profession was built, our power has always been relegated to the “home” - our classrooms. But classroom life has been shattered, and the moment commands we demonstrate our care beyond physical walls to broader activism.
It is not an easy pivot. A propaganda campaign is in full swing, and our empathy for our students is being weaponized against us. We are being gaslighted, guilt-tripped and demonized on national and community levels. Many of us are ready to heave a sigh and accept our fate, shuffling back into our classrooms despite the grave danger this presents to ourselves and our families. Others will retire, resign, or take an unpaid leave of absence. All because we have been abandoned by sane leadership, and, more importantly, have forgotten the strength we wield in our numbers, passion and unparalleled organizing abilities. Marshalling these forces in united and individual actions makes us an unstoppable front.
We chose a career path that marginalizes its practitioners, and are so used to having our expertise devalued that many choose to stop sharing it out of self-preservation. Decisions made on our behalf are usually in the least interest of us and our students. We will denounce, kvetch and fret over them. And then too often we retreat, defeated, to our own personal fiefdoms -- our classrooms -- where we can close the door and exert some control in a professional life that gives us very little. However, the first wave of this virus washed away our classrooms and control over everything related to our career -- except for the actions we choose to take right now.
Our unique knowledge and mastery must be shared to convince people that going back safely is implausible right now. Each of us has an individual threshold of comfort in speaking up. Not everyone likes confrontation or is a rabble-rouser. That is okay. Perhaps the very name of this blog site causes you some unease. That’s fine, too. But right now, your teacher voice is desperately needed to educate -- this time, the public, in whatever way you personally can.
There is plenty to be done in pajamas. Make the phone calls to your legislator. Send the emails to your governor and mayor. Have the conversations in community and parenting social media groups. Harass your union (if lucky enough to have one) to take action. Post the memes. Leave the comments. Share the articles. Figure out what's authentic to you, and do it. Momentum is building; every single act counts, no matter how small.
Facts are dead, and time is of the essence. We cannot waste a second trying to change intractable minds; we must work on changing hearts. Offer your personal experience, and counter every advocate for a return with a swift reality check of what only we know to be true.
“Well, PPE allowed hospital workers to work safely.” First, educators are not healthcare professionals. We did not study healing sick bodies in grad school; we studied growing healthy minds. Yes, doctors, nurses and lab techs work somewhat protected in masks. But hospitals are sterile. Schools are not. They are a festival of germs and bacteria, particularly the ones in areas most at-risk for Covid-spread. When the buildings closed, many parents noted the absence of their child’s ever-present sniffles. Now think of a deadly virus, and extrapolate.
Also, masks are not just protective, they are political. Here’s that classroom consequence: Kids observe parents. Kids then imitate parents. Kids show up on the first day of school, after months of witnessing a mask-less parent, protesting their right to be selfish. How do you think that plays out in a classroom? Would you want your child in that room? Even if a child has been following the strictest of mask guidelines, do you know what happens when a bunch of anxious, non-socialized children regather after half a year of sheltering-in, and are forced to follow strange, scary restrictions? Teachers do. And it is not compliance.
“Kids need to return to normal, and socialize.” There will be literally nothing, not one thing, normal about returning to school in the midst of a raging, unpredictable pandemic. Children will be emerging from lockdown and returning to a dystopian landscape of masked authority figures, where the actual word following social is distancing. Connecting with their friends will in fact be a violative act. The idea of routine is fantasy; all it will take is a positive Covid case to throw the tenuous hybrid arrangements into chaos. For thousands of kindergarten children, what will that first day of school memory be? The one setting a template for the next 12 years in the education system?
“We need schools as daycare to return to work.” There is no argument further bolstering the notion that we are an eternally willing rescue squad. Education is not customer service. Rather than accept this role, we must compel legislators, communities and companies to address this issue. While we consider sending teachers and students into deathtraps, US billionaires have become $565 billion richer since lockdowns began. Imagine how much actual child care we could afford if we elected those interested in changing tax laws. Other countries are paying workers during quarantine.
We all know being back in our classrooms is better for students, educationally and psychologically. But the majority of us are fully aware of the unstable, unsafe and unfeasible reality this is, and how its inevitable inconsistency would actually do more harm than good. Forcing us back now will be devastating to the education system long-term as well. If we think three months of remote teaching wreaked havoc on an already under-staffed education system, wait until the mass exodus of committed professionals who simply did not want to be sacrificed at the altar of capitalism and asinine decisions.
As this virus roils unmitigated over the land, this is the last chance we have to pause, and put into practice solid remote learning processes that can be transitioned into a hybrid model in a few months. The sooner we get our districts to focus on remote learning, the sooner we can get to work on making it a more sustainable and equitable enterprise. This is the final opportunity to take advantage.
We are not saviors, but we are guardians, and our number one professional responsibility is to keep kids safe. Given current data and trajectories, we cannot do that in open school buildings. We cannot keep ourselves or our families safe, nor should we be expected to do so. Lives are at stake, and we have the power to make a difference. It starts here, with each and every one of us. What action can you take today?