You haven’t heard from me in a little while, specifically, since the fall season began. This is for two reasons. The first reason: I’m back in the classroom, and I’m back in Chinatown. And yes, I’m still working on my books and art. Unsurprisingly, this is very difficult to balance time-wise.
The second reason: I really couldn’t bear to send a cheery newsletter about my art accomplishments while our government funds genocide in Palestine.
Teaching feels simultaneously like both a burden and a gift. The responsibility of caring for — and on top of that, educating — small humans feels immense. It is on the teacher to create a space not only in which children feel safe to explore, learn, and express themselves, but a space that allows them to grow into better versions of themselves each day.
And of course, this is in addition to the expected teacher responsibilities of planning and grading and so on — all on top of increasing laws criminalizing antiracist education, criticism from out-of-touch politicians that ask teachers to take on more and more, and paperwork thanks to the whims of the ever-changing state and districts’ priorities.
Teachers willingly shoulder this, because to teach children is also such a privilege. My students surprise me every day, with their creativity, but also with their kindness and understanding. My students immediately turn to translate to their peers when they’re lost; they instinctively reach out to soothe a classmate with big feelings; they run to pick up things that I drop on the floor. We innately understand what community is.
I have to say that I truly enjoy going to work each day. I love teaching art, and I love my students.
I got sick last Thursday, Dec 14. I had the luxury of staying home, instead of going into the classroom, to sleep off my fever. During my sick day, Palestinian Teacher’s Day came and went.
Every day I enter the classroom, I think about teachers and students in Gaza. Over 200 teachers have perished, and even more children. School has been suspended since November 6, for obvious reasons. Students not only do not have a place to learn, but even a place to be safe. A teacher living in a school describes her feelings on the genocide — "I feel like I'm in a nightmare, that this isn't reality. How did I come to live in a school, in a classroom, where I used to love coming every morning to teach my students and have a good time?"
I’ll end with the words of Ruwaida Amer, Palestinian teacher, who was torn away from her students in November.
I miss their morning sleepiness.
I miss their naughtiness.
I miss hearing them shout “Miss!” when I greet them.
I want this war to stop so I can go back to getting to know them.
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Hey Shaina! I too am a teacher and although I am not in the classroom right now my heart is heavy with the knowledge that kids my students' age are suffering like this in Gaza. On top of all that, support for Palestinians is treated as this controversial thorny taboo, and even mentioning objective truths about what is happening in the classroom can get a teacher fired. I can imagine how heavy this is for a teacher that has solidarity to the Palestinian struggle and is teaching right now. Thanks for your words!