This week brought shocking news: in all probability, the school at which I teach will be closing at the end of the year due to lack of funds. The school has been under-enrolled from the start (three years ago) and the school building, which we rent, is being sold and we don't have the money to buy it. (I should explain, for those of you who are confused, that I teach at a charter school.) The fact that I was stongly considering not returning in the fall (primarily because of the 40-minute commute each way) didn't lessen my surprise and disappointment upon hearing the news.
The students and my colleagues reacted very strongly and with a range of emotions: shock, like me, sadness, anger, resignation, but also a strong sense of determination. The day after the news broke the faculty met to discuss how to best support the students in dealing with their emotions, but also in finding each of them a suitable school for the fall. Early the same day, a group of students met to plot their own strategy. Emails were sent out (to friends, former teachers, rich celebrities and the media) to spread the word and request money. These kids weren't going to let the first school at which many of them felt at home just close down. And if it was, they weren't just going to sit around and wait for the last day of classes to come around.
I was so moved and impressed by how deeply the students took the news and how swiftly and idealistically they mobilized. When I was asked what I felt and thought about the situation, I faced a dilemma. On the one hand, I thought that all of this effort was probably for nothing (the building is worth several million dollars, which would have to be raised in only a few weeks and celebrities don't just give money to kids because they ask nicely, do they?) and that after all their hard work the students would be terribly disappointed if they didn't save the school. But on the other, how could I give up all hope, if only for the sake of the students.
It occurred to me that I have never given up on a student. There is a chance that even the worst behaved or weakest student will turn things around and improve. I wouldn't be a teacher if I didn't have hope. But there was more to it than hope. I would be a hypocrite if I taught students about a single person's power to change the world, and tried to convince them that social justice began with them, and yet didn't let them try to put what they had learned into practice. Even if I was less idealistic than them in this case, I couldn't let them know it. My mission would be to do what I could to help them achieve their goal (and help them find another school for the fall, just in case), provide them with any resources I could, and be there to celebrate or commiserate with them in the end.
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2 comments:
wow, i'm sorry to read this. a friend of mine worked at a charter school that closed last year, so it seems like this is not such a rare problem.
i think you have a great attitude about it: encourage the students to do all they can and let them know that even if they are not successful that they should be proud of trying to make a difference. "you've got to be in it to win it" is the slogan of the NY lotto, and if these kids and you all don't try, then there's no way to save the school, which, on the other hand, does not mean that you will always be successful--or that you shouldn't bother trying again in the future if you're not successful now.
It is really touching that the students felt moved to action. Even if it is unlikely that their action will succeed in keeping the school open, it is still good for students to express their voices. It would be great to work with some of these students to help them strategize the most effective way to go about their protests. Even if they don't win the war, they can still have many smaller success along the way. The students can take these successes with them as encouragement for future community involvement.
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