Is Trust Enough?

I started writing this post on Monday night and now it is late Wednesday and I feel exactly the same as I did when I began. 

I would pretty much rather be doing anything else than writing this post right now. If I felt I had more choice, more freedom, to reflect on the events in my classroom, rather than the circumstances under which we are living, I might feel better about it, maybe more inspired, or just less anxious.

If I were writing more extensively about the 2 lovely METTA meditations, which I introduced Monday morning, and which were the same, yet different in both classes, and simultaneously captured the normalcy and absurdity that exists in our classrooms, and the world, today, it would be a lot more interesting. 

If I were writing about my students and their remarkable resilience, wearing their masks with little resistance and even fewer complaints, I could find hope and comfort.  

I would also feel much safer and much less vulnerable.

Instead multiple schools are already dealing with exposure, and several cohorts in one middle-school are shifting to remote learning and isolation, and while I watch the news and Minister Goertzen is reminding me the cases were expected, and the key is in how we respond, I continue to assert it is the unwillingness of his government to invest in education that has led to what is just the beginning of school infections. 

What the Minister fails to acknowledge is that the school infections are the direct result of choices made by his government. We are heading to more completely avoidable illness, and possible death, because the province has failed to address the key issue, which is class size.

The province refuses to recognize the fact that with the current class size it is physically impossible to achieve any sort of physical distancing inside most elementary and middle-years classrooms.

In my mind I have had to reconcile with the idea that I am doing the absolute best I can. I have to live, and teach in my space, and so I have to believe that wearing my mask, washing my hands, and maintaining some distance, is going to be enough. I can't live life in constant fear, and so if I am going to do my job, I have had to find a way to live with the conditions of the day- or teaching in my only slightly modified classroom during a pandemic, without any real physical distancing, or the 2 metres that has been recommended to date.

I am not sure exactly how my mind is working this out- whether it is wishful thinking, denial, delusion,  or the faith I have grown as the result of my spiritual work and belief, I just know that is what I am doing. 

I also know I am not alone. 

I started reflecting on depth of the challenges educators are facing, and what is and isn't being reported, while reading a post in a teachers' group Monday morning. Educators, who have been working tirelessly and resourcefully to face every obstacle, from cleaning surfaces to packaging individual supplies, and managing new processes while still teaching students, cannot overcome the lack of space in just about every classroom, especially middle schools.

Most have big tables, but even classrooms with individual desks, remain as packed as they ever were. No amount of trial and error to switch up the configuration can solve the impossible problem of having too many students to maintain proper social distancing, coupled with extended time periods in these rooms. Requiring kids to wear masks is a good start, but air quality is also poor in many rooms, and there is little protection offered when they eat in those spaces. 

It bears repeating, what I have emphasized in previous posts, that school leaders are doing the best they can with what they have. More Plexiglas and furniture is on back order and every resource is being maximized. I found some consolation that the parents interviewed on the news concurred, recognizing that teachers, principals, and school staff are doing everything within their power to keep students and staff healthy and safe.

That Monday morning the question of classroom space and physical distancing was raised. One teacher was brave enough to ask the group whether families were aware of the reality of what regular class sizes in our classroom spaces looked like, and if so what the responses had been like. Several teachers commented that every news piece reflected high schools spaces, where apparently social distancing has not only been made possible, but is also being actively enforced, which led to further questions around reality vs. public perception. 

I suggested taking photos and sending them to the powers that be, along with the continuing letters expressing our concerns. I gave a shout out to Wab Kinew, who is the only MLA to personally respond to each email, and suggested that the more evidence he receives the more likely it is to help.

The response got some likes, as well as a private message from a concerned educator, who wanted to let me know that in some divisions staff had been warned that they should not be publicizing any classroom photos. I let her know that I appreciated her concern, and while it hadn't happened in my division, I wasn't surprised. 

The news did leave me concerned and angry. 

It is obvious to a professional educator that one must be mindful about photographing students and ensure the proper permissions are obtained whenever a photo is published anywhere, preferably in writing, as well as indicators of the school generally, or my classroom specifically. But to be told not to photograph the generic features of the classroom, like the configurations of  the desks, makes me wonder. 

What is being hidden, and from whom?

It was interesting that later that morning, a student also mentioned that her mom wanted her to take pictures of the class so she could see how it had been set up. I told her about the discussion I had joined and encouraged her to take pictures of the room and share them at home. It is only now that I think about it I realize I didn't follow up to see if she did. I don't mind either way, and welcome the adults of my students, but am pretty certain that she didn't because she doesn't was her mom to worry. She is happy sitting with her friends, even with the Plexiglas screens and masks between them, but is concerned it might not be good enough for her mom. 

I am also concerned it is not good enough.

I am still wondering why it has to be? 

Why can't our government release the funds available for education? Then our school divisions can hire more teachers and support staff, and become more creative with time, transportation, and spaces to create learning environments where our students can still learn in the classroom in smaller groups, and remain happy, healthy, and safe.

I would like to see teachers come together. Imagine flooding social media with photos of our creatively designed, resourcefully supplied, immaculately cared-for, and yet impossible to socially distance, classroom spaces.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words; these may be worth a million worries. Or perhaps in the end, they will help to prevent one illness, save one life.

These are without a doubt strange and unprecedented times. Today in class I spoke of one of the greatest human paradoxes, stating  humanity's best and worst quality is our ability to adapt. Civilizations throughout time have left evidence of this truth, and in a world where a handful of individuals control more than half of the wealth, we continue to reflect our best and worst potential. 

Premier Pallister continues to value the economy over human life by not reducing class sizes, and school leaders and teachers adapt, making due with what we have for our students, your children, hoping it is enough- the worst and the best. 

For my part, to adapt I write, even though I don't want to. Then I share, in the hopes of being a catalyst for change, and with the consolation that at least I will feel better having done my part, even though it is scary. I fear any attention it may bring as much as I wish for it to be read and have an impact....ah paradox. 

In the 90's I lived in Jerusalem during a time of much strife. Terrorist attacks were regular events and taking the bus as part of everyday life became a risky venture. Though I was aware of the situation, I was never really afraid. Each day as I started out into the city, I would say a little prayer asking for protection, and then trust that I would be protected and go on with my day. For the most part, I forgot about the fact that the bus I was sitting on could blow up, and at the same time remember to be grateful when it didn't.

The ritual of the prayer for protection has stayed with me, especially as I am in the ranks as one of those crazy Winnipeg drivers, but I never thought I would have such concerns about my safety and well-being or that of students in my classroom and my colleagues and fellow educators. 

I have to trust that I will be okay in my classroom and so will my students. I just wish I could trust the government cared about that too.