Why We Are Teachers

by Katherine Ferry

The appalling condition of the junior high school defined the past two weeks for me. Two teachers vanished altogether from the Telesecundaria, a school already characterized by an exasperating lack of professionalism and a lamentable quality of instruction. As always happens when teachers are absent, the students came to school as usual and were left to sit in their classrooms alone or wander the grounds. One group, in the third year, was eventually sent home for causing trouble. A new teacher arrived for the first group a few days later, and finally the director took over the third-year class. This instability was compounded by even more frequent absences by the teachers who do still work at the Telesecundaria and talk of more school closures due to union strikes. Finally, at the end of the week, another incident caused me to finally address the laziness and disorganization that complicates my job each day.

Thursday at lunchtime Rachel was approached by the teacher of one of her classes to see if she could “borrow” the students to practice a dance for one of the festivals, and that she would give them back when they were done. This notification came minutes before the lunch break was over, and Rachel was giving a test that day. A similar inconsiderate scene has happened to me many times, when teachers enter my class without knocking to “borrow” the majority of my class. I’d had enough this time, and I went to say something. I simply asked her if it wouldn’t be possible if they could tell us more than five minutes in advance when our classes would be essentially cancelled for the day. She was overflowing with excuses about how it was in fact impossible to provide such a courtesy but that on Monday we would discuss it with all the teachers.

Much to my surprise, today the maestra actually called a meeting with the teachers and director to discuss my request. Not surprisingly, the meeting was dreadfully disappointing. The director and teachers reiterated what we had heard from many other sources: that the teachers are at the mercy of their union and that all activities expected at a school (teachers showing up for their classes, a reliable school calendar) lie below union activities on a list of priorities. One teacher explained that sometimes they will get a call at noon saying there is a meeting at 1:30, meaning classes must end early. This is why they sometimes have to interrupt English class, because the teachers have to leave school early and if there is a dance coming up it must be practiced before the teachers leave. (Clearly, a dance routine is far more useful to these children than English.) The teachers went on to further hide behind their union, and to say that we just didn’t understand their culture and system, that ours was much more “formal”. They said the union decides if there will be a soccer game on Wednesday or a strike on Friday, and they never know until the day of.

I asked if there was any way they could possibly tell me when classes would end before Christmas, to know if I had to change my final exam. Naturally the answer was, “well, no, we never know exactly when we’ll come to work, but if we don’t we’ll have someone leave the gate open for you.” All was all I could do to bite my tongue and not say, “Don’t you feel any sense of responsibility to these children? Can’t you do any better than this?” At the end of our chat, the director turned to me and said sarcastically, “Will there be anything else, Maestra Kati?” I said no, smiled sweetly, and thought to myself, when there is you’ll be the first to know.

I am sometimes surprised by the strong emotional reactions I’ve had to the difficulties at the Telesecundaria. The school’s environment is as heartbreaking as it is frustrating. I often feel angry or powerless. After my initial conversation with the maestra I took a bus ride to another city and had a lot of time to sit and think. I realized that oftentimes my anger about my work is misplaced. My students’ performance is mostly a result of where and with whom they have to study, and I must realize this before losing patience with them. No one taught them how to behave in class, how to prepare for a test, or how much their lives could be enriched by an education. I promised myself to consider this reality and to speak out against the disrespectful actions of my fellow teachers who prevent me from doing my job. Kids deserve teachers who believe they can make something of themselves, and their English teachers may be the only ones who will. There will be no improvement at the Telesecundaria unless people refuse to accept its shameful circumstances. I will continue to refuse.

Fortunately teaching provides a full range of emotional experiences. Along with the anger is a unique joy I never anticipated. Earlier in the week one of my elementary school students handed me a piece of folded notebook paper, telling me it was a letter and I was to read it later. As I read it on my walk home, I remembered why my job is so important. My student wrote my that I had taught her lots of English and that she always thought of me when she studied for English class, that I am lots of fun and that she appreciated me for coming from so far away to be her teacher. She had decorated the page with drawings and designs. I was so touched that she took the time to write me this letter. It felt particularly special because this girl is not the same as any student. After my first class with her group, her teacher told me that she suffers from a disorder that makes school very difficult for her. Due to Ziquítaro’s size and weakness of its educational system, there are no special services available to her, and her teacher told me that we “just have to take care of her.” When I read her letter, I thought, how wonderful that someone whose life is so tough would try so hard in my class and be the one to go out of her way to thank me. This is the stuff that reminds us why we are teachers.