Reflections of a First-Year Teacher

I teach in a beautiful building, replete with majestic stone arches and columns rising high above its earthy-brick façade. Intense dedication to detail and careful consideration of craft went into this architectural marvel, evoking renowned college campuses. The stained-glass windows and high, echoing ceilings of the auditorium embody a sacred space, reflecting a time when schools were built as cathedrals of learning. Students and teachers navigate hallways adorned with flags from various nations and colorful student projects, lit by the soft glow of large domed lights overhead.

Despite the impressive elements, students are barred from ones instrumental to their educational and developmental needs. While the school boasts a large yard with a garden and ample space for physical activities, much of the area is littered with construction debris. The space that remains is reserved parking for teachers, compelled to drive through a borough lacking cohesive public transportation. Young people can’t go outside to play and socialize during lunch, leaving them cooped up and caged in, repressing the physical energy they abound in.

On the third floor, a million-dollar renovation provided the campus with a beautiful library. Yet the shelves remain empty and the doors are locked. No librarian has been hired due to a shrinking city budget and bureaucratic obstacles, depriving students of a communal place to develop research skills and hone the power of reading. They mingle in staircases and corners, determined to forge spaces where they can congregate without the strict structures and expectations of classrooms. Students feel perpetually surveilled, lacking opportunities to solve problems and negotiate networks of accountability on their own terms.

This extends into the classroom. Student choice is portrayed as a cornerstone of our practice but falls far short of being meaningful. Students abide by standards they did not agree to and end up taking classes they don’t see as relevant to their lives and have little interest in. When we trust students to dream, they have brilliant ideas – those interested in nursing want to shadow healthcare workers; the artistically inclined want to design murals for the neighborhood; some want to learn more about plants and gardening to provide healthful food and green space for the community; one student expressed interest in plumbing and doesn’t want to wait to graduate to learn these skills. Reading, writing, and critical thinking skills are foundational concepts of modern education and should be directly tied to student interest and community engagement.

Teachers are pressured in the form of top-down standards and high-stakes testing. The curriculum we are urged to use is Eurocentric in nature, framing the continent as the birthplace of rational thought and modern civilization. Histories that don’t fit into the dominant narrative are muted, and students pick up on this, asking why more lessons on Africa and Latin America aren’t included. When teachers’ livelihoods are connected to improving regents test scores they dismiss these topics as irrelevant. When limits are lifted, teachers cultivate projects that adequately prepare school communities to address enduring issues of our time. In one elective, students worked in groups to put forward plans for climate sustainability in transportation, agriculture, and energy use. Schools should be guided and determined by those who learn and teach within their classrooms, and students should have opportunities to build curriculum in tandem with educators, fostering spaces that meet the needs of our learning community.

Parents and community leaders have some of the largest stakes in co-creating curriculum and school organization, but are consistently left out of this process. They are cut off from the classroom in action, unable to bear witness to the productive struggle that gives learning purpose and meaning. Correspondence between teachers and parents revolves mostly around grades and absences, taking place through sporadic text messages during the week or video chats during parent-teacher conferences. Our students’ kin have intimate knowledge of their learning styles, aspirations, strengths and challenges, and should be an integral part of establishing an educational foundation grounded in life-long skills and knowledge. They have a wide range of vocational and educational backgrounds and life experiences, and can pass on the multifaceted life lessons and skills on to our future global leaders.

It’s time for a reckoning on the purpose of our education system. Schooling today is ornamental day care, a space to keep students busy while their parents are working. With desks in rigid rows, schedules ruled by bells, and restrictions on movement, schools mold students into compliant and obedient workers. Passing the baton on to successive generations is a rite of passage as old as time, and young people will be ill-prepared if they are confined to sitting at a desk. They should be called upon to build what they will inherit, collaborating on projects in urban planning, development, and the reciprocal exchange of resources between people and land. Working on projects that directly affect our lives and communities fosters a collective buy-in that is absent from our classrooms. Education is as sacred as the spaces built to cultivate critical minds. What can it become when it is designed around community care for all of our children?

Zander Bullock teaches in the Bronx, where he was born and raised.