I'm Not Here to Give ChatGPT Feedback

“I’m not here to give ChatGpt feedback.” I announced to my period 3, AP Literature and Composition students. They nodded in agreement. Ask me 10 years ago and I would never have guessed I would be facilitating conversations about the appropriate use of AI in the classroom.

As sites like MyBib and BibMe made citation generation accessible and easy back in 2009, I ditched the “cheatsheet” MLA Citation Guide I’d created for my 9th grade Humanities class. Why spend precious class time on something important but agonizingly boring when I had a tool that could save me and my students class time. All English teachers will remember the first time they used Turn It In (which btw, started in 1998!!) and how it revolutionized their approach to research papers. Students covertly used tools like Grammarly (2009) and Quillbot (2017), thinking they were pulling one over on their teachers, not realizing most of us were using those same tools to edit and improve our handouts and lectures. 

Just two years ago, the way the term “ChatGPT” was whispered in the hallways made it feel like a dirty word. Now, everyone and their mom is hosting a Zoom session on how to “transform your teaching with AI.”

Here’s my unsolicited advice and how I’m approaching AI use this school year.

  1. Continue to design meaningful writing tasks. Grown folks want to get mad at young people for taking shortcuts or taking the easy route of popping a prompt into ChatGpt. But let’s get real. We’ve all taken the easy route at one point or other during the workday. Why waste our time and energy on something we find meaningless? This is why whenever I’m creating a task for my students I ask myself, is this worth their time to complete? Is this worth my time to read or give feedback? How does it cultivate critical readers, writers, and thinkers? 

  2. Have an explicit conversations about the appropriate uses of AI in your content specific class. As a literature teacher, I’ve always made the time to talk about why I’d rather read a wacky hot take on a text than read regurgitation of some idea on Pink Monkey, Cliff Notes or Sparknotes. While those sites can be helpful, I’m bored with the same old ideas about symbols and themes in The Great Gatsby or A Raisin in the Sun.  I’ve now shifted that conversation to one focused on AI. Early on, during my community agreements lesson, I stop and ask students to collaborate on “What is an appropriate way of using AI in this course? How can you use AI tools to help you with mastery of content or skills?” The students offer more nuanced, insightful advice than I ever could. And, because it’s coming from their peers, they are more likely to internalize this advice than listen to my old crotchety warnings.

  3. Don’t waste your time policing students. I am not interested in a fight about whether or not this assignment is written by AI rather than Amanda. If I find Claude’s work, I leave a short note about why I’m not giving feedback. More often than not, I purposely list ChatGPT as part of a menu of sources to build content knowledge on x, y, or z. 

  4. Again, design meaningful learning tasks and essential collaborative discussions. This is the bottom line. We should be creating learning experiences that demand critical thinking, critical reading, and critical writing. If we aren’t doing that, then why am I in the classroom? If a student can just hop on YouTube or open up Claude, then they don’t need me. If this is a challenge, then pssst go use ChatGPT to help you construct something more rigorous. 

By no means is this easy. But I didn’t enter this profession because it was easy. Ignoring the realities of how much our students rely on AI is burying our heads in the sand. Facing difficult conversations about when, how and why we should use technological advancements such as artificial intelligence seems the only way forward in 2024. 

Who I Want To Be When I Grow Up

I stood there staring angrily at my computer. Nothing was working. The moving dust was whirling around my room and my lungs were on fire, despite (or maybe because) of three steroids and the 6 back-to-back puffs of Ventolin I had to inhale to keep my asthma at bay. Needless to say, I was in a bad mood. In walks, J one of my favorite and most underrated colleagues. J is the kind of person who will leave a note on your desk just because. He trekked all the way from his classroom to my room to see how “the move” was going and if I needed any help setting up my space. His positive energy and joyful disposition caught me off guard and we ended up across the hallway helping another teacher rearrange her desks to maximize movement, collaborative groupings, and figure out where to hang the white boards. This whole encounter probably took 25 minutes of my life but I left that afternoon reminded that there are some people who are just good people. 

The next morning during my devotionals (aka the time I drink coffee and pray that maybe one day I'll become the morning person I’ve always wanted to be), I reflected on the people in my life who are walking sunshine. I ended up with a list of 20ish qualities they all have in common. But here are a few dominating characteristics–kind, solutions-oriented, creative, full of hope and joy, and unflappable. 

These folks are emotionally intelligent in a way that they know their own strengths and limits, have healthy boundaries, and somehow wake up each morning with a “how can I make the world a better place” vibe. I doubt they explicitly  think about it, but they exude both confidence and purpose in their day-to-day. 

These folks are problem solvers. They genuinely approach life’s chaos as if it is a wave to ride or a puzzle to solve. They don’t seem to be ruffled by stank faces, grumpiness, or crisis because they are unflappable

They are creative thinkers finding a way when there seems to be no way. They know what they can and can’t control and try to solve for X. They could walk into a room full of legos, see a cityscape, and talk you into building it the next four hours. They would shake their heads at that giant pile of lemons, scan the area for a pitcher and a knife, then make some lemonade. 

They have high expectations for themselves and others, working to bring others alongside them. Even when at their limits, they always treat others with dignity. 

What I appreciate most is that they bring peace into a situation because they somehow manage to remain hopeful even in dark times. Again, I think it’s because they know who they are and what they believe. They can be salty without being bitter. 

In the end, folks like this remind me of what and who I want to be when I grow up. Now it’s up to me to grow up.

Did You Read?

If you looked at my Goodreads bookshelf, you probably think I’m a weirdo. From young adult fiction to cozy mysteries and questionable junky romance to more serious nonfiction about social issues, my book list is both eclectic and predictable (if you know anything about me). Alternating between audio and physical books, I can usually rock 2-3 titles at once (which is maybe why it takes me forever to read an entire book). 

I’m often embarassed that I don’t read as many books as “I should”. The should is self-imposed pressure noted perfectly in the Portlandia sketch “did you read”. Each year, I set an arbitrary numerical goal, then select books that expand my horizon, center the voices of people of color and push me to be a better human.  

Here are some highlights from 2023, starting with my work-centered choices.

On My Desk:

Throughout the school year, I intentionally select a young adult book to plop on my desk, picking it up during “silent reading” and talking about it during class in effort to model and normalize conversations books we do and don’t find engaging. Most note able are…

Warrior Girl Unearthed by Angeline Boulley. Most known for her debut novel Firekeeper’s Daughter, Boulley has set this new story in the same fictional world, but refined writing style while keeping true to the heart of her work–telling the stories of indigenous communities, specifically missing native women. This book is part mystery, part romance, and part drama. It explores themes of finding your place in your community and fighting for change when the powers that be are determined to stay mediocre. 

You Should See Me in My Crown by Leah Johnson–great characters, two girls falling in love. This whole book is a vibe.

Once Upon an Eid by SK Ali–this is a series of heartwarming stories set during or around Eid. They showcase the importance of the holiday in Islam and the beauty of faith and family. Having interviewed Ali last year, I have a bias towards her writing!

Around the House:

My mindless “guilty pleasure" reading this year was the Bridgerton series, books 6-8. I popped on the audiobooks while I cleaned, ran errands, or organized the apartment. It was a perfect mindless escape. No expectation to follow the plot or expend emotional labor. 

On A Roadtrip:

As a kid, I was an avid reader of Encyclopedia Brown and Nancy Drew. My favorite book in high school was Alexandre Dumas’ Count of Monte Cristo (1800 pages of galavanting, deception, and revenge). As a result, I’m always on the lookout for a good mystery or detective story. Today, this interest has evolved into my love of crime fiction which conveniently has overlapped with my husband Nate’s frolic into Southern Noir. Upon his recommendation, I was introduced to author SA Cosby. Hands down Razorblade Tears is my all-time favorite book in this category (technically I read this last year). I’m hard pressed to think of a more engaging first five pages of a novel. This year, I flew through All the Sinners Bleed and My Darkest Prayer. Cosby writes with a cinematic level of description that lingers, replaying over and over in your mind’s eye.  

On Errands:

If you’re looking for a mix of fun and depth, try The Stand In by Lily Chu. I came for the Asian protagonist and cute cover but stayed for the mystery, romance, and deeper themes about identity and purpose. Chu joined us on the IWL podcast this fall and I’m in queue for her next release on Libby/Sora.

This year’s Southern Noir runner up is Brian Panowich’s trilogy Bull Mountain. It’s gritty with actual stakes as the characters are often caught in a moral quandry. David Joy’s When the Mountains Burn and The Line That Held Us are honorable mentions. Lastly, as a binge viewer of the show Justified, I picked up Pronto, which launches Raylin Givens arc written by icon Elmore Leonard (I know he’s the GOAT), but I think I wasn't in the right headspace at the time. 

On My Mind:

Now, for the books that won’t leave me alone and I plan to unpack in future writing. I read all of these in audiobook format because the authors read their work, making it even more powerful. 

Dopesick by Beth Macy– Although I'm late to this book, it's worth the hype. We all “know” about the opioid crisis in America but I don't think we actually understand the social and political institutions that have created the dope dependent culture we have in the US. This book challenged me to think more deeply about drugs in the US, my own beliefs about prescribed medication, and build my empathy for those most directly impacted by the crisis. 

Poverty by America by Matthew Desmond–Desmond does not miss. Having read Evicted, his book on the housing crisis a few years ago, I had high expectations for both the writing and the content of this book. Often, we want to view issues like “poverty” as individual rather than collective or as accidental rather than intentional. Desmonds lays out the ways we've created and continue to uphold poverty in the US (and ways we could actually address/mitigate it if we had the gumption). Everyone needs to read this.

Nice White Ladies: The Truth About White Supremacy, Our Role In It and How We Can Dismantle It by Jessie Daniels–Karens, the KKK, and white culture through white families are just snippets of the range of topics this book covers. It’s not just for white women, but if you are white woman and haven’t read this, move it to the top of your list this year. Daniels is honest, matter-of-fact, and sometimes uncomfortably blunt. Her sociologist/historical lens sets this apart from related books, and one of the many reasons we chose it for our #readlessbasic book club. In our IWL interview, it was obvious Daniels walks the talk on facing her own white supremacists indoctrination and role. in dismantling the current system. Find her accompanying study guide here.

Please, White Women Come Home: Hand Me Your Bias & I’ll Show You Our Connection by Kimberlee Yolanda Williams–A compilation of letters written to a “missing” white sister was a stylistic risk Williams took that works. Each letter sits somewhere between calling in and calling out social interactions that point out racism, classroom, homophobia and much more. It maintains a tone of hope while not sugar coating pain. Our IWL author interview comes out this month. 

Freedom is a Constant Struggle by Angela Davis–this was on my list for a while. I highly recommend the audiobook as Davis reads it to you and you feel her pointed words convicting you to be better. In light of recent events in Palestine, her opinions about the oppression and genocide of the Palestinians is especially poignant. My biggest takeaway is that if we want to build diverse coalitions around a particular issue, we need to consistently draw parallels between issues–not to compare but to build empathy and start with what people know.  

I read a few other books I really loved but this post is getting too long so I’m going to wrap it up. If you’ve read any of the above books, I would love to discuss! So hit me up on the socials, text or via email.

Here’s to getting smarter, more thoughtful, and more compassionate in 2024.

I'm Back!

Okay folks. I’ve let my writing fall off the last few years–putting my energy and creativity into my podcast and work related endeavors. I’m also haunted by the feeling that what I’m writing is just more noise, added to the already obnoxious cacophony of self-important people posting opinions nobody asked for.

But, since turning 42 last week, I decided I need to care a little less, and write a little more.

Happy New Year!

Creating a New Normal This Fall

For many of us, deep loss marked the 2020-21 school year. We yearned for a return to “normal”. We missed the camaraderie and connection with students and colleagues. We lamented the ability to use certain instructional strategies (group work, chalk talks, gallery walks, etc.) that were no longer safe or feasible in this new environment. I too found myself grieving for the past. But, being the practical person that I am, I returned, time and again to one truth.

“Necessity is the mother of invention”.

Growing up in a missionary family, our lives subsisted on the generosity of strangers, on hand-me-downs, and on the miracle-working power of a sewing machine and duct tape. If there’s one thing I know how to do well, it’s how to turn nothing into something. I know how to hustle for resources and find a way when there seems to be no way. This mentality is what kept me afloat so many years working in low-income, high-needs schools. 

It’s this skill set that kept me grounded when school closed in March 2020 and the phrase “quaranteaching” entered my vocabulary. I shared my transition to remote learning in my post, Rona Ramblings Part I. Over the past 18 months, we’ve seen necessity drive innovations in medicine, healthcare, food service, technology, and so on. I love witnessing the creativity and evolution of nearly every industry. We should be proud of the rise of tele-medicine, the increase in hands-free payment options, the innovation in cleaning technology, the ability to enjoy block-busters from the comfort of our living rooms or even the thriving sales of e-books. 

All of this is context for why I’m so adamant about not returning to a pre-covid “normal”, particularly in the realm of education. As my podcast co-host, Megan Holyoke, commented recently “going back to a ‘normal’ school year reminds me of those who clung to the ‘Make America Great Again’ slogan.”  And, in the same way we interrogate the sentiment behind MAGA, I think we should question our own desire to return to teaching and learning of the idealized past. 

What was so “great” about learning pre-covid? How well were we serving our students? Who was the center of the classroom?  Who benefited from the policies and practices of our school system? Who’s voices were we listening to? Who was left out? Who was institutionally marginalized?

After a summer that was far too short, the new school year has arrived. It’s here. The tweets, posts, and published musings of a return to pre-pandemic times are moot points. Here’s why.

First, you cannot have a traumatic event that impacted everyone on the planet and remain exactly the same. While one may argue that each person experienced trauma conditional on factors such as race, socio-economics, or geography, no one was left untouched. There is no “return to normal”. There can be creation of a new normal but the pre-trauma period is forever altered. Our memories will fill the pages of many books to come. We will (hopefully) reflect on our experiences in such a way that real growth will occur.  Pretending this was an insignificant blip on the timeline of life, does us no good. We cannot go backwards. Stop trying to erase this moment. 

Second, why tho? Was pre-pandemic education and schooling actually that terrific, joyous, and easy? It wasn’t. Let’s stop pretending. Students weren’t engaged 100% of the time. Our prom wasn’t that spectacular. Just because we had a sweet spreadsheet to manage our standardized testing routine, doesn’t mean that it was benefiting students and staff. Do we really want to MEGA (Make Education Great Again) our upcoming school year? I don’t think so. And I hope you cringed when you read that last line. 

Our memories of the past are tinged with a nostalgia that distorts the truth. 

I refuse to accept last year as a loss (more on that in a future blog post) and go back to some bygone sense of reality. 

Full disclosure ya’ll. I do not believe this pandemic is over. If you don’t believe me, check out the Delta variant memes or this Time article. However, as we begin to see a light at the end of this very dark tunnel, we need to confront our tendencies to glorify the past. We must release the old routines and structures we cling to. Instead, we ought to anticipate the uncertainty and prepare for the unexpected of the new school year.

In effort to do that, here are a few of the steps I’m taking to mentally, emotionally, and physically prepare myself for trash can fires of the fall.

  1. Make a plan A, B, and C. I am engaging in a thought experiment that places me in a range of teaching conditions. I’m thinking about my desk space if I teach from home. I’m preparing for how I will eat safely on campus if I’m in-person. I’m envisioning how to partner students for collaborative work with social distancing, revisiting keys to success in a hybrid environment, or if I’m teaching in a concurrent model. I’m practicing speaking with a mask that is comfortable and matches my work outfits. I’m anticipating ways to distribute and collect student work. 

  2. Keep My Personal Routines. Much of last year was tolerable because I reorganized my morning routines (coffee, prayer, journaling) and my weekend habits (one day dedicated to my mental, emotional, physical and spiritual health). I call my parents every two days. I schedule Zoom dates with my sisters and some college girlfriends. I’ll continue to find joy in exercising, skating, and cooking. 

  3. Plus It. Through collaboration with my grade level team, emails with colleagues at my old school, and random voice notes idea-sharing with teacher friends across the world, I have some incredible lessons and corresponding handouts from last year. I’m capitalizing on this work by tweaking or expanding my use of certain tasks. While 5Es framework and hyperdocs were intended to design online learning they are just as relevant this year. I’m adding to my already curated list of best practices and resources for teaching in a pandemic. If you don’t follow Dr. Cailtin Tucker or aren’t familiar with Global Online Academy, go bookmark them right now. 

  4. Yes...And...I’m not joining an improv team nor am I approaching this year with toxic positivity. As my friend Camille Jones says, we can do hard things. I may grumble, cry, and drink a couple glasses of vino, but in the end I will face whatever reality is in front of me with as much determination as I can muster. I’m looking at each situation with a “yes/and” mentality so that when I face a mountain of hardship or what seems like an impossible task, I will be able to put one foot in front of the other. Yes, this is tough...and who can I bring along with me in the struggle?  Yes, this schedule sucks...and how can I maximize student interest and class time for deeper learning?

  5. Stay Woke. If you’ve read my work before or listened to the podcast, you know I’ve got a speech about educators who pushed equity and justice to the background this last year. Folks stay making excuses for why they cannot engage in the inner or outer work of making the world a better place. The pandemic shone a big, bright spotlight on inequalities across the school system. Anyone who paid attention could see this coming. And now, as the light grows dimmer or fades away, we cannot go back to the “normal” habits of ignoring what is hanging out in the dark. If anything, we should be motivated to fill these gaps and find real solutions for the troubles that plague our schools. If education is not prioritized within pandemic response plans, when will it be?

As we head into a new school year, I hope you are ready--ready to resist a MEGA mindset and commit to creating a better educational experience for each of the students entrusted in your care this year.

Rona Ramblings Part II: A Remote Classroom is Still a Classroom

As frustrated as we are, 

as much as “this isn’t why I became a teacher,”

even though “we can’t possibly expect students to learn under these conditions,” 

and despite “none of us were ready for this,” here we are. 

This moment is revealing important truths about who we are as teachers, who we expect our students to be, and the massive cavities in education systems around the world. To paraphrase Shakespeare, “There’s something rotten in education.”

While I have one of the most ideal situations (students whose life needs are met, strong leadership, family engagement, support from tech & instructional coaches), by no means is my remote learning classroom perfect. I have students with shaky internet access, students who refuse to turn on their video cameras, and students who aren’t reading directions or submitting assignments on time. Wait, this sounds like my pre-coronavirus classroom.

For those that know me, you know I work tirelessly to establish a common classroom culture. One that is characterized by open-mindedness, acceptance, and doing our best. I pride myself on co-constructing this kind of learning space with my students. It’s this foundation that I relied heavily upon when we transitioned to online schooling.

With the shift, I knew I had to stay true to my values and keep essential elements of the classroom: maintaining an inquiry-oriented environment and discussion-based learning. I rely heavily on student to student discussion to get to any learning objective. I fake like Socrates and  constantly pose questions, training students to ask their own questions (of the text, of each other, of me). 

After day one of online learning, I realized that my skills in leading and cultivating in-person discussions aren’t exactly transferable to a virtual discussion of Shakespeare with seniors. Hamlet is already a tough read and it is even more complicated when you can’t turn and talk. Although a solid place to start, asking students to share their annotations in a whole group setting was not going to cut it. Even I was zoning out mid-discussion.

As for my Sophomores, we transitioned to a remote classroom amidst reading Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime. While I had the infrastructure and routine of reading a chapter, writing a dialogue journal and discussing that writing, an online platform didn’t give my Sophomores student-to-student discussion time critical for meaning-making. 

Here is what I’ve realized and subsequently changed in my practice since March.

Realization 1:  The type of questions you can ask in a virtual space need to be scaffolded differently. In a classroom you can see who has an answer, who doesn’t understand your wording and restate the question or who is too shy to volunteer. 

Practically speaking: I started writing my tiered questions (moving from a recall level to evaluative/analytical level) into my weekly lesson plans. This way students could see in advance, write/think of a response and not get caught off guard. This was especially important for my higher level questions. For example, while reading Born a Crime I posted questions to help students narrow in on a specific concept in one chapter (Why is the chapter called ____ or What is Trevor Noah’s central idea in this chapter?). Another strategy was to routinely post the same two questions during discussions: Why did you pick this quote? How does this connect to our previous learning?

Realization 2: It’s extremely difficult to create small group discussions in a large virtual class setting (especially if you’re not using Zoom).

Practically speaking:

  • I’d used Padlet ages ago for some online discussion but found myself turning to this tool once again. With the recent updates, it’s a far more versatile discussion board which allows comments, links, likes, gifs, color coding and more. This worked well to promote student to student discussions and meaning-making for 2 out of 3 of my classes. 

  • For seniors, I set up a Discord channel and created rooms for each Act of Hamlet. I also created channels for independent reading book groups, posting questions, comments and gifs throughout the week. This worked really well for asynchronous learning and provided a way for students to collectively engage with the text and each other “outside” of class.

Realization 3: You can design meaningful interactions through intentionality, planning, and trial/error.

Practically speaking: As students (and teachers) slipped into various online habits, it is imperative you both keep routines and you keep it interesting. If you’re not having fun or growing, then why would a 15 year old be? I’ve added some silliness to my weekly preview videos. I draft weekly journal questions that provide multiple entry points for students, give them choice, and create a space for some of the social-emotional aspects of our learning community. 

Realization 4: The world is a dumpster fire and students’ lives are all over the place. You cannot take anything personal and you have to be extra patient.

Practically speaking: Although I feel like I have my stuff together, I still create documents with missing scaffolded steps, forget to link to the article I told students to read, or completely miscalculate how long a task will take. And I’m a grown adult woman who’s been teaching for 14 years. A 15 year old will miss that email you sent, will forget to attach their assignment, will ask the same question you answer 4 different ways to avoid misunderstanding. I try to learn from my mistakes, keep an open-mind when I’m answering students' emails, or just repeat directions...yet again. Look, I’ve definitely failed at this one many times in the last two months, but I’m working on being patient with myself.

Realization 5: Yes, you can give formative and summative assessments BUT you’d better have strong scaffolding and again, patience, for when something goes awry and root all your assessments in equity pedagogy. 

Practically speaking: In a virtual classroom I’m unable to read over a student’s shoulder, solicit a quick exit slip, or ask for a fist-to-five (I mean maybe if all students had functioning cameras). Instead, I’ve gotten creative with my formative checks. In weekly sessions, I use “cold calling”, volunteers, and “popcorn calling” for spot checking. I’ve conducted one formal and one informal end of unit survey. Probably the most important thing I did was design a start to finish unit document with clearly labeled, color-coded scaffolded steps. I check everything I assign---to monitor student learning, to offer specific points of improvement, to clarify directions, or to offer praise.

  • I know summatives are a controversial topic, but imho if you’ve conducted your formatives fairly and equitably (we can parse that out on a different post), then I think summatives can be done the same. To be fair, I’m writing this after having two totally different experiences with recent summatives. One, was super smooth. In part, because it concluded the unit we’d started in real life. The other, less smooth. Although I’d thought my teacher-moves and modeling were perfect, half my students didn’t turn in something I thought was very clear. What became clear was that it was me. So, then I personalized my feedback and asked each student to resubmit with changes. It was fine. But I definitely had to eat my humble pie and “allow” revisions. 

Realization 6: You can still teach in a remote learning context with equity and justice at the forefront of your choices.

Practically speaking: Even in a remote context, students and teachers mirror practices and behaviors they had before. Students who inconsistently did their homework previously, are still being inconsistent. Similarly, if you were a teacher that endeavored to be anti-racist and social justice oriented, you are still that same teacher.

Ideally, all year long you’ve built the kind of learning environment that allows for safe discussions of an array of topics and you’ve worked with students to make curriculum choices that reflect a range of voices, perspectives, and ideas about the world. Just because life is a dumpster fire doesn’t mean you throw justice into the burning dumpster. Remote learning is not an excuse for assigning irrelevant texts, using crappy handouts, or forgetting everything you learned about effective teaching and learning.

None of this is easy, but it’s not impossible. 

I hope the disequilibrium of this pandemic forces a system wide change. I hope it topples education demagogues who make adult-centered policies. I hope it forces the part of the problem-never-the-solution teachers into another profession. I hope it collapses the obsession with standardized testing. I hope it ignites community-school partnerships to equip neighborhood schools with 20th century access to technology. But most of all, I pray that we learn something from the coronavirus and not only reimagine what learning looks like but actually have the political and social will to implement what we know will improve K-12 education.

Rona Ramblings Part I

I’ve stopped and started this post numerous times. And just like that, six weeks have both flown by. Somehow I feel a decade older.

It was early February when my personal bubble burst, waking me up to the new realities of a world impacted by the coronavirus. It would be disingenuous not to acknowledge the privilege I had to leave this particular aspect of news in the periphery of my vision which was focused on wrapping up semester grades starting new units, and travelling for spring break. I really began digging into the reports when we were faced with whether or not to cancel our flight to Bali for spring break. It got quite real when airport officials in both the UAE and Indonesia carefully checked our travel history, zeroing in on trips to China and South Korea. One week later, on our return trip home, airport personnel donned masks and temperature guns lined entrance ways. The concern, fear, and general anxiety was palpable. I felt myself getting a fever just standing in line to check-in. 

As I noted in a recent interview with Nate Bowling on Nerd Farm Podcast, my experience with the coronavirus feels like I’m standing in turbulent ocean waters, surrounded by waves. I can see waves coming. I ready myself and jump a little to keep my head above the water. Yet, it’s almost guaranteed to knock me off balance and pull on my swimsuit. I resituate, planting my feet “firmly” into the sandy ground yet a wave comes faster than I think, and knocks me down. I barely have time to catch my breath, wipe the salt out of my eyes and adjust my swimsuit before the next wave hits. 

Thoughts on Teaching & Learning

We are incredibly blessed to work at a school with leadership who intentionally tried to prepare for a pandemic (can you even prepare for something like this?!). We closed school one day, engaged in a kind of rapid-fire professional learning experience, and then rolled out our remote learning plan! I was in awe. Even the branding was on point. E-learning, virtual learning, and online learning put me to sleep just thinking about it. But remote learning? That’s fresh. Throughout that day, I found myself longing for the normalcy and consistency working would provide. Concurrently, I kept thinking, “how can you keep things normal in a world on fire?”

While many schools/districts that closed “early” were viewed as fear-mongering or hyperbolic, closing is (or I guess was) preventative. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in education, it’s that we tend to react rather than be proactive in cases of crisis. I was relieved to see this type of initiative or forward thinking regarding our state of emergency. But, so many people I love were back in the US, where as a nation, coronavirus wasn’t even on people’s radar. It was something that could happen there (aka, Asia). Not here in the land of the free and home of the brave. 

In the lead up to my own school’s closure, I began to lurk online, trying to wrap my head around what remote learning looked like around the world. I was in awe of teachers in China, Hong Kong, South Korea and Thailand. I was especially amazed by the elementary school teachers who were designing fun, engaging, well-rounded online classes for their students. Within days, many education organizations started posting articles like “10 Strategies For Online Learning During a Covid Outbreak” and “Teaching Through the Coronavirus”.

As one colleague put it, “we are in constant change. The sands are shifting.” It took moving to the desert for me to finally get that metaphor! While routines and structures are essential to well-run schools and classrooms, it’s far too easy to get stuck in a rut, teaching the same books or using the same instructional strategies over and over. If you’ve always done something one way, you can’t imagine or envision it another.

For many of us, this is a steep learning curve. If you’re used to singing and dancing in front of a classroom to hold attention, trust me no matter how awesome your students are, put them in front of a laptop and add the stress of the unknown and pour some worry about a relative back in the US and it’s far more challenging to keep them focused. I don’t care how good your lesson plans are or how charismatic of a person you are. 

One of the reasons my husband and I moved abroad was to open our eyes to other ways of doing things. Certainly, teaching in the middle of a pandemic forces you to rethink what teaching and learning could or even look like.  And let me tell you, not all “best practices” in the classroom transfer into an online setting. Not only do we need to consider the cognitive needs of our students, it’s critical to consider their emotional needs as well---and these are varied. For every student who is melting down, you’ll find another who just wants to do a worksheet. The constant barrage of waves of excitement, disappointment, anxiety, and fear impact teachers and students alike. 

On Responses in US School Districts

What I found most striking in the early weeks, was that suddenly there were a bunch of equity warriors taking to the internet. I was fully immersed in remote learning when it seemed that US school districts began to get whiffs of potential school shutdowns. 

Out of the woodworks came a lot of well-meaning white women who were waving an equity flag. “It’s a privilege to teach online,” they announced. “It’s inequitable to force remote learning on communities.” I was caught off guard for a handful of reasons. 

  1. Knowing how much I was working to shift my classroom practices and routines to a remote context didn’t feel like a privilege. 

  2. Teachers across Asia didn’t have strong wifi and were figuring out how to teach remotely with some success. 

  3. I couldn’t wrap my head around the alternative to online school which was no option for learning at all. Basically, students who were ahead would be fine. Anyone else who was behind would become further behind. My heart ached. 

  4. Didn’t these educators realize how deeply rooted in inequities American public schools are? Where have they been living/teaching/breathing? To suddenly care so much about “equity” (which btw, was interpreted as simply access to technology) when I’d bet my left-hand most of these folks were doing little to actually solve matters of equity in their schools and districts up until now. 

I’ve thought through and dialogue with many smart, respected educators about this. In fact, I wrestled with it on a recent episode of the Interchangeable White Ladies podcast. Anyone who has known me, knows I care deeply about issues of equity, dedicating much of my professional life to learning, thinking, and working on matters of equity. 

Closing schools and keeping schools closed through the remainder of the school year is necessary. However, weeks in, I am still not convinced that closing schools without some plan to provide meaningful ongoing learning is the best option for students, especially the students who have the greatest academic needs or need the social-emotional support school communities provide. I know many smart educators who’ve made a case for how much students are learning on their own, or that Maslow’s hierarchy means students aren’t in a place to engage in this type of structured learning. I don’t disagree per se with any of those arguments.  

But, I keep returning to this lingering thought. I can’t do everything for everyone. I  can do some things for some students. And I can try to do that for as many students within my sphere of influence. Being in a remote learning environment is not an excuse to throw best instructional practices out the window and simply stay in crisis mode (I get being there initially, but we can’t stay there). 

Rather, as I head into week 7 of remote learning here in the UAE, I continue to ask myself to questions:

  • How can I create a safe place for students to feel validated in a time of crisis?

  • How can I create learning experiences that are differentiated enough to engage all my students wherever they are emotionally, academically, and physically? 

Teach More Books Written By Authors of Color

I first floated the idea of teaching Claudia Rankine’s book Citizen: An American Lyric at Lincoln on The Nerd Farm podcast. One major point of discussion was that despite being first published in 2014, the urgency of this book is felt on every page. It feels like it was written for this moment.  

Within a few short weeks, listeners flooded the mailroom with donated copies. I was a little nervous. I teach about race, class, and gender but I’ve never taught a book like this. I’ve taught poetry but I’ve never experienced a book of poetry that defies what I learned in college. In the back of my mind lingered the most daunting question of all: can I, a white woman, do justice teaching a book about racism, microaggressions, and misogyny? 

Not one to shirk challenge, I talked my student teacher into team-teaching the text. We found exactly three resources for teaching this text--a reading guide from Graywolf Press and two teacher blog posts from higher ed. For one month, my juniors wrestled with the language, structure, and themes of this book.

Despite the unfamiliarity of poetry as a genre and the “untraditional” way Rankine breaks any expectations of form, Rankine is accessible in a high school classroom setting. Every high school student needs to experience poetry, art, and language the way Rankine creates it. It's the epitome of craft. This year when I prepped for the unit, I found, more articles from college level classes, and several university teacher guides signaling to me that I'm not the only one feeling the timeliness of this text. 

With the rise of hate crimes, public displays of racism and the casual way these are presented by media, I'm especially convinced that now more than ever, students and teachers need to grapple open and honestly with the discomfort of these issues. In particular, white teachers should teach books that make them uncomfortable or are out of their “range of expertise.”

For students of color, they tell me they need this book because it validates their daily existence. They want to read a Black author who excels at the art of language. They want to feel they are not alone. 

For white kids, they need to see a black artist at the highest level. They need to be challenged as perpetrators and beneficiaries of white supremacy. They need to consider how intersectionality shifts and shapes power. 

For teachers, we need to teach books outside our comfort zones be in content or style. We need to use our platform in the classroom to amplify authors our students might never experience.

For white teachers, we need to create safe spaces to have open and honest discussions about race in America--where we aren’t threatened by disagreement, where students of color feel confident expressing their thoughts, and where we don't “not all white people” the conversation.

Instead of being fearful of these difficult conversations, we need to be brave. No matter what race we are, we need to collectively read and discuss more books like Citizen. Maybe then we will actually do something to loosen the grip of racism on our country.

Coda:

This year I'm teaching Citizen again. This time in an international school with a mix of students with various racial and cultural identities. There is only one Black student in this class. Somewhat new territory, I'm acutely aware of my job as curator of safe space for open dialogue. I am intentionally scaffolding lessons and instruction so that this student will never be put in a position (by me or peers) to “speak for all Black people.”

Where All the Cute Kittens Go

According to Garflied, “Abu Dhabi is where all the cute kittens go.” Although, I’m allergic to cats and Nate hates animals, we’ve decided to leap into the known, unknown. 

We know that we while we are both thriving in our schools, at the top of our teaching games, and heavily embedded in our community, we need a change. We know that certainly the unsustainable conditions of public education and the impractical demands on public school teachers is oppressive. We know that the current political climate and the rise of white supremacy in our country takes a physical, emotional, and mental toll. We also know that we desperately love our Lincoln Community are trying hard to stuff down the feelings of grief and loss we feel with this move. 

To be clear, we aren’t moving because teaching in America is “too hard” for us. We aren’t moving because we are unhappy with our district or our school. We aren’t leaving because we’re burned out. Nate explains this decision well in his post “Our Departure & A New Chapter” and I’ve shared some of my reasons in this interview.

Teaching overseas was always on the docket for me. I chose this profession for its versatility, its predictable unpredictability and its consistent ability to make me change. Every year, I challenge myself to embrace some new adventure--a leadership role, a new course to teach, new instructional practices. Teaching abroad is a way for Nate and I to merge two loves--teaching and travel. 

So last summer, while traveling through Southeast Asia, we decided to throw our apps into the ring for the 2019 school year. Teacher Tinder, I mean Search Associates, worked better than imagined and after numerous Skype interviews we accepted positions at the American Community School of Abu Dhabi. It is the oldest international school in the city. Our course assignments are basically what we teach here. Nate will launch AP Government & Politics and teach Global Studies. I will launch AP Literature, teach senior IB Literature, and Sophomore English. Our students are from over 60 different countries and yes, everyone speaks English! 

Fun facts:

  • 25% of our school is Canadian

  • 80% of the UAE is from somewhere else (over 200 different nationalities!)

  • Abu Dhabi hosts both Louvre and Guggenheim museums

From a shipping stipend to a partially furnished 39th floor two-bedroom apartment in a multi-purpose building in the heart of Abu Dhabi, we're well taken care of. My plan to wean myself off my Starbucks addiction went straight out the window! ☕ More importantly our new school champions values that align with our personal and professional pedagogies. For my teaching nerds, the school prioritizes job-embedded professional learning and weekly time allotted to meeting with grade level teams. With a multicultural student body, we have no choice but to be culturally responsive in the what and how we teach. I’m eager to see how my background working with ELL students comes into play in this new context.

Are we nervous, scared, or anxious?

Sure. The Nate and Hope farewell tour was more difficult than we envisioned. It’s hard to say goodbye to close friends. It's especially heart wrenching to say goodbye to 92 year old grandparents and aging parents. 😭

We deeply appreciate everyone who met us for breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, coffee, drinks, soccer matches and church! A special thanks to those of you who helped us finally use the gift cards we found while packing our house. 

One thing I've learned from my mentors and experience is that there isn't a perfect time for anything. The kids will be too young or too old. It will always be expensive to buy plane tickets. There will always be a reason not to leave that job, that neighborhood, or that relationship. So, you can't wait for the "perfect" time. It doesn't exist. 

This is where we enter the unknown. 

What about your house? Your cars? Your furniture? Will you ever come back? 😬

One of the ways we know this leap comes at the right time is the way it's unfolded.Throughout the laborious visa application process, I met kind, helpful, and compassionate people who answered my questions, rush mailed documents and even offered to pray for our move! Btw, most people pay an agency to do this. I refused to shell out 💰 so I did it myself. Yay me. In April, shortly after we announced our departure, a colleague from my days in Clover Park SD committed to renting our house indefinitely. In the last month, over 25 different neighbors (shout out Buy-Nothing community) picked up household items and furniture from our porch. In the last two weeks, my mom fielded a jillion phone calls asking for advice on what to pack, what to get rid of and whether or not moving is the right decision. My dad piled his truck high with boxes, mattresses, and whatnot. Last week, a friend posted she needed a car--she now drives my Kia Rondo. Other friends are storing Nate’s Kia Soul in their garage so we have transportation when we visit. This week, many of you opened your trash cans and recycling bins for our garbage needs. Yesterday my neighbor, Sarah, graciously laughed every time I pounded on her door with an armload of produce or toiletries. We cannot express our gratitude enough for everyone who supported this process. 

As far as returning is concerned, our teaching contract is a two year commitment. Staying longer depends on how well we both adjust and contribute to a new school, how our parents are doing without us, and who is elected president in 2020. 

Are you allowed to drive there? Do you have to wear a head-covering? How can you go to a place that _______ ?

First of all, I’m not nervous about adjusting to cultural differences. Having spent the first 17 years of my life overseas (Philippines, China, Hong Kong, and Albania), I’m used to the exhilaration and fatigue of adjusting to a new environment. I know what it's like to not speak the dominant language and to be the only white person in the room. 

Second, I want to challenge my readers to remember that #notallcountries are the same. The United Arab Emirates is quite different from its neighbors like Saudi Arabia (who now allow women to drive). There are no requirements for ex-pat women to wear head coverings (except in mosques). I find it telling that many a white woman has asked us about the rights, roles, and treatment of women in the region. While I appreciate the allyship and sentimen, I’m struck by the Orientalism that underlies these questions not to mention the fact that travelling as an interracial couple is far more significant than whether or not I need to wear a hijab.

Lastly, before we go pointing fingers at someone else’s home, we need to examine our own. “Black men and boys still face the highest risk of being killed by police”. We put kids in cages and mass shootings are a rising epidemic. For those that know us, we have no problem commenting and critiquing American society. As James Baldwin puts it "I love America more than any other country in this world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually." We want the United States to live up to all it's possibilities. Nate and I will continue podcasting and writing from afar. 

All that to say, we're excited about the new adventure and what lies ahead. I'm addition to teaching duties, Nate’s planning to join Kite Club and I’m looking forward to taking falconry lessons at Abu Dhabi Falconers Club.🦅

And no...we will not be getting a cat any time soon. No matter how cute it is. 🐈


Combating Everyday Anti-blackness

I spent the first sixteen years of my life in the Philippines, Hong Kong, and China. My first experience with anti-blackness was in the form of not-so-subtle racism. I was little and my family pastored a church in the Philippines. My local friends used the word negro to describe the very dark-skinned northern Filipinos. Even at a young age, I picked up the negative tone in which that word was used. Simultaneously, I received messages that Black Americans were “cool”, especially if they were rappers or athletes. And that’s basically all I knew. Despite having close friends from over 15 different countries, I had only one Black friend in high school. Although my history books discussed slavery, I watched hours of Patrick Swayze in North & South, I sobbed while reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and my first celebrity crush was Will Smith, I really didn’t get it. Not unlike many white people today, I believed that racism was mostly a thing of the past and anti-blackness was mayhaps exaggerated. I’ll admit that it wasn't until college, when I came to the US, that I really saw, with my own eyes, the way that Black students were treated on a predominately white campus in wealthy Orange County.

Being aware of racism and being aware of anti-blackness are entirely different things.

In retrospect, I think I often conflated anti-blackness and all anti-people of color activities. You know, racism is racism. My life experience growing up in Asia exposed me to racist, anti-brown and anti-black language, but I really think it wasn’t until I started reading more about American history, married into a Black family, and worked with Black youth in public schools that the subtle and not-so subtle ways anti-blackness manifests in our society became real.

It’s in the way educators discuss Black student behaviors in contrast to white student behaviors, or the way they accept Black gregariousness on a football field but not in a classroom. It’s in the surprise that Black males are earning As & Bs in AP classes or the expectation that a Black boy doesn’t like reading. It’s in the way Black boys are perceived as older or Black girls are seen as less innocent than their white peers. It’s also in the way that white people say the word Black awkwardly. It's in the way that white athletes get away with behaviors while Black athletes are chastised and berated for the same thing. It's in the presumed innocence of a white middle aged shopper and the guilt of a Black teen buying a snack for the walk home.

Anti-blackness is both on the surface and embedded in our infrastructure.  If you've never noticed it, it's probably because you haven't had to. As white people we have the privilege to downplay or straight up ignore the ways racism manifests towards Black people in the United States.

In her book, White Fragility, Robin Diangelo explains it this way. “Anti-blackness is rooted in misinformation, fables, perversions, projections, and lies. It is also rooted in a lack of historical knowledge and an inability or unwillingness to trace the effect of history into the present.” If I were to speak for all white people out there, I’d say it is the former that drives our ongoing “othering” of Black people and the latter as to why we continue to allow such horrific actions as the killing of unarmed Black men and women by police officers. Our ignorance and apathy towards our racial history is an integral part of our white identity.

I recently read Carol Anderson’s White Rage: An Unspoken Truth of Our Racial Divide which challenged me to see our racial divide as a timeline—one large story. For white people, it’s far too easy to see history in pockets, isolated events that really don’t add up to anything. Seeing it as pieces allow us to ignore the larger puzzle. We stay divorced from our own history and blissful in our blindness, making excuses for systemic racism.

As I write this, I’m reminded of when Angela Davis’ said, “in a racist society, it is not enough to be non-racist, we must be antiracist.” It’s not  enough to not be anti-black, I need to actively work against anti-blackness. I need to proactively combat my internalized anti-blackness and actively speak out about the ways our society shapes the narrative against Black people.

So how do I do this?  I certainly don't have all the answers and this is a long journey I’m on, but here are a handful of things I’m trying to do.

First, I’m trying to unequivocally believe Black people. In the same way we’re calling on society to “believe women”, if a Black person tells you what they have experienced, believe them. I know I've dismissed the experiences and stories of anti-blackness (even from people I love). I want to believe it was always done unconsciously, but I'm not sure. As much as it shames and hurts me to reflect back on this, it's not as painful as the impact of my doubt on those relationships.

Second, I’m trying to be better it to interrogate my own thinking and internalized racism about Black people. Since anti-blackness is part of the fabric of this society, it's also part of me. I think the biggest ways I've combated my unconscious bias it to face it. I'm trying to reflect more. Listen more. Read more. I think one of the quickest ways to deal with our biases is to be in community with someone we don’t understand or don’t have a shared lived experience---be it someone of a different religion, race, etc. You can’t continue to think of someone as “other” or “less than” when you are face to face and in the world together.

Third, actually care about Black lives. It’s not enough to wear my Black Lives Matter earrings. I need to actually care about Black lives all around me. One way to do that is to take time to learn Black history...which is also our history. My niece is a young Black girl who is just starting to attend school. I’ve been buying books for her about smart women that look like her. I always skim the books before I wrap them up. I’m a little embarrassed to admit how much I’ve learned. But, at this point, I’m making up for lost time. It’s 2019. I can no longer make excuses or justify my lack of knowledge about our racial history.

Fourth, another way to fight feelings or attitudes of anti-blackness is to immerse yourself in Black excellence. We need to surround ourselves with narratives about Black people that aren’t centered in whiteness and fear of “the other”. I don’t mean pretending you’re woke because you listen to Childish Gambino or read Becoming. And I’d also caution against buying into Black exceptionalism. As a child, I learned about George Washington Carver and Frederick Douglass but their stories were told in a way that I later learned was “white washed”. We need to find, collect, and share counter-narratives about Blackness. A pro-black stance doesn’t mean you will rid yourself of your anti-blackness, but I do think exposure can help usher in authentic paradigm shifts.

Lastly, publicly address anti-blackness when you see or hear it. This might be when you hear a passive aggressive comment about the Black family laughing loudly at the restaurant, when your  your colleague say something weird about their Black students, or when someone is trying to steal black joy at the movie theater. It might be responding to someone’s nonsense on Twitter or challenging your teacher friend about the way their voice changes when they talk about their Black students.

I think the biggest hurdle in fighting anti-blackness is getting white people to realize it exists. I’ll end on a final thought from Diangelo “Our need to deny the bewildering manifestations of anti-blackness that resides so close to the surface makes us irrational, and that irrationality is at the heart of white fragility and the pain it causes people of color.”

White Women, We are a Problem

Dear Fellow White Women,

We are a problem.

Since the beginning of our country we've benefited, profited, and perpetuated this racist and sexist society. In our self-righteous Puritanism, we succumbed to the patriarchy that told us to stay home and make babies because that’s what we were expected to do. We still maintained our status as better than Natives Americans so we weren't bothered too much. We still had special status.

We enjoyed our role as Mistress of the house, surveyor of all things domestic on the plantation. We knew that--despite the corsets-- power and privilege were ours to wield.

We stood tall and confident on the firm ground of racism, declaring that we deserved the right to vote because we were better than black men! We knew that we'd never win if we included Black and Brown women in the fight even though there was a twinge of guilt because we started to realize that they too were second class citizens. A few of us saw some promise in joining sides but white supremacy and self-preservation won out.  

Even when we had the opportunity to come alongside one another to fight for equal pay, we forgot about our Black and Brown sisters. I suppose it's not that surprising considering since the beginning we clearly struggled to see these sisters as part of the family.

Some might think that this pattern disappeared in the more recent past. But a quick look at who counts when they go missing, or whose pay is closest to white men, it's obvious white women are still valued above other women.

White women, our betrayal of our sisters is even more painful because we should know better (Robin DiAngelo lays this out in her book White Fragility but also this interview).

We are a HUGE problem.

It was a white woman who falsely accused a little Black Boy of looking at her wrong, resulting in his brutal murder. It was a white woman who declared herself the “first plus size woman” in a movie, erasing the Black women who paved the way. It was a white woman who called police on Black men in Starbucks...and at Menchies.

It was white women who elected Trump to office. It was white women who have excused Kavanaugh's behavior.

It is white women who continue to use their race, class and privilege to serve only themselves.

My fellow white women, y'all we've got to get it together. We need to recognize that time and time again, we are the rebar reinforcing systemic racism.

We certainly aren't the saviors of anything but can we resolve to be disruptors rather than ambassadors of racism??



Teachers, Keep Your Foot on the Gas

I know this post is going to anger some and perhaps alienate others, but I’m feeling bold.

“I gotta hand it to you, Ms.Teague. AP exams are over and we're still going. You’re the only one who hasn't let off the gas.” The student went on to explain how he wasn't doing much of anything--academic or otherwise-- in most of his classes. Now, I think he is exaggerating but I also believe that the notion of “teacher as performer” is real come May and June.

I get it.

The end of the school year is a challenging time. Sun’s creeping out, honeymoon is long gone, testing season is draining to everyone, and no one knows what bell schedule we're on.

I get it.

The light at the end of the tunnel is shining brightly. No one wants to assign work because it will need to be graded. You've worked really hard and students are exhausted. Heck, we're all beat and ready for summer.

But the longer I'm a teacher, the more frequently I hear weird excuses for the lack of engaging, thoughtful, relevant curriculum the last month of school.

Can't be creative when there’s so much testing happening.

It's a Monday!

Gosh, Wednesday-- hump day!!

Since it's Friday we'll just have a free day.

Now that AP exams are over, we’ll just...

If I had a dollar for every excuse tweeted, posted, or uttered in the hallway,  I'd have paid my student loans off much sooner.

Here's the deal: when we throw in the towel, students do too. More skipping. More fights. More time for drama that gets in the way of learning. Packing up my classroom (even if I have to move), tells students I’m done. Showing a movie for a whole class period (or days) with no connection to standards, assessments or higher level thinking--let alone actual relevance--tells students that I’ve become a glorified babysitter. I’ve now become an anecdote in Conservative Cousin Conner’s rant about wasted tax dollars and teacher summers.

If education is the great equalizer, how are we providing opportunities for our students to learn all year long. If we stop writing lesson plans three or four weeks before the end of the semester, we're telling our students their education doesn't matter. If we let all our routines go out the window, we’re telling them that we have low expectations for their behavior.

I find this especially problematic from an equity point of view. If a student is long-jumping over benchmarks, then we should keep the challenges coming, preparing them for post-secondary academic experience. If a student is behind in reading and writing, we ought to be milking every last minute with them in order to help them get to grade-level.

I can’t help but wonder how much less remediation might be necessary if teachers used their class time more efficiently. I also can’t help but wonder how much unconscious bias plays a role. John Hopkins already proved that white teachers expect less of their Black and Brown students. Knowing this research and the history of gate-keeping, our choice to call it quits when we still have over 1,000 minutes with students is shameful. This is especially essential for White teachers who espouse ideals of racial and social justice.

Bottom line: our baggage can’t matter more than their learning.

The end of the year is an opportunity to ensure that all students have exercised their academic muscles as much as possible. As an ELA teacher, I'm pressed to hit all my standards (reading, writing, speaking & listening, and language). Districts develop power standards for this very reason. So, at the end of the year, teachers should be digging deeper or going into skills and content that is perceived as “extra”.  

The end of the year is the perfect time to try a new strategy (dice!) or assessment tool (Kahoot! Socrative!). This is the time of year when my student relationships are the strongest--I’ve spent all year cultivating community and have the most buy-in. I can ask them to do almost anything. But, they have to see the reason and have choice.

I look to several colleagues for examples of this. A couple of English teachers I know built student-interest driven units based on Google’s 20% approach. After the AP exam, my husband teaches two units-- Mock Congress and How to Handle the Police. I collaborate with my 10th grade ELA team and World History teachers to create an interdisciplinary inquiry-based research projects. Each of these units has a clear connection to future academic needs or personal relevance to the student, elevating student autonomy and student voice.

I’m not going to pretend all my students are excited about my approach, but for the most part it is how I frame the conversation. I am honest about how we all feel, but I am positive about the final days of the school year. I explicitly discuss the connection between the unit/assignments and the real world, their personal lives, or the longer term trajectory (this will give you a leg-up Junior year). Most importantly, I expect all my students to arise to the occasion and I support them with my scaffolding.

We must overcome our lethargy, embrace a “fake it till you make it” mentality, and keep our foot on the gas the entire school year.






 

Just Use Your White Emoji 👍🏻

Disclaimer: While there are more important issues such as a lack of electricity or running water in the United States, I'm going to focus this post on a problem at the intersection of  race and privilege. This post isn't scientific or heavily research based.  You've been warned.

Initially, my Indian-American friend pointed it out to me. She just wanted to send an emoji that looked like her. The first time a black friend sent me a 🌚 I laughed. Then, to my embarrassment and shame, I realized why he did that. He had two choices--- a white face and a moon. A moon.

So in 2015 when Apple released its “diverse” emojis, many people of color shouted in glee. Finally, was an option besides yellow or white!   The Atlantic captured the excitement in an article titled: “Finally, Emoji People of Color”. But not everyone was excited. Writer Paige Tutt (a person of color), argued that racialized emojis are more problematic because it makes race at the forefront of every conversation and can stir up hard feelings among friends--we are now questioning the racial motivations of others.

Why does this even matter?

Because when we don't see ourselves reflected in the larger society we know we aren't valued.  That's why it's crucial to see women in positions of leadership. That's why it matters that TV and movies have actors of all colors, sexual orientations, and religions represented. That's why we needed Barack Obama.

This isn't about being “politically correct". It's about not being a jerk. It's about understanding that the world is comprised of many beautiful differences that help us see something different than our own myopic perspective.

While it's imperfect and still can lead to misrepresentation (👳🏻‍♂️?!!??), I personally think the more diversity that’s represented in our tech, the better. But I’m a hwhite lady. I always have racial representation even if I don't have gender  representation. It’s not my place to evaluate the authenticity of racemojis. But I can and will speak to the problem of white people co-opting emojis that don’t belong to them.

How many white people noticed that besides the yellow characters, the default people were white (and technically still are if you consider the ranking order of the skin tones)? I’d venture to say that not that many white people actually noticed that to begin with (unless someone of color pointed it out). To me this is indicative of the disconnect white people have with ideas of race. Race is for others, not for us. White people tend to talk or think about race if it is juxtaposed next to anything perceived as non-white.  For white people, we can chose when we want to talk about race, notice it at all, or just ignore it. Even in 2017, people of color do not have that luxury.

This is why I get so 😣😡 when a white friend sends or posts a non-white emoji. At first I thought I was the only one who noticed this. But then, a simple 👩🏻‍💻  showed me that the folks at The Atlantic wrote an article called “Why White People Don’t Use White Emoji” which basically says that white people in America experience shame about their race and therefore use any other color besides white. I’m going to try to address some of the nuance here.

First, using a non-white emoji when you’re a white person is appropriation-ish (like when you have no connection to Asia but decorate your house in fetishy way). It also comes across like you’re trying to claim some color in your life to get 😎 points. This can lead to all kinds of misunderstandings and awkwardness.

Second, it’s reinforcing the “right” kind of brown. White people love to be tan because it's the right kind of brown. I am definitely not as white as 👍🏻 and in the summer I'm more of a ✌🏼 but when 🖖🏽 is the next option it's obvious that I'm the first. I think when white people a darker shade of white they are saying “this is my tan”--even if they aren't tan. While it may be “harmless” and make us feel better about ourselves, it's reinforcing society’s norms about what is and isn't the right kind of color. This is yet another example of white privilege in action.  I can choose to be tan and therefore reap the benefits (compliment heaven) but a POC can never choose to be white. You don't want to be called Rachel Dolezal now do you?  

Third, “woke” white people, just stawp 🙄. I sometimes feel that white people who are trying to be woke think using a brown or black emoji is a sign of solidarity.  Of course there's a 🕐 and a 🗺 it's more powerful for you to understand your white privilege and use it for actual good--stand up for a POC on Twitter or  attend an event on Immigrant Rights. ️

I get it. At the root of the co-opting of non-white emojis is fear. Some white people are concerned that if you use the white one does that mean you are saying white power? While many emojis can convey multiple meanings raising a ✊🏻 definitely seems like you're saying “white power”.

Let's not forget that how much thought goes into your emoji-sending varies. I categorize responses as 1) this is a general emoji response. 2)  a “this emoji is me” response.  For example  am I generally raising a fist ✊🏻or am I raising BLM fist ✊🏿? Again, this seems to go with the idea that white people get to choose when to talk about their race and when to draw attention to it..which imo is a prime example of privilege. Are you meeting a friend 👩 or a  👩🏾? What about a 👩🏻👩🏼??  in contrast people of color do not get that luxury.

I find it interesting that Europeans don't have any qualms about using the white skin toned emojis 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♂️

So what I'm saying is this: Own your whiteness. 

If you identify as white and experience white privilege, USE A WHITE EMOJI FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

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See these examples for appropriate uses of your white emojis:

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Two Interchangeable White Ladies Start a Podcast

Generally, when white people get together we talk about everything else but race. We don't talk about it because we think we don't have to--and it feels weird. So we ignore it.

Specifically, when white women get together, we spend hours talking about leggings, scarves, wine, mole skin notebooks, and a bazillion other things. If we bring up race it’s either in relation to makeup (Ivory? Beige 1?), undergarments (nude, white or black?), or attraction (tall, dark, and handsome).

There’s nothing wrong with talking about those things, but, white folks need to start having conversations that communities of color are having (have had for a long, long time) about race, class, and power. We need to realize that, while a social construct, race has real implications for daily life and is a crucial part of identify formation for many people. We need to stop ignoring it because it's hard to talk about or makes us feel uncomfortable. We need to acknowledge that we have a place in the conversation and we need to figure out what the heck that is. 

In effort to deconstruct this thing called race and the privileges, burdens, and baggage that accompany it, I’m co-hosting a podcast. Our hope is that our show will be a place to discuss education, culture, and local activism. We’ve committed to eight episodes that will attempt to answer our essential question:

How can white women use their privilege to deconstruct white culture, confront their own biases, be better allies, and be less basic?  

This year, I am working with one of my favorite interchangeable ladies, Annie Jansen, to launch our first podcast! We are lucky to join Channel 253, a podcast network sponsored by Move to Tacoma with other gems such as Nerd Farmer Podcast, Citizen Tacoma, and FloundersBTeam.

The podcast mode should allow us to grapple with some tough issues while making fun of ourselves and the culture of white women in this country in a way that traditional writing can’t quite capture. No, it's not just for white women. 

We hope you will join us on this new adventure, listen to our show and feel free to DM us on Twitter @IWL_Podcast with ideas and topics you’d like us to explore.

Women of Color in Education Should Be the Norm

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Ate Josie (pronounced a-taay, meaning “big sister” in Tagalog) had a stern face. She was no-nonsense when it came to Children’s Church at TayTay New Life Christian Fellowship. It was 1987 and we were going to learn about Jesus, come hell or high water. It didn’t matter that we were sweating buckets because the ceiling fan had stopped working.

Ann Chau spent every Saturday night at Harvesters Youth Group actively listening to awkward and dramatic teenagers, her eyes simultaneously empathetic and judging. She always listened.  Trustworthy and loyal, she taught us that compassion for others was more important than popularity. She encouraged our crew of misfit, tri-culture kids from around the world. Ann made me feel valued and through our relationship I realized I wanted to do that for other teens.

Christina Tsu was my youth pastor and the “boss” of my senior year internship at a local church (I was still living in Hong Kong). She counseled me as I decided who my closest friends were and what college I would attend. It was under her leadership that I became self-disciplined, learning how to passionately serve others, and how to listen to God through prayer. She shaped my notions of self-worth and my belief in God. This is the year I realized I wanted to teach high school and not become a nurse (plus body fluids are nasty!).  

These women left a fingerprint on my life. While my exposure to women of color in leadership and education roles is a little nontraditional (I didn’t attend school in the United States),  it has shaped how I viewed women in power. I grew up thinking that women of all colors could be in positions of power and authority while leading their respective communities. This was my norm.

My experience is not the case for many students of color in the United States today. There are systemic reasons for this exclusion that are embedded in our history of institutional racism. Often, educators of color serve in auxiliary roles such as paraeducators, office personnel, or career counselors.  While this is important and without a doubt these educators change lives, only 18% of certificated teachers are of color. With such a low percentage, it is likely that most students will never encounter a teacher of color in their K-12 career.  

Disclaimer: I want to acknowledge that women--particularly women of color--have always been marginalized teachers in society. As mothers, grandmothers, aunties, and sisters, they instill the most important life lessons about the world in their children, grandchildren, and siblings.

Just a couple of weeks ago I lurked in the background of an #EduColor chat titled “Her Struggle, Her Power: Women of Color as Educators.” I felt this chat was one of the most important conversations I’ve joined--not because I actually had anything to say, but because I had everything to learn. A few things stood out to me:

  1. Women in teaching deal with a lot of the same crap from a system that doesn’t value them enough. Teaching was one of the first professions open to women in a society that didn’t view us as intelligent or capable (ironic considering we’re the ones educating future generations *Kanye shrug). So now we’ve “proven” ourselves, but we’ve also proven that we will tolerate poor working conditions and mediocre compensation packages.

  2. Women of color have it even worse than white women. In addition to being poorly paid, teachers of color aren’t treated the same way their white counterparts are. Often they are disproportionately subject to working with “hard” cases and seen only as disciplinarians rather than instructional experts. Furthermore, in addition to gender discrimination, they face straight up racism from students, parents, colleagues, and the system as a whole!  

  3. Women of color in education reach students in a way that interchangeable white ladies need to learn from. I’d argue this is probably my most important takeaway from that Twitter chat. But it’s also the most challenging. I’m still grappling with what this looks like. I don’t think this means you awkwardly pretend you understand the WOC experience or say anything weird about how their race must help them connect with all kids from ____ racial background. Maybe start by reading this article by Christina Torres Under Pressure: Being a Woman of Color in Education. Then, go read the transcript of that Twitter chat and comment here with your own reflection.

I am the white woman I am today because of women of color.