Yesterday, our country prepared itself for a heavy snowfall. The newspapers warned for unexpected amounts of snow, dangerous roads, train delays,… A ‘disruption’ they called it. It started in the morning, and by the time evening rolled around, our garden was covered in a beautiful blanket of thick, powdery snow. The salt that had been sprinkled on the roads had long been conquered by the snow. I did wonder, I have to admit, how I was going to get to work today. We live on top of a hill, and most of the roads to go down to the main street have funny twists and bends, and it’s downright dangerous to try and drive down them in situations like this. So when the message came that school would be closed for the day, my first reaction was relief. But of course, we didn’t close close. We simply got the instruction to move all our classes for today online.
And so, my second reaction was of a different kind: stress. I’ve never taught a class online. What was I gonna do? What would be the most productive way for me and my pupils to go about this? I quickly made a bookwidget for three of my classes, and then wrote down instructions for a task for the other three.
I’m a teacher. Educating pupils is my job. I offer information, I create (or try to create) the optimal learning conditions, and my main goal should be to optimize the exchange of knowledge. So, in theory, this is perfect. I can’t teach in person, but I’ve made sure that my pupils will still learn. And yet, something feels off.
It’s January 2024, and our country – or at least the part where I live – got over 10 centimeters of snow for the first time in years. Chances are that by tomorrow, all this snow will be gone again. Chances are that most of my pupils have never experienced this kind of snowfall in their lives. And yet, we prioritize one day of online (online!!!) classes over letting pupils discover the outdoors and the nature around them. Our pupils, our teenagers, have to spend today behind a computer instead of making snowmen. Isn’t this just… crazy? It’s one day! Seven hours of classes, big freaking deal. What will my pupils remember the most? The snowfall, or the exercises they had to do for my class?
The answer is obvious to everyone, and yet our system pushes back. It says that it’s winter and that it’s supposed to snow like this, and that we shouldn’t make such a big deal out of it. It says that acquiring rational knowledge is more important than getting to experience the world. But my pupils got to experience snow today, and I would be a liar if I said that next year, this will certainly happen again.
I’m a teacher, yes. But it needs to be narrowed down a bit. I’m a teacher of the generation that will have to deal with the fall-out of climate change. I’m a teacher of the generation that’s supposed to be the change. We teach them about the climate, and everything that’s going wrong, and we tell them that it’s up to us (I’m counting my generation here too – that’s what happens when the age gap between you and your pupils is less than 10 years) to change things.
And here’s where we go wrong. Because how can we tell them that they have to change things, when we aren’t changing it too? How can I teach my pupils that nature is important, more important than knowing that one grammar rule by heart, more important than understanding the Maslow pyramid, … if my actions teach them the opposite?
Us teachers, we keep shouting for a change. We look at our pupils, and we say, where did we go wrong? How did it happen that your fifteen-year-old mind is so overcome by grades and the need to perform well, that everything else falls away? And in the next minute, we decide to grade that exercise because otherwise, we’re sure they won’t do it. We look at our pupils, and we say, what a pity that you’re so glued to your screens that you don’t know anymore what nature is. And in the next minute, we tell them that doing their exercises – on their laptops no less – is more important than going outside and walking in the snow.
We can’t expect them to be the change if we’re not changing the system first.
And, yes, it’s damn difficult to change the system. It’s difficult when you’re a mere 22 years old, and you still feel more like a kid than a functional adult most days. When it’s only your second day as a teacher at this new school, and you’re unsure about where you’re standing in this new position you’ve acquired. You want to tell your pupils to go outside, to go play in the snow and have fun with their friends, to go experience this magical, one-in-a-million kind of day. But instead, you feel compelled to give them exercises so that you don’t feel like a bad teacher. Because the world teaches you that experiences are important, that change is important, but the system is rigid and locked down, and you have to make the choice between following the rules and following your heart.
I have a degree in Outdoor Education, and yet I’m so scared of failing the so-called system that I ignore all that I’ve learned and instead push on that rational-knowledge-acquirement. It’s the easiest choice, because telling my pupils that we’re taking an alternative route for classes when I haven’t even seen some of these kids in real life… I don’t know what would happen but most of the experienced teachers around me say that it’s not a good idea. That it’s deadly for your classroom management. That you’re better off doing it like this for just a little bit, until you’re grounded in your position. But as I’m sitting here, behind my laptop, and I watch how my pupils upload their exercises (and a few pictures of snow in between, bless them), I have to admit that I feel sick. Is this really what’s best for us, for our pupils, for our system?
Never again, I’m telling myself. I’ll gladly take the risk of potentially killing my classroom management.
Next time this happens, I’m telling my pupils to go outside.
Next time, I’m failing the ‘system’. Sue me.
