Out of the Well

Have We Lost Our Way?

So many communities seem to be in turmoil right now. Families. Schools. Neighbourhoods. Cities. Countries. The whole world is turning inside out, perhaps more visibly than ever before. When I see these struggles, I always take comfort in information. I read. I listen. I talk. And right now, I wonder, “Where are the Thinkers?” Where are the people who can stay calm under pressure and make good decisions with their ‘big picture’ hats on? When did our reliance on silo-ed experts become so entrenched? When did we stop trying to heal and grow and instead surrender to band-aid solutions that just end up making the problems we face someone else’s? How did we develop this complacency and acceptance of mediocracy? I know these are questions that have been asked for a long time, but I’m not sure they have ever been so relevant as they have been in this past year, with the convergence of COVID, race-relations, growing economic disparity, mental health concerns, and pending environmental disaster. How do we find our way out of the mess we are in and imagine something better for ourselves?

Here in Ontario, we are under a six-week Stay-At-Home order. Under the newest regulations, citizens are asked to leave home only for essential trips, and then to stay within their local community. We have closed schools and small businesses, with a few exceptions, including those that sell food and healthcare products. We have mostly left open big box stores (albeit at limited capacity and merchandise) and retailers that cater to the rich – those that sell or provide maintenance for vehicles, gardening stores, equipment rentals, etc. We have closed playgrounds (now reversed), campgrounds, and outdoor sporting facilities, and made it illegal to gather with anyone outside your immediate household, giving police the authority to stop and questions anyone found outside their residence (also now reversed). Schools are closed but still expected to deliver a full curriculum with zero time to reorganize lessons to be appropriate for online learning.

Don’t get me wrong. I am glad we are taking precautions. But what are we doing? Where is the evidence? Where is the compassion? How are we taking this opportunity to make our society stronger, healthier, and more just, and instead using it to further undermine social justice and mental health?

The advice offered by medical professionals was to provide paid sick leave, rapid testing in high-risk sectors, and a quicker vaccine rollout targeting essential workers. The science seems to indicate that transmission is occurring in settings where people have no choice but to work in close quarters, such as factories and packaging plants. There does not appear to be any evidence that spread is happening in playgrounds, on tennis courts, or while back-country camping. And yet, we are still failing to provide paid sick days, choosing instead to limit people’s access to activities that promote safe interactions and mental health. The provincial government’s insistence that federal aid packages make up for the lack of paid sick leave is preposterous if you actually read the policies. A low-income worker who wakes up feeling ‘under the weather’ may literally have to choose whether to stay home, just in case, or make rent this month. Beyond the very real fact that no person should ever have to make that decision, in a pandemic, we are literally asking people to choose between the possibility of endangering public well-being and the certainty of endangering the immediate health and safety of their families.

We look like we are saying, “Stay home.” But we are actually saying, “Stay home if you can afford to do so. But by all means, don’t stay home if your work makes my life better.” I believe that providing basic income or paid sick days would actually save money in the long run, regardless of the situation. But in a pandemic, we KNOW that creating conditions whereby staying home is a viable option will drastically decrease the chance of outbreaks in low-income workers. There is very little evidence that people are inclined to misuse paid sick days, especially in emergency situations. And yet, we are saying that we are so afraid of people ‘playing the system’ that we are prepared to gamble public safety to avoid giving ground politically. From my very privileged position, I am inclined to say if someone is occasionally taking paid sick days without actually being sick, then they likely need those days to maintain their basic mental health, which is also an issue that needs to be addressed.

While we’re on the topic, ‘playing the system’ seems to be much more likely for people who don’t really need to do so. Tax evasion, loopholes, and entitlement seem way more prevalent in the well-to-do. Providing low-income workers with the tiniest glimmer of flexibility to monitor their own physical and mental health seems a small concession when we look the other way or throw up our hands rather than close those loopholes for the more well-to-do members of society.

In general, I’ve been fairly pleased with how we’ve managed the pandemic. It hasn’t been amazing, but it could have been worse, and I’m glad I’m not making the decisions. But where I have been least impressed has almost always come down to lack of big picture thinking. Poor communication. Decisions made with only one sector in mind.

I know of at least two people who have been turned away from their scheduled vaccine appointments, at least one of whom had a letter certifying his eligibility, because the rapidly changing information hadn’t yet been updated at the vaccine centre. Another friend had a positive COVID test, which she later found out had been amended. But she learned that by accident, and not from the public health unit. As it turns out, that’s because there is no one whose job it is to contact her in that situation. How many other times have there been situations where important information isn’t shared because there isn’t anyone whose job it is to share it? I realize that this situation is impossibly difficult, and as I said, I’m glad I’m not the one making the decisions. However, I feel like we have truly lost our way, and this is just the piece that is making the cracks visible.

Where are the Thinkers? Is there no one whose job it is to look at the big picture? How do we fix a system that creates this chaos? We need to think outside the box. We need creativity. We need to start following evidence instead of historical patterns. Perhaps we need to rethink how government works. I am by no means an expert, and until fairly recently, I thought that government was a pretty boring topic. But the more I understand about how the system works (or doesn’t), the more I think we’re on the wrong path. We spend an inordinate amount of time and money carrying out investigations into the scandals of past governments, blaming other parties or levels of government for poor decisions, and beefing up the statistics of whatever party is currently in power. Within the government, we divide issues into separate portfolios, with each minister looking out for their own area. No one seems to see that many of the issues are clearly interconnected.

Most disturbing of all, we seem to measure success only by economic gauges. We talk about the importance of physical and mental health, and environmental protection, but we consistently put economic growth ahead of all of these. We talk about the need for good-quality education, but we don’t follow the evidence of what works. We say we want equality, but we stand by systems that clearly promote inequality, injustice, and sometimes active persecution. We punish governments for making policy with which we disagree. We elect officials to govern, and then we watch for the first opportunity to crucify them for not being perfect. We paint our leaders into a position where they cannot reverse mistakes for fear of punishment. Making mistakes is human. Reversing them is crucial for learning and correcting course.

We are not stupid. We are not uneducated. We are not in danger. So why do we allow this madness to unfold in front of us, year after year, government after government, generation after generation? Why is it so difficult to imagine another way? A better way? How do we start thinking, and sharing, and listening to divergent, out-of-the-box solutions? How do we start changing the systems that are no longer working? This past year has been incredibly challenging – difficult, and innovative, and terrifying, and hopeful. It has shaken up so many of the things we took for granted. This is our chance. If not now, when?

Building Maps

I have two sons, both of whom are good at math. One is in grade five and at the top of his math class. The other would be in grade eight, except that he is freelancing his education this year, taking a break from the standard school setting. His grade seven math teacher said he was brilliant in math, but she couldn’t assign him a mark, because he refused to do any assignments. He recently started on IXL, a math app that teaches the Ontario curriculum through online questions and guided practice, and we’ve been looking at it together. It’s amazing to watch him. He can answer almost anything, without writing anything down, but he doesn’t follow the algorithms we teach in school. He just knows the answers. Or, when he doesn’t ‘just know’ the answer, he falls back on his understanding of how math works to figure out his own algorithm. It’s amazing to watch. But I’m struck by the gap between his understanding and his inability to follow the steps most people do. He says they don’t make sense to him.

I was particularly struck by this strange dichotomy because I’ve been teaching math to a group of students who have the opposite phenomenon. They can follow the rules of math, but seem to have no idea how math works. They are stuck in what we call “old math” as opposed to the “new math” that has so many people hot under the collar. These are students who can “borrow” and “carry” but struggle to add two single digit numbers using mental math. They know their timetables and can perform beautiful long division, but they don’t understand why long multiplication works. They don’t care why it works – they want to know if it’s right.

I asked my students this week why they think we take math tests and then why they think we learn math at all, and the answers were very revealing. They were very focused on grades, report cards, and knowing their levels. They did not seem to understand that the point is to learn how math works. I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently, and I’ve started talking to my students differently about math. I think they are missing the point of learning math. They are missing the point because we are missing the point, and I’m starting to wonder where else we are missing this same point. In what other areas of life are we focused on getting the “right” answer rather than learning how life works?

I’ve started talking to my students about building a confident ‘math map’. We talked about how they each have a map in their heads that helps them know how to get around the school. Those who’ve been at the school a long time have a more complete map, while those who are new this year, during COVID, have a very limited map, because they haven’t traveled much around the school. We talked about how we could give visitors a map to get around, but that the visitors would have more trouble reading the map than the students who already know their way around. I told them we are building math maps in their heads, with different rooms for different concepts. I don’t want to have to hand them a map that tells them how to get around math concepts. I want them to build their own map of how the concepts work and fit together. The way to do this is by exploration, practice, and relevant guidance. Students at all levels, not just in the early primary years, need to work with concrete manipulatives. They need to try things out, take risks, and observe relationships between real life and math. We need to teach them that math is a language we use to talk about real things that happen. I’m excited about what I see happening already.

But what about outside of math? What about social skills and life skills and self-regulation and values? Could we build maps for those aspects of life instead of teaching individual skills as right and wrong, good and bad, conforming or shamed? What if, instead of teaching children what to do in different situations, we taught them how emotions work, how relationships work, and how society works? What if we taught children how to determine their own happiness instead of allowing society to form their ideas of success? Instead of giving them a blueprint for the building we’ve already approved, what if we gave them building materials and lessons in architecture? What would they build if we let them explore? What would they build if they weren’t so set on getting it right? What would they build if they could build anything they wanted? I wonder if we can even imagine the society that could be built using everything we now know about psychology, relationships, justice, and happiness. I can only imagine the progress that could be made if we allowed them to dream, to construct, and to change systems as their understanding grows. How do we open that door, just a crack? How do we change our conversation, to show them that the point of life is not to ‘get it right’ but to understand how the world works and use our understanding to make the most beautiful and authentic versions of ourselves possible? How could we start to change our own?

A Case Against Punishment

Imagine the following scenarios:

A six-year-old child is fooling around and breaks a family heirloom.
A grade five student repeatedly talks back to the teacher when corrected for disruptive behaviour.
A high school student regularly skips English class.
A 20-year-old steals a car as part of a gang initiation.
A 38-year-old new parent leaves the baby in a locked car while running in to buy milk.
A senior sells unused pain medication to a local teen.
A hockey coach grooms and then sexually assaults a player.
A politician leaves the country during lockdown.
A political party makes a difficult and unpopular decision.

What to do about these situations? In each of these cases, society’s knee-jerk reaction is the same: punish them. Children are admonished and sent to their rooms. Students are given detention and grounded from favoured activities. Adults, young and old, are thrown in jail. Parents lose custody of their children. Politicians are demoted or fired. Political parties are removed from power.

We feel justified in our desire for retribution because we need to teach them a lesson, or because they should have known better, or because they deserve what they get. But, in reality, this is a vindictive need that is a product of society’s entrenched but misguided biases and beliefs. In fact, punishment is not a particularly effective method for changing behaviour. At times, it might be a deterrent to honest folks who can choose better behaviour to avoid unpleasant consequences. But if we believe that everyone is doing their best with what they’ve got, then we must believe that most people who make poor choices do so because there isn’t a better option readily available.

The six-year-old had excess energy.
The grade five student was neuro-atypical and felt unjustly punished for not fitting the box.
The high schooler was overtired due to an inability to cope with parental fighting.
The gang member had no positive role-models and was desperate to belong.
The new parent couldn’t imagine deciding between waking the baby who was finally asleep and not having milk for the toddler waiting at home.
The senior couldn’t afford to pay rising food and rent prices and still buy gifts for the grandchildren.
The coach was abused and bullied growing up, and never got help because the shame was too strong.
The politician believed the travel was justified without being able to see the privilege inherent in that perspective.
The political party was trying to make a choice based on the information available at the time.

In each of these situations, someone made what we would consider to be a ‘bad choice’. Presumably, they all should have known that the choice might come with negative consequences. One of three things happened. Either they didn’t think, or they thought they wouldn’t get caught, or they thought the benefit was worth the risk. The only one of those where the punishment might make a difference is in the third possibility, when the person rationally thought that the risk was worth it, which might have been different if the consequences had been more dire. But think about that. It is impossible to find a consequence that will have the same impact on every member of society, so we would have to make the consequences so ridiculously dire that parents, teachers, and judges would be hesitant to apply them in most cases.

More importantly, in the majority of cases, consequences don’t play into the decision making of the offender. A clear example of how this thinking doesn’t work is in drinking and driving. There is no consequence more dire than living the rest of your life knowing that you killed someone else. People don’t choose to drive drunk because the consequences aren’t serious; they choose because they think it won’t happen to them – either the crash or the arrest. I cannot believe that anyone wakes up one day and decides to become a pedophile. I don’t believe anyone sits down and rationally discusses whether they should go to nursing school or become a thief. People fall into these roles in steps and stages, often forced by circumstance, or in the absence of the support needed to make healthy decisions.

Society’s response to poor decisions, especially those that affect someone else, is punishment, or revenge, when what we really need is change, learning, and restitution. When we lose something, we want the person we deem responsible to suffer, to see how it feels to be us. What we really need is understanding, to feel heard in our grief and our pain. When we see others getting what we see as an unfair share (like in cases of petty theft), we want them to lose, or to pay it back with interest. What we really need is to ensure the person’s needs are met so that cheating is not their best option. We want those who try to get ahead to feel our disappointment, our anger, and our frustration. But who wins in those cases? Do we win when we break up families? When we destroy people’s lives? When we sign up to support criminals in their life-long relationship with the justice system? No. We don’t win. They don’t win. It is a sure recipe for losing.

There is a fascinating documentary about Norwegian Prisons, by Michael Moore. In it, he visits several prisons, including maximum security prisons, where we learn that rehabilitation is the goal. They have a 20% recidivism rate, whereas in the US, the recidivism rate is about 80%. The inmates are treated with respect and humanity. They live communally, with a reasonable quality of life, and learn skills to support their return to society. For those of us familiar with the North American justice system, this seems absurd. It does not fit our belief that criminals have relinquished their rights to a life of dignity and comfort.

So, how does society perpetuate these beliefs? We start early. We start by punishing small children for not meeting expectations that are beyond their ability. We start by treating children as extensions of ourselves and by expecting more from them than we do from adults (like expecting them to value what we value over what they value). We start by expecting school children to fit inside a very narrow definition of normal. We model punishment as a way to control their behaviour. We talk about criminals, politicians, and those who vote differently from us as deserving horrible fates. We sensationalize news and polarize opinions. We criticize the choices of our neighbours, our friends, and our leaders, rather than modeling empathy and an understanding that different does not necessarily mean wrong and that making poor choices does not diminish one’s worth as a human being. We rant about the choices of politicians and threaten not to re-elect them. We forget that we are all human and all trying to do our best.

But what if there is a better way? What if, instead of seeking retribution, we sought understanding? What if, instead of asking, “What is wrong with these people?”, we asked, “What led these people to make those decisions or to hold these beliefs?” What if, instead of punishing criminals to the maximum extent of the law, we used compassion to rehabilitate them? What if we required political parties to work together, and allowed them to make brave decisions without fearing for their jobs?

Many spiritual leaders and emotional healers say that forgiveness is for the victim, not the perpetrator. The idea is that victims are hurt more by holding onto the anger and resentment stemming from their grievances than their perpetrators, who might not even know about the effect of their behaviour. That, in forgiving their perpetrators, victims release themselves from holding on to events and the resulting pain, and allow themselves to move forward in peace. Likewise, I think believing that we can only find relief by inflicting retribution on others keeps us in a perpetual state of painful and disappointing revenge-seeking, when we discover that punishing others doesn’t undo our own pain.

Ask any parent, and they will tell you that punishing a child feels unpleasant and sometimes counter productive. Ask any teacher, and they will tell you that punishing a student does not feel like a win. Judges talk about the heaviness of sending young offenders to jail, where they are statistically likely to get worse instead of better, and the devastation in breaking up families. With all of the current awareness around systemic racism, we also know that both the education system and the justice system favour whites, which is just another level of complication for teachers, principals, and judges trying to make sound decisions.

I wonder what would happen if, as individuals and as a society, we chose to focus on compassion and rehabilitation instead of revenge and punishment. Could we raise a generation of citizens with the internal motivation and emotional regulation necessary to make the changes we want to see in the world? If we took a deep breath and said to our children, “I know you didn’t mean to break that, but it was important to me, so I need some time to be sad. Where can we find a safe place for you to spend your energy?” What if we adjusted our school system to embrace diversity and to value, honour, and celebrate each child’s interests and abilities? What if we provided support to those who need belonging at any age? What if we congratulated instead of shaming people who sought help for problems like addiction, sexual aggression, and narcissism? What if we allowed people to unlearn privilege without shame? What if we supported political policies instead of parties, and allowed for mistakes and corrections without flip-flopping and reversing decisions every few years? What if we supported our families, friends, and neighbours even when their decisions did not line up with our own?

Would children develop more empathy and tolerance? Would students learn through their innate curiosity and develop innovative solutions to problems we haven’t been able to fix? Would our communities become stronger and more resilient? Would people seek help instead of being pushed to the edges of their limits? Would we have more open discussions about racism, poverty, and justice? Would our political system stabilize and waste less money, and instead focus on the issues that really matter? Would people begin to make choices to protect others and the environment? Would we find there really is enough to go around? If there wasn’t such a need to protect ourselves from injustice and threat, would we naturally begin to lift each other up instead of scrambling over each other to get to the top? There are no certain answers to these questions, but it seems worth a try. In light of the news this week, with so many polarized and vitriolic opinions, it seems like we are desperate for something, anything, that could cool the fires and begin to encourage compassion, understanding, and co-operation. Where can you begin to be that change?

Game Changer Books

I read a couple of game-changing books this year. In the fall, while awaiting COVID results in isolation from my family, I read Untamed, by Glennon Doyle. In a series of vignettes, she explores how we become caged by society’s expectation, and how she found her way out of her own cages to create a life more fulfilling and authentic than what she could previously have imagined. She talks about how we need to find our own Knowing, deep inside of ourselves, and work to make the world outside match the most beautiful vision we can imagine. One week later, I nearly quit my job standing up for my values. Dangerous book. Dangerous, exhilarating, empowering book. I highly recommend it!

Earlier in the year, I read and viewed several interviews with Ibram X. Kendi, a scholar and activist, and the author of several books, including Stamped From the Beginning and How to be an Anti-Racist. My son received an abridged version of the first for Christmas, and I’m looking forward to borrowing it. If you’d rather watch a video, check out this one, where he describes his research and insights about racism.

Basically, Kendi discusses his theory that racism is not the result of negative views of Black people, but that racist policies CAUSE negative views. This is an important distinction, because it points at policy as the primary problem, and policy change as the path to reducing racism. He also talks about there being no such thing as non-racist, and that one can be both racist and anti-racist, thereby removing some of the stigma and encouraging responsibility for choosing anti-racist actions. Definitely worth a read!

I’m now reading The Self-Driven Child by William Stixrud and Ned Johnson. It talks about the brain science behind offering your children more control over their own lives, even if it means allowing them to make decisions that aren’t what you would choose for them. It suggests that there are very few irreversible decisions, and that, given the right support and information, children will usually make decisions that work for them. The authors recommend the ‘Parent as Consultant Model’, which works on the following premises:

You are the expert on you.
You have a brain in your head.
You want your life to work.

So far, I have found this book to be liberating in a way that no other parenting style has been. For several years, and very much for the past couple of years, we have been moving this direction, if for no other reason than because we’ve run out of other options. It’s hard to buck society’s norms around parenting, but we are finding that it’s working. As we’ve backed off and allowed our son to operate with fewer expectations, his mood has improved, our relationship has improved, and the family is operating in more positive ways. The short-term battle looks a bit bleak – our son is free-lancing his education and it’s not an exact science – but he has stopped trying to sabotage his own life to prove to us that we cannot control him. In the longer term, this feels like a huge success, and I am hopeful that his internal motivation will come back online. He has recently started talking about his future, and what he might like to do with his life. This I take as an excellent sign, and I hope I can be the parent guide he needs to find meaningful direction in his life.

Lessons from 2020

Well, it’s been quite a year!

It’s been a year like no other for me, both personally and professionally, and also an unprecedented year for the rest of the world. COVID-19 has derailed the lifestyles that we knew. In its wake, we are left with changed priorities, skills, and understandings. We have learned about ourselves, our families, society, and the world. Some changes have been positive, some concerning, and others catastrophic. This virus has highlighted inequities, pitfalls, possibilities, and potential. What have we learned that we can carry forward to make our lives and communities better in 2021 and beyond?

As a teacher, I’ve seen incredible differences in the ways curriculum can be delivered. I’ve been forced to think even more about what we expect from our education system, about whose needs aren’t being met, and why. I’ve been confronted by the hypocrisy of school boards, caught between efficiency and equity. Caught between liability and practicality. Caught between accountability and the actual education of children. The pitfalls of beaurocracy have been utterly exposed. In October, I nearly resigned my position, which would have ended a twenty-year career in public education. I felt I could not in good conscience continue to work for a system where common sense was ignored and bureaucratic decisions were made without concern for health, safety, equity, or pedagogy. Thankfully, the decision at stake was reversed, and I am happily still employed, but that experience has changed me and the way I view my work in fundamental ways.

As a Canadian, I have watched horrors unfold with our closest neighbours. I have followed American news, with the emergence of a global pandemic, protests following the shooting of George Floyd, and the almost absurd political situations that unfolded over the year. I have considered how these issues compare in Canada. What are we doing right, and where are we left wanting?

Overall, I’ve been proud of how our various levels of government have responded to the COVID crisis – it hasn’t been perfect, but I am satisfied that we’ve handled it well. I am thankful that I am not the one making decisions with such large implications for so many. Whatever shortcomings we’ve shown, I do feel like our response has been more co-ordinated, responsible, and effective than our neighbours to the south.

On racial issues, I think the comparison is less flattering. We like to think of ourselves as a very enlightened and tolerant society, but I think that our pride and self-congratulation gets in the way of seeing clearly where the problems still lie. In an anti-racism discussion group, I’ve seen a wide range of awareness and enlightenment, and that’s within a group committed to bettering our own understanding of the issues. On Facebook, I see plenty of evidence that we aren’t so far along the road to equity as we’d like to think. Perhaps the trickiest thing about racism is its insidiousness. It’s hard to change and hard to stop… partially because it’s so hard to see.

As for the election, I am relieved to see a changing of the guard, but I was incredibly alarmed to see how close the vote split was. There is danger and disillusionment in a country so deeply divided. But then my husband pointed out that given the chance, we would likely have a similar outcome in Canada. That made me think… and I think he might not be wrong.

As a parent, I’ve seen my family blossom under the COVID restrictions. I feel guilty when I think about how hard this pandemic has been on so many people – destroying families, businesses, hopes, and dreams. But for us, this slowed pace has been a respite from the craziness we were used to. I have enjoyed being at home more, with fewer meetings and appointments. I have benefited from virtual conferences, which mean that one-hour meetings take one hour, without travel time and the random socialization that used to stretch one-hour meetings into two-and-a-half-hour commitments. We miss the social and physical benefits of hockey, but we are enjoying the respite from having to rush across the city to be at a game at 5:30 on a Friday night. We don’t miss dragging hockey bags in and out of a frozen car early Saturday morning. Online shopping was a revelation for me. We worked hard to shop locally, and I enjoyed finding new shops to support from the comfort of my bedroom, without the fight for parking spaces and crowded malls. Christmas just seemed easier this year, with less to do and more time to do it. Sure, we missed the social contact and having a bustling Christmas, but it was nice to have a break that was actually restful, with time to connect at home, without the pressures of venturing out as a family.

But perhaps the biggest lessons have come from seeing how much we can change. Two years ago, the prevailing attitude was that workers could not work effectively from home, that we could not reverse environmental degradation, and that a person’s worth could largely be measured by economic success. Over the past year, we’ve seen that working from home offers many benefits – to workers, organizations, and the environment. We’ve seen that change can happen overnight if the stakes are high enough. In the spring, when the whole world shut down almost overnight, we saw immediate positive impact on the environment. We are beginning to recognize that we can live without professional sports and global travel, but not without groceries and garbage collection.

We’ve seen that the highest priority of public education is free and consistent childcare. That every system is designed to support capitalism. That nations are divided around the need for economic stability and the need for safe and healthy citizens. We’ve been forced to think outside of the box. We have found innovative ways to celebrate birthdays, to deliver church services, and to stay connected without contact.

We’ve seen that when the rat race slows down, people are free to see and process what is going on in the world around them. George Floyd was not the first Black man to be publicly killed by police. The timing of his death helped make that event the catalyst for change that had previously been missing. People were becoming more aware of the inequitable impact of COVID. Looking for meaning and antsy for change, with time on their hands and a desperation for some positive sense of control, people responded to this incident with support that had long been lacking.

So what can we take out of what seems to many to have been a disastrous year? How can we find silver linings? How can we learn from this difficult experience and move forward stronger, wiser, and more together?

For myself, I will work hard to hold onto the lessons of stillness, of rest, of prioritizing time, rather than rushing to fill every hour of my week. I am learning to trust myself and to listen for internal guidance, rather than the constant hum from the outside world. I am learning to say no, and to prioritize things that enhance my life, my family, and the world. I will use my voice to support my values.

Likewise, for my family, I will cherish the calm that has arisen in the stillness. No longer will I push my children into activities and volunteer for every committee that asks. We have learned that my younger son needs social contact and sports, but that my older son thrives more in a quiet and uncomplicated environment. My husband will continue to work from home at least part time. We will support local small businesses whenever possible.

In the broader community, I hope that we will take advantage of our new awareness of the fragility of the systems so many of us take for granted. I hope we will hold onto our anger and use it to reduce racism, in our homes, in our schools, in our communities, and in our systems. I hope that we will insist on systems that support equity, like guaranteed basic income, housing first solutions, and a fairer process of justice. I hope that we can innovate ways to support children, seniors, and those with various disabilities so that they can become valued and active members of society. I want to build a social net that includes everyone. I hope for proactive and preventative protocols that can replace reactive solutions that perpetuate the cycles of trauma that we are just now beginning to identify. It is my sincerest wish that we rebuild our economy in ways that communicate the values we claim to hold – those that acknowledge the inherent worth of all people. That we begin to ask, as a community, “How can we help?”

Globally, we must capitalize on our new learnings about the environment. We need to make this a priority, using what happened in the spring as motivation to do better, faster. We can use our new practices to support social and environmental justice. With a decreased need for people to travel to workplaces, we can lessen traffic pollution, and convert unused office space to meet critical needs for affordable housing. With reduced demand for material goods, we can redefine success in ways that support environmental protection, rather than limitless economic growth.

What has struck me most powerfully this year is the speed at which change has occurred. Schools and businesses were closed. Financial support was delivered. The arts moved online. People have learned new ways of being with each other, for social, educational, work, and community events. And these changes were immediate. How? Because we cared. Because we feared. Because the virus didn’t discriminate – it posed risk to everyone. Because change was necessary, even for the most powerful. And it makes me wonder – what if?

What if we declared poverty a global crisis? How about racism? The environment? What if we demanded that our governments take care of the most vulnerable in the way that they’ve tried to take care of all of us during this pandemic? What if we took these lessons and actually did better moving forward? What would happen? What could happen? How can we re-imagine the future, using 2020 as the restart button?

Untamed Words

I just recently read a book that may have changed my life. Untamed, by Glennon Doyle, is an incredible call to the wild roots of your inner self. It says that we all have the right, or moreover, the OBLIGATION to take up space in the world, and to live our one life according to our intuition and our Knowing. She talks about how we become caged by the status quo and the expectations of others – through the media, institutions, culture, family. I read it as a call to action. I am a part of those institutions, and I have a voice. How can I use it to help free others from their cages, or better yet, encourage children to stay wild and Knowing rather than breaking them and forcing them into the cages we’ve traditionally used to control people?

“Selfless women make for an efficient society, but not a beautiful, true, or just one. When women lose themselves, the world loses its way. We do not need more selfless women. What we need right now is more women who have detoxed themselves so completely from the world’s expectations that they are full of nothing but themselves. What we need are women who are full of themselves. A woman who is full of herself knows and trusts herself enough to say and do what must be done. She lets the rest burn.”
Glennon Doyle, in Untamed

She talks about burning the ‘memos’ of society – those that tell us how to be a ‘good’ mother, wife, Christian, citizen, etc. And I realized that as a mother, teacher, friend, I am helping write those memos. I have a choice to make about what I write in the memos I pass on. I can write status quo memos, or I can write wild memos, from the depths of my own Knowing.

I think that’s what this whole blog is about, though I started it before I read this book. I am tired of the old memos. They just don’t feel right. I was talking with a friend yesterday, who wondered about why I would think anyone wants to listen to my opinions. She didn’t ask it rudely, or to question my right to speak, only to understand my confidence in starting a blog. I thought about it, in relation to my reading, and I realized that I don’t need confidence that others want to hear my opinion. I have the right, perhaps the obligation, to say what I believe to be right, whether others want to hear it or not. It reminds me of a quote we have hanging on the school wall,

“What is right is not always popular and what is popular is not always right.”
– Albert Einstein

What I have found to be true is the opposite – what is right is OFTEN not popular. Or rather, the status quo (popular) is often not right, and there seem to be many people who FEEL the not-rightness of it, but are uninclined to fight the status quo. But what if we all started listening to that inner voice that says, “This just doesn’t feel right”? What if we found out we weren’t alone in our discontent, our belief that there must be a better way? What if we changed things so that they DID feel right? What if we started trusting that little voice, individually and then collectively? What if we could make things better? I’ve decided to start rewriting the memos.

Coincidentally, I happened to also see a sorting activity for kindergarten, just after reading Untamed. It occurred to me that maybe we teach kids racism, in part, by our insistence on finding differences between things. And it got me thinking about words and how we use words to make the various cages that keep people from their inner Knowing. I wonder if I can change the memos by changing the words I use, and in doing so, invite others into the conversation about words and how we use them.

I started with the idea of sorting – one of the very first concepts taught in school. We carefully teach children to separate sets of items into different groups. To be fair, we work at teaching them that there are many ways to sort – by colour, size, shape, etc, but I think we sometimes emphasize the difference more than the sameness. What if instead of ‘sorting’, we ‘included’? What if instead of differences, we looked for similarities? To be sure, some teachers do this already, but textbooks often ask children to ‘find the odd one out’. “Which one is different?” What if we stopped asking that and instead focused on asking, “How are these the same?” “Where are the commonalities?” I wonder if it would make inclusion more natural and exclusion less so…

Those in the neurodiverse community are also interested in words. We talk about changing

stubborn to determined/persistent
emotional to caring/sensitive
bossy to leader
impatient to passionate
shy to reflective
clingy to affectionate
dreamy to creative
nosey to curious
defiant to principled/having strong beliefs

We know that there is power in words, and that children live up to our expectations. How we describe them matters, both in how others see them and in how they see themselves. We are advocating changes in these labels both at home and at school.

But what if we changed those words more widely? Instead of calling politicians ‘assholes’, what if we recognized that they are hurt? Scared? Principled? Triggered by past traumas? Overwhelmed? What if we required civility in political discourse? What positive changes might we see trickling down to playgrounds and dinner tables?

What if we taught children on playgrounds and around dinner tables about triggers and trauma and labeled the emotions we see in politicians and celebrities? Would our children grow up to be more civilized adults and leaders?

This summer, I participated in an anti-racism discussion group. One of the topics we discussed was words. We talked about unwittingly using racist words, not knowing they were racist. “Gypped, grandfathered, and peanut gallery” were some that came up that category. We also talked about appropriate words for changing the conversation around racism, like ‘white supremacy’ vs other terms. What struck me most about that part of the conversation was the need to use words that fit the setting. For me, it’s not about which words are most accurate so much as which words are most effective. If my purpose is to express truth and validate the experience of marginalized groups, then white supremacy is a good choice. If jarring people into acknowledgement is my goal, then white supremacy is a good choice, assuming my audience is ready. But if I’m speaking to someone who is not yet ready to make that jump, then ‘white supremacy’ brings with it baggage that serves to distance my listener instead of encouraging them to become part of the conversation, or to take responsibility for the problem. They conjure up images of Nazis and the KKK and say, “That has nothing to do with me.” With these listeners, ‘white normative’, or ‘white superiority’ might be more effective in moving the dialogue forward.

Likewise, in talking about rape and sexual predators, I think we do a disservice by talking about monsters and reprehensible behaviour. I’m not saying there isn’t truth in those words, but that they make the conversation less accessible. As long as rapists are monsters, then I don’t have to believe that my sons are capable of such a thing. We don’t have to believe that the nice boy down the street could commit this act. We make it hard for women and girls to report their experience with men and boys they like or love. As long as rape is an irredeemable act, then perpetrators can’t take responsibility for their mistakes and learn to do better.

If we change the conversation, we change the power dynamic. We don’t make the conversation more true, but we make it more effective. If we talk truthfully about why rape is committed, then we give boys the tools to control their own impulses. If we talk truthfully about how rape impacts victims, then we give girls the voice to speak out and get help. I want my boys to know they are absolutely capable of rape so that they learn not to. I want girls to know that nice boys make bad choices so that they have a voice to say no and to call their partners on their power trips. We need to decide whether we want retribution after the fact or prevention beforehand. And that’s a whole other blog post. Right now, I’m just interested in words. I want to find words that communicate on a level that help make the world more just, more safe, and more kind.

This morning, at virtual church, these words were read as part of communion: “This is my body, broken for you…” and it made me think differently today. Never fond of the idea of eating someone’s body, communion has never been a highly meaningful part of services for me. But today, with the topic of words floating around in my head, mixing with quotes from the Untamed book, this took on a new meaning. These words are meant to bring comfort and solace – that God gave himself up to be with us, he DIED for us. That is the strength of His love.

What an incredible message of selfless love. What an inspiration to the rest of us to give up ourselves for others, to be selfless, broken for the common good. But what if those are words from the old memo? What if the best forms of love don’t require broken-ness? What if the best we can do in the world is to come to it WHOLE, not to die a thousand small deaths to please our families, our friends, our church, and our community? What if the new memo said, “This is my body, dancing for you, protesting for you, speaking for you, and LIVING for you?”

What if instead of being selfless, or without a sense of self, we found our inner selves and let them speak real words, words full of truth, and love, and life? In the words of Glennon Doyle,

“Let’s conjure up, from the depths of our souls:
The truest, most beautiful lives we can imagine.
The truest, most beautiful families we can fathom.
The truest, most beautiful world we can hope for.
Let’s put it all on paper.
Let’s look at what we have written and decide that these are not pipe dreams; these are our marching orders. These are blueprints for our lives, our families, and the world.”

What do you see? What do you imagine? What are your marching orders? How can we use these blueprints to make the world a better place?

Orange Shirt Day

On September 30^th, we wear orange in recognition of all of the Indigenous children and youth who endured residential schools in Canada. We acknowledge our mistake as a nation in trying to force Indigenous people to assimilate, and apologize for the methods used to ‘educate’ them. We listen to the pain of survivors and their descendants. We recognize the inhumanity in separating families, and in systemic and personal shaming of children, families, and an entire population. We accept the enduring impact of residential schooling on the Indigenous population, on the individual families affected, and on every child who continues to suffer as a result. We remember that every child matters.

We recognize not our own responsibility in creating the system of oppression that resulted in sending over 150 000 children through residential school, but our responsibility in helping to heal the wounds perpetrated by our ancestors. We cannot change the past, but we can hear it, and feel it, and begin to make reparations to those affected. We can move forward in solidarity and support, keeping the agreements made by those who settled here before us, and working together to build a fairer, more equitable system. To do this, we must continue to dismantle the attitudes, laws, and systems that continue to deny services to Indigenous people and communities.

We recognize the disproportionate number of Indigenous children in foster care (52% of children in care, while representing less than 8% of children in Canada), Indigenous individuals incarcerated (18 times higher than other populations), or missing, Indigenous people living in poverty, some without stable housing, secure food access, and clean sources of water. We acknowledge that this is a population falling through the cracks in a system not designed to protect or even notice them. We admit that it is a system that was meant to eradicate their way of life.

But what we also need to consider is what we can learn from Indigenous teachings. We can help breathe life back into the wisdom that previous generations tried to stamp out.

Earlier generations believed they were doing the right thing by bringing civilization to a new land of savages, but this conviction was based on and also supported a belief in white supremacy and colonialism. As we step back and look at the bigger picture, we can see how misguided those notions were, and acknowledge that in many ways Indigenous wisdom could inform and improve the systems and strategies we have come to rely on. Many of the problems we encounter in modern society are based on capitalist and colonialist attitudes and approaches that were never a part of Indigenous culture.

I don’t claim to be an expert in Indigenous studies, but what I do know of traditional Indigenous wisdom is that it is based on a deep respect for self, others, and the natural world. Practices such as healing circles, restorative justice, environmental sustainability, focus on simplicity, relational organization and governance, and attitudes of tolerance, acceptance, and equality are all in direct contrast to our hurried lifestyles that demand retribution, rampant consumerism, individualism and persecution of The Other. Imagine if we could wave a magic wand and apply those attitudes and practices to our current systems of governance and lifestyle. How could that improve our political system, our environmental crises, our policing and criminal justice system, our fight against racism, homophobia, and intolerance? How could it help create sustainable work-life balance? How could it restore relationships as the path to success and happiness?

As we approach Orange Shirt Day, I wonder how I can do more than just wear an orange shirt. How can I make meaningful restitution? How can I be part of healing the rift between settlers and our Indigenous hosts? What can I learn and apply in my own life? How can I make sure that every child matters, both Indigenous and other?

I challenge you to do the same. What one small action can you take to truly honour Indigenous people on this day?

An Open Letter on Re-opening Plans

First of all, thank you. Thank you to our leaders, who have worked tirelessly to learn about this new threat to society, to seek out and follow sound medical advice, and to explore creative ways to keep us safe. I am cautiously optimistic about the upcoming school year. In Ontario, we have done a fantastic job of controlling this virus. I’d like to keep it that way. I firmly believe that we have managed well by following the advice of those tasked with our safety – medical professionals and public health officials, and I am thankful to our government for the quick and effective management of this crisis. I am very concerned to see that our leaders do not feel that this advice should extend to schools.

I am a teacher and have children in two different schools. Both are in the gifted program, with children bused from various communities, some of them harder hit by COVID-19 than our local neighbourhood. Having carefully followed all protocols for four months, I now find myself in an uncomfortable position. Given that our leadership feels that it is perfectly acceptable for my family to be exposed to three different schools, with cohorts of 25 students, and indirect contact with over 400 at each school, not including family and contacts outside of school, my motivation to maintain a bubble of ten for my own family is severely undermined. If it is safe for children to be in pre-pandemic size classes, then I want my life back.

Perhaps the Ontario government feels that formalized education, low budgets, and a return to business-as-usual are more important than children’s physical and mental health, but I respectfully disagree. Let’s be honest – increased surface cleaning is ‘hygiene theatre’. This is an airborne virus. Clean all you want – it’s expensive, but not particularly effective. The highest investment from the government is going to PPE. $60 million, much of which will end up in landfill. Again, let’s be honest – we’ve been living in a masked society for months. We own masks and can get shields at the dollar store. Provide masks to staff and students who request them – I’d rather wear my own. Those who are REALLY worried aren’t placated by these empty gestures, and those who aren’t, don’t need them. We want scientifically sound safety measures – namely distancing, ventilation, and avoiding large indoor gatherings.

More importantly, the government has allocated increased funding for mental health, but in my opinion, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. We need to take care of mental health issues BEFORE they crop up. For example, expecting children to cover the entire curriculum during these uncertain times is ludicrous, and frankly, irresponsible. At a minimum, we need smaller class sizes to mitigate both physical and mental health risks.

With enhanced cleaning and distancing, increased behaviour management due to an anxiety-laden six-month hiatus from school, mask wearing, distancing, and increased individual and community anxiety, small classes are NECESSARY to manage this without precipitating a mental health crisis that could last at least until the current kindergarten students graduate from high school, in 2034. Children arriving in classes this fall will be met by faceless teachers, changes to familiar routines, restrictions in movement, interaction, and contact with peers, age-inappropriate activities, full-day discomfort, and pervasive anxiety both at home and at school. They deserve and will need increased support, just at a time when teachers also have higher anxiety, new protocols, and increased responsibilities. Even with smaller class sizes, meeting all of the curriculum expectations is unreasonable, but at least there would be a better chance that we would not be setting children onto a path of school resistance, failure, and shame. We need to decide what the future of education means to us as a province and as a society.

Parents who can afford other options are choosing private schools, education pods, online education, and homeschooling options. That means that disadvantaged students will be over-represented in those being sent to school. Smaller classes might be a way to mitigate the inequities involved in public education, especially during COVID-19.

Public health advice, and ALL public policy to this point have required distancing and small groups. We are still expected to keep social circles to ten. Only five patrons at a time are permitted in my local coffee shop, where we stay for five to ten minutes at a time, in a space easily three times the size of my classroom. How much more risk are we comfortable with for our children? 400% (classes of 20)? 600% (classes of 30)? 2500% (classes of 25 in one third the space)? No adults are meeting live in groups the size that we are suggesting putting into classes this fall. And in my experience, adults are better at following distancing and hygiene procedures. I’ve never had to wipe my neighbour’s nose, tie their shoes, or fix their stuck zipper. I’ve never had to carry them across the yard when they’ve cut their knee, nor have I had to drag them screaming away from parents. These are all standard parts of the fall routine. I HAVE seen adults struggle to maintain distancing requirements – at the grocery store, chatting with neighbours, and at press conferences. High schools are opening with classes of 15, and yet elementary students will be in classes of 20 to 30? Kindergarten classes, containing those least able to practise distancing and effective mask-wearing, will be 30 in a room, or more in open-concept schools. A 15:1 ratio in a class of 2 educators and 30 students does not lessen the chance of exposure, even when the Minister of Education insists on announcing that we have a 13:1 ratio which will somehow keep children safe. The contradictions here are appalling.

Likewise, I can’t help but notice that in press conferences, you all remove your masks when you approach the microphone. You, who have microphones and oratory training or experience… and yet both students and teachers will be expected to wear masks all day. Is that because you feel it is more important for the public to hear what you have to say than it is for students to hear their teachers? More important than for teachers to hear the responses of shy or soft-spoken students? More important than children learning English? More important than a child trying to disclose abuse or bullying? Plexiglass barriers could allow teachers to communicate more openly with students. Smaller classes would lessen the risks involved. Outdoor education would all but remove those risks. I’d like to see a program where teachers and parents sign up for an outdoor program, run in school yards, neighbourhood parks, and local conservation areas. This would reduce the need for in-school capacity and allow classes to be spread out in safer ways. This could also be achieved by utilizing other spaces such as community centres, churches, and other underutilized buildings. I’ve heard and understand the arguments that we cannot afford this – then let’s get creative. We send kids to summer camp with young adults. Perhaps a similar scenario could work, with qualified teachers providing guidance or rotating instruction (one month with a qualified teacher, then a month with screened but less qualified staff). I would honestly prefer this to the models I’ve seen so far for my own children. I do not want them in crowded, unventilated buildings, masks or no masks.

We have seen this fall’s challenges approaching for months. It has taken all of that time for the province to decide on a safe framework. Now we’ve waited for school boards to provide details about local re-openings. But somehow parents are supposed to be able to make this decision with less than a week’s turnaround time? There is not enough information. There are too many unanswered questions. Plan for full attendance. Staff for full attendance. Be pleasantly surprised when we have more than we need. If we are not ready to do this safely right now, then take the time to get it right. If childcare is what we need, then be honest and provide THAT. Using COVID as a rationale for widening the gap for marginalized families and weakening the future of public education is a sickening and scary proposition. I want no part in that.

I call on the government of Ontario, the Ministry of Education, and individual school boards to do better for our students and their families. Think outside-the-box, take time to make responsible decisions, and demonstrate bold leadership in the face of a novel challenge to our society. Thank you for your continued dedication as we struggle through these unprecedented decisions. We do appreciate the difficult position you are in and the effort you continue to put in to mitigate risks and make responsible financial and safety decisions.

Dystopian Vision of Fall Education

As part of the response to my idea of lessening curriculum expectations to allow a mental health focus this year, it was suggested I write to the Globe. I read their requirements and decided I needed to present the information differently. Here is what I sent. This is my dystopian vision of what this fall might look like. I sincerely hope we can find some way to avoid what I see as the inevitable mental health disaster I see looming if we try to return to ‘normal’ school in any of the possible plans I’ve heard.

I arrive to school ready to start my day. As I walk from my car, I fasten my mask and wave to a small group of children, reminding them to keep two meters apart. Quickly they each take two steps back, looking mildly frightened. I feel guilty for starting their day that way. I walk through the front door, stopping to sanitize my already dry, cracking hands, and continue to my classroom, not stopping at the office or staffroom to say hello to colleagues and friends. The bell rings and I make my way to the doors, where children are lining up to enter. Each class has a place on the tarmac to line up, with two-meter spacings – the children fill most of the yard and it takes about 15 minutes to get them safely into the building. Instead of the usual chatter, they are quiet and sullen – they don’t seem particularly happy to be here. I greet each one cheerfully, trying desperately to boost their spirits as they come through the doors, a shot of enthusiasm with each squirt of hand sanitizer.

The announcements come on, and it is clear the principal has worked hard to make them fun, using funny voices and telling jokes. The anthem plays but singing is not allowed. Instead of reminders about social clubs and sports activities, there are reminders about physical distancing and personal hygiene. By the end of the announcements, two children are in tears. I ask what is wrong. The first child tells me she is scared she will get COVID. Her eyes are big and round, and the tears spill out of her eyes to dampen the top of her brightly coloured mask. I long to wrap her in a hug and tell her everything will be okay, but I am limited to saying, “I know this is scary, but we are being careful, and it will all be okay.” The other child stands mutely, sniffling quietly. I wait briefly, then promise to get back to him when he’s ready.

The children sit expectantly at their desks, spaced around the classroom for safety. I can’t tell whether they are happy to see me, frightened to be here, or just bored, but there is a lot to cover, so I begin my lesson. It has to be simple and straight-forward – I know their frustration tolerance is low right now, and I won’t be able to help them individually. I watch for signs of understanding, frustration, or engagement, but it is hard to measure when the children sit quietly at desks, with their faces mostly covered. I hope I’ve made the work clear. I hand out pre-made buckets of materials – one to each child so as to reduce contamination.

Once the children get to work, I crouch down in the vicinity of my earlier crier and ask if he wants to tell me what happened. His big eyes look at me warily, and I see the tears begin to form again. He mumbles something quietly, but from this distance I can’t hear him through his mask. I ask him to speak a bit louder, but he turns away in frustration and returns to his work, refusing to engage further. I feel tears sting my own eyes as I walk away, making a mental note to figure out how to communicate better with my quietest students.

A few minutes before recess, I remind students to tidy and line up for sanitizer before going out to play. One child asks me for the 30^th time, “Can we please take the basketball today? Our hands are clean. We promise not to touch our faces. Please?” My heart is heavy as I remind him of the rule – no shared equipment. I briefly watch the children wander around the playground, some talking, a few running distanced races, but many unsure of how to interact in this new normal. Sadly, I turn away and wander down to check absences. The office administrator tells me two of my students are home with coughs. No fever, likely just colds, but they will get tested to be sure, or quarantine for two weeks. My anxiety ratchets up a notch, thinking of the swabs and waiting time before their parents can relax. I wonder if we’ve all been exposed, but decide not to worry. The anxiety settles quietly into the pit of my stomach.

The day continues this way, with children barely focused and rarely joyful or enthusiastic. There are frequent tears over small things. Sometimes the children cry and don’t even know why. As crazy as it sounds, I miss the squabbles and chatter that used to drive me nuts in class. Mid-afternoon, one of the children calls me over to tell me she is afraid her mother, an emergency room doctor, will die. Another tells me he can’t go to daycare tomorrow – it is closed because one of his classmates tested positive. Both are scared, and vulnerable, and alone. I stand two meters away, smile behind my mask, and do my best to validate their concerns while reassuring them of a safety I don’t feel.

By late afternoon, students are tired and irritable. They fidget in their seats and with their masks. I stay focused on curriculum, and wonder again why academics are taking precedence over mental health, despite our assertion that mental health is our top priority. I wonder what to do about the two children who will likely miss most of this unit while they wait for results, or while they quarantine, and I wonder what will happen later in the year, when many students are out with the usual round of colds and flus. How will I cover the curriculum content?

I shake my head at this untenable, inhumane, and age-inappropriate situation.

What’s a better solution, you ask? Forget curriculum. Make school five days a week, with traceable classes (preferably small), so that children don’t hop between different cohorts at school and daycare. Combine school and daycare where possible. Practise physical distancing and mask-wearing in public spaces like hallways, but treat classrooms as bubbles, allowing students to interact comfortably, sharing materials and engaging in collaborative projects (with enhanced cleaning protocols). Teach the basics of literacy and math, with learning happening organically and naturally. Focus instead on mental health, allowing children space to process their big feelings, re-integrate into the school setting, and engage meaningfully with others. Build resilience. Allow parents to keep children home, choose outdoor options, and quarantine sick students without worrying they’ll fall behind. This is the time to break from the status quo and demonstrate bold leadership. Be innovative and use this year to experiment with what works. Re-imagine, rather than returning to a system that was already struggling to work. Put the physical and mental health of children and families at the top, so that we’re all more ready to engage when this is over.

Possibilities for School Re-Opening: A Letter

COVID has been hard. It has isolated individuals and families. It has closed businesses and shattered dreams. It has interrupted commerce, education, faith communities, sports, and social interaction. People are tired. We are frustrated. We are fearful and anxious about the future. But there are positives to this situation – silver linings of sorts. Many of us have enjoyed the slow down, the enforced shift in our responsibilities and the reduced stimulation provided by staying home. We may not be less busy, but we are less on the run. On a larger scale, it has forced us to examine the wider world. We see that change can, in fact, happen almost overnight. We can work from home. We can do business without travel. We can have parties without contact. It is truly amazing what we can do when we decide it is necessary. It is hard to believe that the sudden increase in appetite to change systemic racism is not related somehow to COVID. George Floyd was not the first Black man to be killed by police, so why the sudden shift? In the wake of three months of lock down, there seems to be hunger for change – change that has been badly needed for a very long time. I am hopeful that the balance has tipped toward lasting change. My hope is that we can move forward with both social justice and environmental protection. I contend that this is also a perfect opportunity to reimagine education.

The following is a letter that I sent to my local school board superintendent, trustee, MPP, MP, and the Minister of Education:

The return to school is top of mind for many right now, and there is precious little agreement about when and how to do that safely. I think part of the problem is that we are trying to get back to where we were, while making it safe for children and staff. That goal severely limits our thinking. When faced with a problem, it can help to start over. Reframe the problem. What is it we need? What are we trying to do? What are the variables? What are the resources? How can we redesign creatively? Here are my thoughts:

We need childcare. This is key to restarting the economy, giving families a break from each other, meeting children’s needs, and protecting children at risk.
We need to limit exposure among people, keep groups small and traceable, and ensure proper hygiene and cleaning.
Children need socialization and opportunities to be physically and mentally active.
We need to rebuild social skills, confidence, and resilience after the trauma of living through six months of a global pandemic.
We WANT to continue education as before. We want sports teams and clubs. We want recess to be fun. We want music and phys. ed to include singing and sport instruction. We want to meet all of our curriculum expectations as set out in the curriculum written for non-pandemic times. We want all of these things, but we do not NEED them. We need the first four points. So how can we meet those needs creatively?

GOAL: We are trying to set up a system that allows children to safely socialize on a daily basis in small, traceable groups, where their physical, emotional, and mental health can be fostered and their minds can be stimulated to increase future success when we return to a more regular school year.

Variables: Staff, Space, Transportation, Safety Protocols, Academics, Training, Organization. The following are outside-the-box, inexpensive suggestions for handling these variables.

Staff:

Use all available staff, including homeroom teachers, specialist teachers, prep teachers, ECEs, occasional teachers, etc. to make groups of a reasonable size.

Space:

Spread students out as much as possible, using all school spaces, community centres, churches, etc. so that each small class has their own space.
Allow unlimited movement within that space, but physical distancing and masks outside (like in hallways, washrooms, etc)
Alternatively, allow parents to sign their children up for ‘outdoor school’ where students would be engaged outdoors like the Forest School model already widely used in other places. Move some classes outside and let teachers request to be part of that model. This could occur in school playgrounds, city parks and ravines, conservation centres, etc. ***Consider this model as a stand-alone, if we return full-time or hybrid.***

Transportation:

This one is tricky, especially since we were planning to use fewer buses this year, with the rejigging of schedules. At the very least, return all buses, and space children as much as possible, with mask wearing mandatory.
Have as many students as possible attend their closest ‘school location’, to reduce the need for bussing.

Safety Protocols:

Use multiple entrances, one-way hallways where possible, limit number of students in washrooms (washroom keys in office?), masks in public areas, direct instruction about safety and hygiene.
Allow students and staff to operate as a bubble while in class, to promote mental health and positive connection, sharing resources and normal contact.
Monitor health and have clear protocols in place for handling symptomatic students and staff. In case of outbreaks, close classroom and/or school until testing or quarantine is completed.
If hospitals, restaurants, and stores can clean properly, schools should be able to do the same. This may require extra staff.

Training:

Provide online training to staff on mental health and resilience, managing trauma, outdoor learning, and other topics related to teaching in our current situation.

Academics:

Reduce or remove academic expectations to allow staff to focus on behaviour, anxiety, and social skills. Allow learning to happen more organically.

Organization:

Where possible, group students in family or childcare groupings to limit exposure. If academic focus were less, they wouldn’t have to be separated as clearly by age.
Form groups from age 4-8, 6-10 and 8-12. These overlaps would allow siblings to belong to the same class, thereby reducing exposure.
Work together with childcare centres so that children who need before and after care could receive that in the same location. Take this into consideration when grouping students.
Offer an online option for medically fragile children or those whose parents prefer to keep them home. Arrange for higher risk teachers to cover online learning.

Possible troubleshooting options:

Shorten day slightly to allow teachers to provide their own prep time.
Provide prep in larger chunks less frequently, with one prep teacher covering only a few classes to reduce the interaction between groups.
Lengthen the school day by 15 minutes, but make the week only four days, with one cleaning day. Teachers would have one day/week of prep time (reducing the need for coverage).
If unions resist, consider ‘cancelling’ school for the year, laying off teachers, and offering them positions in the ‘temporary pandemic model’.

Problems addressed that aren’t addressed by other models:

Less inequity for students who miss school due to parental choice or illness, because ‘formalized’ learning has been suspended (if we send all sniffles home this year, there will be a lot of missed school time).
True focus on mental health, which is REALLY hard when also trying to meet curriculum expectations, catch up students from missed spring classes, and manage anxiety around daily interactions and a global pandemic.
The closest return to ‘normalcy’, where students interact organically and comfortably with peers, teachers, and materials, thereby lessening fear and anxiety for students, parents and teachers.
Small cohorts that aren’t widely expanded by piecemeal childcare on ‘off days’ in the hybrid model. Easy contact tracing.
Perfect conditions to experiment with different learning models to see what really works.
Opportunity for leadership in out-of-the-box creative problem solving for modern education.
Students who come out less stressed and more ready to learn when it is safe to return to a more traditional style of education.

Ideally, I would like to see some of these innovations (like reduced curriculum demands, outdoor school, smaller class sizes, seamless day, etc) become part of our regular school system, which was in dire need of an overhaul, even before COVID-19 hit. This year just seems like the perfect year to try out some new methods and strategies. If we begin to re-imagine education, what would you like to see?