Educators, Don't Despair

A bit of hope amidst a feeling of helplessness

Photo by Fitz

On Wednesday morning, after election day, I woke up from a fitful sleep at 6:30 AM to two emails from students informing me that they wouldn’t be coming to class; neither specifically referenced the election, but I got it. Absences excused.

For a brief moment, I considered excusing my own absence, but then I didn’t want to disappoint any students who did show up. As I sat in my office putting together notes for my lecture, I had two thoughts: I shouldn’t expect too much – I assumed that the students who emailed me were only the tip of the iceberg. And I shouldn’t try to do too much. I should provide space for students to process, if that’s what they needed.

I’ve been teaching writing for twenty years, and in some ways, I’m old school. I keep my politics close to the vest. I don’t delude myself into thinking that astute students can’t pick up on my particular political leanings, but I never broadcast them in the classroom and I never tell students what they should think. I maintain a belief that teaching them how to think critically – through writing – will work its magic.

This is a belief in the power of education to change minds, and eventually, to change lives, as it did mine when I was a first-generation college student. The best of my professors didn’t tell me what to think; they showed me how to think. That education has the power to change lives is a belief steeped in hope.

This past week, I found that hope again when I most needed it. 

Many of my students come from working class families; higher education is seen as a luxury that they stretch to afford. Many work part time jobs to help pay for college and support their families. They act as translators for their parents. They commute via car and bus and train to get to class. They’re also smart and funny and just living their young adult lives. I genuinely enjoy being around them.

So, later on that Wednesday when I walked into my classroom, I was delighted to see nearly every desk filled – just two absences. The students sat quietly, but the air felt charged. I picked up on their sense of expectation — what would I say? What could I?

I began class by telling them that I wanted to talk about the election, but not about politics. I told them that no matter their feelings about the outcome of the election, I believed they were in the right place — that our democracy is predicated on the assumption of an educated and informed electorate. Thus, even while they are doing what they believe is best for themselves and their families, I said, they are also doing what is best for democracy. And, I let them know, I admire them for that.

Then, I allowed some time to reflect in writing. They could share their writing with me or not, but I thought it would be helpful to process. After a few minutes, I opened up a short conversation. We talked a bit about the election. “I’m tired of living in unprecedented times,” said one student. And then the conversation drifted to a discussion about why it was so hot that day. “We all know why,” said another student with a knowing nod. Everyone laughed – the air seemed to lose some of its charge – and then we got on with the work of the day.

Later that afternoon, back at home, I flipped through their in-class writing. I read about how they are scared and nervous. I read their disbelief. I recognized all of these feelings, of course, but there was something else too. One after another, as I flipped through these jagged-edged notebook pages, I saw students parsing their experience through the written word. I saw them organizing their thoughts on the page. I saw them doubling down on their commitment to learn. 

These can feel like hopeless times. I’m sure many of us have been asking ourselves, what more could I have done? What can I do now? I don’t have answers, but I do have a word of encouragement, particularly for my fellow educators. What we are doing is important. Education changes minds, changes lives. 

As I read through the last of the in-class writing assignments, I realized that what I held in my hands was so much more than just classwork. It was hope.