I am a teacher, not a soldier
But you would never know
Because every day I walk into a battlefield–
The unpredictable front lines, the deepness of the trenches,
Hidden in the back of the bunkers where no one can see
is the constant fight for our students.
Students of generational poverty and historical trauma,
and current traumas and post-traumatic stress
Caused from a broken system, that produces broken results
That is ran by broken people.
Broken people who only see numbers: budgets, passing rates, number of students, number of teachers, percentages, and years.
I no longer wonder why there are so many broken children.
And in this broken system, I put on my armory and choicefully walk through the falling rubble, burning bombs, and sniper shots,
Straight into the front lines of battle.
After a deep breath and one more step forward,
I glance down at my armor.
I am armed with new professional development
That either matches my students needs, but isn’t enough
Or doesn’t match what my students need at all.
I am armed with curriculum– stale and boxed
That doesn’t represent what my students look like,
Or the stories they bring with them each day.
I am armed with my compassion and my patience,
That grew from the roots of my last 18 year long battle
And into the stems that fill a garden of acceptance and hope.
Yet all I get from acceptance and hope, is a break in the trenches.
I am in the trenches of altering belief systems, personality types,
And expectations for every type of student.
With no time to build lasting and bonding relationships with my colleagues,
Because every day at war is a day in crisis.
I am in the trenches with incredible individuals who have their own set of weapons,
Weapons of individualization, differentiation, empathy, engagement, and more
But never have the time to access their talents, because after a year at my school they are out the door.
So I sit in the trenches with little optimism, a revolving door of fighters, and continue to soldier on.
I am in the depths of a command who operates under their ingrained system of shame,
Systems of racism, disability, and poverty discriminiation.
And as I am asked to challenge those systems and change them if I can,
I’m met with a fiery bombardment of belittlement,
bullets of discipline, wounds of rejection,
Bombs of projection, and an ambush of consequences.
I am in the depths of the bunkers– lost and defeated; taking orders from generals who have never once stepped foot in our war,
Or perhaps even fought in a war themselves,
So as they preach about equity, inclusion, integrity, and compassion
and toss me another useless weapon that I didn’t ask for, with barely an explanation on how to use,
And continue to stomp on my heart and silence my voice,
I stop to remember why the war began in the first place.
Our students.
Each and every single one of them.
Their story and their safety is worth the warfare.
In education, the fight is grueling and the battles are long,
And the war is far from being over.
Then I look down at my old navy pixie pants and ballerina flats
and remember:
I’m a teacher, not a soldier.
I wrote this poem in December of 2018 after spending most of November 2018 whistleblowing. I finally shared it with a trusted colleague for his blog “One Educator’s Search for Equity” in June of 2019. He faced an immense amount of retaliation in my former district as well. I submitted it anonymously at the time, out of fear of what would happened if my name was associated with it.
I was retaliated against anyways.
I was slandered anyways.
I was harassed anyways.
I was put on administrative leave pending a fit for duty mental health evaluation anyways.
I was involuntarily transfered anyways.
I had all my contractual rights, whistleblower rights, and disability rights violated anyways.
I developed PTSD anyways.
I spoke my truth anyway.
with kindness | ashley