By Stacey Lance
Thursday,
January 20, 2022
I am proud to be a teacher. I’ve worked in
the Canadian public school system for the past 15 years, mostly at the high
school level, teaching morals and ethics.
I don’t claim to be a doctor or an expert
in virology. There is a lot I don’t know. But I spend my days with our youth
and they tell me a lot about their lives. And I want to tell you what I’m
hearing and what I’m seeing.
Since the beginning of the pandemic, when
our school went fully remote, it was evident to me that the loss of human
connection would be detrimental to our students’ development. It also became
increasingly clear that the response to the pandemic would have immense
consequences for students who were already on the path to long-term
disengagement, potentially altering their lives permanently.
The data about learning loss and the mental health crisis is devastating. Overlooked has been the deep shame young people
feel: Our students were taught to think of their schools as hubs for infection
and themselves as vectors of disease. This has fundamentally altered their
understanding of themselves.
When we finally got back into the classroom
in September 2020, I was optimistic, even as we would go remote for weeks,
sometimes months, whenever case numbers would rise. But things
never returned to normal.
When we were physically in school, it felt
like there was no longer life in the building. Maybe it was the masks that made
it so no one wanted to engage in lessons, or even talk about how they spent
their weekend. But it felt cold and soulless. My students weren’t allowed to
gather in the halls or chat between classes. They still aren’t. Sporting
events, clubs and graduation were all cancelled. These may sound like small
things, but these losses were a huge deal to the students. These are rites of
passages that can’t be made up.
In my classroom, the learning loss is
noticeable. My students can’t concentrate and they aren’t doing the work that I
assign to them. They have way less motivation compared to before the pandemic
began. Some of my students chose not to come back at all, either because of
fear of the virus, or because they are debilitated by social anxiety. And now
they have the option to do virtual schooling from home.
One of my favorite projects that I assign
each year is to my 10th grade students, who do in-depth research on any culture
of their choosing. It culminates in a day of presentations. I encourage them to
bring in music, props, food—whatever they need to immerse their classmates in
their specific culture. A lot of my students give presentations on their own
heritage. A few years back, a student of mine, a Syrian refugee, told her story
about how she ended up in Canada. She brought in traditional Syrian foods,
delicacies that her dad had stayed up all night cooking. It was one of the best
days that I can remember. She was proud to share her story—she had struggled
with homesickness—and her classmates got a lesson in empathy. Now, my students
simply prepare a slideshow and email it to me individually.
My older students (grades 11 and 12)
aren’t even allowed a lunch break, and are expected to come to school, go to
class for five and a half hours and then go home. Children in 9th and 10th
grades have to face the front of the classroom while they eat lunch during
their second period class. My students used to be able to eat in the halls or
the cafeteria; now that’s forbidden. Younger children are expected to follow
the “mask off, voices off” rule, and are made to wear their masks outside,
where they can only play with other kids in their class. Of course, outside of
school, kids are going to restaurants with their families and to each other’s
houses, making the rules at school feel punitive and nonsensical.
They are anxious and depressed. Previously
outgoing students are now terrified at the prospect of being singled out to
stand in front of the class and speak. And many of my students seem to have
found comfort behind their masks. They feel exposed when their peers can see their
whole face.
Around this time of year, we start
planning for the prom, which is held in June. Usually, my students would
already be chatting constantly about who’s asking who, what they’re planning on
wearing, and how excited they are. This year, they’ve barely discussed it at
all. When they do, they tell me that they don’t want to get their hopes up,
since they’re assuming it will get cancelled like it has for the past couple of
years.
It’s the same deal with universities. My
students say, “If university is going to be just like this then what’s the
point?” I have my own children, a nine-year-old daughter and a seven-year-old
son, who have spent almost a third of their lives in lockdown. They’ve become
so used to cancellations that they don’t even feel disappointed anymore.
I think all of my students are angry to
some degree, but I hear it most from the kids who are athletes. They were told
that if they got the vaccine, everything would go back to normal, and they
could go back to the rink or the court. Some sports were back for a while but,
as of Christmas, because of the recent wave of Covid-19 cases, club and varsity
sports are all cancelled once again. A lot of the athletes are missing chances
to get seen by coaches and get scholarships.
I try to take time at the beginning of
class to ask my kids how they’re doing. Recently, one of my 11th grade students
raised his hand and said that he wasn’t doing well, that he doesn't want to
keep living like this, but that he knows that no one is coming to save them.
The other kids all nodded in agreement. They feel lied to—and I can’t blame
them.
What’s most worrisome to me is that they
feel deep worry and shame over the prospect of breaking the rules.
Teenage girls are notoriously empathetic.
I see that many of my students, but especially the female ones, feel a heavy
burden of responsibility. Right before Christmas, one of my brightest 12th
graders confided in me that she was terrified of taking her mask off. She told
me that she didn’t want to get anyone sick or kill anybody. She was worried she
would be held responsible for someone dying.
What am I supposed to say? That 23 children have died from Covid in Canada during the whole of the pandemic
and she is much more likely to kill someone driving a car? That kids in Scandinavia, Sweden, and the
Netherlands largely haven’t had to wear masks at
school and haven’t seen outbreaks because of it? That masks are not a magic
shield against the virus, and that even if she were to pass it along to a
classmate, the risk of them getting seriously sick is minuscule?
I want to tell her that she can remove her
mask, and socialize with her friends without being worried.
But I am expected to enforce the
rules.
At the beginning of the pandemic, adults
shamed kids for wanting to play at the park or hang out with their friends. We
kept hearing, “They’ll be fine. They’re resilient.” It’s true that humans, by
nature, are very resilient. But they also break. And my students are breaking.
Some have already broken.
When we look at the Covid-19 pandemic
through the lens of history, I believe it will be clear that we betrayed our
children. The risks of this pandemic were never to them, but they were forced
to carry the burden of it. It’s enough. It’s time for a return to normal life
and put an end to the bureaucratic policies that aren't making society safer,
but are sacrificing our children's mental, emotional, and physical
health.
Our children need life on the highest
volume. And they need it now.
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