Today’s post continues a series in which educators share how they are steering themselves and their classes in today’s chaotic waters.

‘How Do We Move Forward?”

Christina Torres Cawdery is a teacher, writer, scholar, mother, and runner currently based in Honolulu:

“Look, Mama, there’s fire everywhere!”

My 3-year-old points at the screen of the Pacific Palisades as it burns. My brow crinkles as I see scenes from my childhood go up in flames and people cry about what they have lost. Underneath, the news crawl talks about another school shooting. Earlier, it spoke of book bans, ICE raids in schools, and continued discord around the world. I’m unsure which is worse: watching these things happen or watching the images reflect in the bright eyes of my two toddlers as we get ready for the day.

At this point in our history, it is hard to wake up each morning and create a space for children and young people to feel cared for and safe.

One of the most beautiful gifts about motherhood, though, is arguably one of its toughest: There are not a lot of other options. Whether I am happy, tired, or despondent, my kids still jump on me in the morning, demanding snuggles and milk and laughter and joy. Even when I want to lie down and crumble, I honestly just … can’t. I can find reprieve and grieve, but there is an ever-present sense that I simply must keep hoping and moving forward as best I can.

I often consider this, too, when I come into school each day. Yes, it might be easier (or even safer) to leave the classroom, but I am in a position that affords me the space to hope, make change, and move forward, and I want to leverage that privilege as positively as possible.

Of course, the next question is, “How?” How do we move forward when the world seems to be crumbling?

First, I seek joy whenever possible. As many activists have shown us, joy in the face of adversity is a revolutionary act. Seeking joy in our work is not only for our own benefit but also serves to model finding joy with our students.

So, I authentically ask my students about their day. I ask them what they had for lunch. When my teaching partner says good morning, she insists our students “say it back and to each other … and mean it.” I have tough conversations about the world with my students and I also find silly videos to show them, share funny things my kids did, find time for classroom karaoke, seek good news to share, and celebrate even the smallest wins. These small, daily practices are something that helps everyone leave the classroom a little lighter.

Second, I make it a point to provide as much diversity and nuance in the voices that enter my classroom each day. As an English teacher, my ultimate job is to talk about stories—my stories, other people’s stories, my students’ stories—and I recognize the immense privilege and responsibility in that work. Thus, I am thoughtful about the kinds of stories I share and the way in which we engage with them as a community. Whether I am rethinking classic texts, engaging them in new ways, or ensuring we discuss difficult and complex topics, I am actively working to use the time I have with kids to examine and critically question the world around us through text.

Finally, there has never been a more critical time to teach students the power of words. We can show examples of words that help us process, grieve, and heal; words that organize action and change; or words that uplift, call out, or educate. And we can provide students ways to use words in these ways as well.

It sounds cliche now, but when we’re in a world that consistently questions the nature of truth, ensuring students understand how texts— written, visual, and multimedia—use rhetoric, kairos, and voice to shape others is an essential skill that is not only meant to help them become informed citizens but learn how they can organize and connect to keep themselves and each other safe. Maybe, hopefully, they can not just keep their community safe but demand and create the change for a better world that they deeply deserve.

So, when my child points at the screen and says there is fire everywhere, I crinkle my brow. I nod. “Is it scary?” I ask her. She nods her head. I scoop her up and point out the images that follow, people coming together to help each other and share resources. Then, I take her to look at the garden we’re growing. “Yes, baby,” I say to her, “there are fires everywhere, and someday, the most beautiful plants can sprout there, too. Let’s learn how we can help them grow.”

Thanks to Christina for sharing her experiences and advice.

I wrote the first, second and third posts in this series on how educators should respond to recent Trump administration actions.

Morgan Polikoff wrote about education research and researchers.

Christie Nold and Sarah Cooper also shared advice about social studies.

Mary Beth Hertz discussed teaching media literacy.

Consider contributing a question to be answered in a future post. You can send one to me at lferlazzo@epe.org. When you send it in, let me know if I can use your real name if it’s selected or if you’d prefer remaining anonymous and have a pseudonym in mind.

You can also contact me on Twitter at @Larryferlazzo.

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