Today and Tomorrow: Healing and Teaching

I had a lot of fun today. After some social activism, and attending a meeting of my local's Executive Committee, I got wind of a Liberal fundraiser over at a winery in Abbotsford. It turned out that members of some percentage a good deal smaller than my own (the 1%? 5%?) were paying $300 a plate to spend some dinner time with our Minister of Finance, Mike de Jong. A bunch of my colleagues and I from lower mainland and Fraser valley locals decided to go visit all of these wealthy BC Liberals and give them the opportunity to see what kind of people teachers are, up close and personal.

When we arrived, we found four security guards carefully watching and ensuring that the BMWs and Mercedes and sports cars were guided to their appropriate place on the spacious winery grounds. We assembled ourselves on the shoulder of the road outside, and began waving at the cars going by. Careful to avoid the winery property, and quick to move away from the bike path when needed, we set about donning picket signs, chatting, and greeting everyone we saw. I was in a particularly cheerful mood, and soon all of us were laughing and enjoying ourselves. Make no mistake, we were and are, deadly serious about our desire for a just, compassionate settlement to this strike; one that includes fair treatment for teachers and a strong, working, public school system for children. But sometimes, when in increasingly dire straits, people will show that delightful tendency to stare down their fears and wither them with laughter. Tonight was such a night.

As cars drove past, and we waved, and received more and more honks, thumbs up, and returned waves, our ebullience grew. Our smiles became wider and our enthusiasm, greater. Motorists responded. In conservative Abbotsford, many of the waves were tentative, but we soon noticed that people were smiling and enjoying our mood along with us. Sure, we had the occasional person stare straight ahead, but increasingly our fun became contagious.

We had a lot of fun!

Naturally, some repartee developed. We began to talk about how much we miss teaching, and to wonder how 'our' kids were doing. Before long, we were joking about being, 'teaching addicts', and we started begging some of the cars driving by to stop so that we could get a 'fix' of teaching! The drivers, of course, couldn't hear us, but they smiled and waved and honked, just the same. Pretty soon we were begging each other to let us teach everyone we saw. We took real joy in thinking about the fun, the good times, and the fulfillment we so often experience when in a room full of other people's children.

At one point, the lady from the driveway across the road came out to put out her trash. She indicated that she had questions, so I went over to chat with her. Her first remark was, "I thought teachers were just 9-3?" She wasn't accusing, just bemused. I explained that we wanted to help the current government understand the importance of the issues of under funding in the public education system, and that, as with our jobs, we were more than happy to take on tasks outside of school hours. She was supportive and receptive, so we chatted a bit longer, and then I rejoined my colleagues.

After awhile, the participants in the fancy dinner began to leave. Happily, even joyously, we waved, wished them a lovely evening, and exhorted them to drive safely. With only two exceptions, they waved and grinned as they drove away. One nattily dressed gentleman responded, when I remarked that I hoped he'd had a nice dinner, "I didn't eat anything at all!" "Oh!" I said, "They're starving you, too?" That brought quite a lot of hilarity from my companions. And all the while, there were cheerful background pleas to, "Please, let us teach! We just want to teach!"

Here I am, begging to teach!

As the day faded and twilight closed in, we began to discuss our departure, although Mr. de Jong had yet to make an appearance. We thought that he might be using a different exit, to avoid our rabble rousing. A couple of the security guards began to chat with us, and their smiles let us know that they were grateful for our peaceful, good natured approach. One even expressed his worry that as it got dark, we might be at risk of being hit by the quite speedy traffic. Before we left, though, Mr. de Jong and his blue Miata convertible made their appearance. The car top was up, but we were hard to miss, and even he smiled and waved at us. Only when he drove by, did we become political, calling out politely but pointedly, "Children need food!" "Fund the schools!" and "Arbitration!" The moment was fleeting, as he never slowed his car, and once he was gone, we said our goodbyes. There were hugs, and emails exchanged, and talk of a pub night some time when we can afford it, and we went our various ways.

It wasn't a huge demonstration; there were no speeches, no performers, clever posters or passionate marches. It was, however, a really lovely experience, and it taught everyone something. The people we waved and smiled at, began to see us as the ordinary citizens we are, instead of the selfish, greedy, demons this government would have them believe. The wealthy BCLiberal supporters, disarmed by our smiles, began to make eye contact, and to wave. No longer was it possible, for most of them, to maintain the fiction of, 'us' and 'them'. For those of us out there, from four thirty to eight, waving and laughing on a brisk September evening, it was a chance to live the profound truth of the words of the amazing Jack Layton:

"My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world."

We didn't change the world tonight. We were just a small band of lively, passionate teachers who want, more than anything, to return to teaching in schools with the staff and resources to allow us to do our jobs well. We didn't change the world, but we did make a difference. For a few hours, we met disdain with joy, and we lived the determination that we have learned every day in our classrooms. That is the patient persistence that makes us teachers, and that is the passion for life that makes us love children.

That is why we cannot be crushed. We are teachers, and there is no profession more loving, hopeful and optimistic. Today, we hold the line to heal public education. And tomorrow, or next week, or next month; then, we will teach.