As we enter a new school year, I find that it’s the perfect time to get clear on our teaching values. Teaching is inherently a political act, and I don’t mean this party versus that party. Each day we enter the classroom, we act on our values. And our values either uphold or break down systems of oppression.
There is no neutral.
To quote Elie Wiesel, “Neutrality helps the oppresser, never the victim.” Neutrality doesn’t exist. Neutrality means the current systems continue as they are. Neutrality means that the current power structures stay as they are. Neutrality means we don’t unwind all the bias that we have imbibed from our larger culture, whether intentional or not.
And so we need to get clear on who we are, what we value, and what we will implement in service of those values. We need to be clear on who we are there to serve: our students. Do we want to serve our students on autopilot? Do we want to serve them up the same systems that lead to the current outcomes, which aren’t very good for students with disabilities? Or do we want to serve them something more?
I want something more. So much more. The following five beliefs form the core of who I am as a teacher. There’s so much more that I can say. If you’re on Facebook, you’ve seen our classroom poster. I had to force myself to stop adding to it. But it all comes back to this.
Kids do well when they can. If things are not going well, then it is our job, as the adults in the room, to adapt so that things can go well. It is not the student’s job to adapt to me, to my environment, or to my needs. It is my job to adapt my teaching, to adapt my environment, to adapt my needs. It is my job to be flexible. This is why you’ll see me change the schedule, move a couch, adapt my data sheets, and a million other things throughout the year. It’s not because I love change. I hate change as much as the next person, and maybe more. But I know that it is my job to change for my students. It is my job to change so that our instructional assistants can be successful. That is the responsibility that I accepted when I entered the classroom. I take it very seriously. It also tends to be both the primary reason that my students succeed and the primary reason that outsiders dislike my room (see: “what? Why don’t they have shoes on? What is wrong with this teacher? THEY NEED TO LEARN!”, and also: my response).
Every student has value. Every single one, and that’s as they are right now. Not “when they talk” or “when they learn to read” or “when they hold a job”. They have gifts to offer right now. I am ten thousand times over confident that the world would be worse off without the students I serve. My world would be worse off without the students I serve. I see part of my role as teaching this to my students, my families, my school community.
Everyone has something to say. All of my students have creative and funny and interesting things to say. Sometimes with words, sometimes with their bodies, sometimes through their art or curiosity. I want to amplify their voices so that everyone can hear them. I want to give them the tools they need to amplify their own voices, whether that’s access to an AAC system, increased vocabulary on that system, vocabulary instruction, or just telling people to stop and listen. Every student leaves my class knowing that their voice mattered to me.
Students have autonomy over their voices and bodies. Yes, that even means that students can tell me no. Yes, that means they can tell me to STOP and that they are MAD and even that they HATE me. A dear friend of mine has heard “we don’t say no to teachers” enough in classrooms that she has a whole blog post on how problematic it is. And it is so problematic. Our students, probably more than any other students, need to be taught that they have the right to say no. It’s abuse prevention. It’s voice amplifying. It is a fundamental human right.
Every student has the right to access rigorous curriculum. I wish that this didn’t need to be said. Yet I have spent most of the last six months defending that, yes, autistic students can learn to use core words. Yes, nonverbal students can learn to decode and comprehend what they are reading. Yes, students with language disabilities can engage in creative writing and the acts of putting written word to paper. No, a fourth grade should not be re-reading Pete the Cat as the core of their literacy work for the fifth year in a row. Whether they are served in the general education classroom, a self-contained classroom, a hospital, at home… They have the right to a robust education that teaches oral and written communication, critical thinking, problem solving, and so much more. An IEP does not mean “less”. It means more.
As I write on the eve of my fifteenth year serving other individuals with disabilities, this is what guides me. This is what I keep in mind when I write assistive technology evaluations, when I select IEP goals, and when I speak to parents about all the joy and beauty and honor that has come with teaching their child during the year. Because it is — it’s an honor. And one that I work hard to live up to.