Correlations between a big heart, a little stew & greater student engagement

One student learning about ecosystems

I’ve been trying to write a new post for a while, but the truth is, I just didn’t know what to write. See, I have this rule: I won’t share my thoughts until I feel they are balanced enough. Until there is enough positive and negative. I do this because words are so powerful. They take up space. They shape perspectives. They influence thoughts. They determine actions.

So what do I want to say? Rather, it should be: what do I want to ask? That is because there is no simple, easily packaged answer, ready for delivery about education and First Nations, Metis & Inuit peoples. It is not a one size fits all question or answer. It is local and it is nuanced. I live in an Anishinaabe, Oji-Cree fly-in community. That might be very different from another community or the urban experience of First Nations youth living in Toronto. Education, and its legacy of colonialism, is a complex issue, and as such, merits real discuss, for which I offer a very small glimpse into a larger conversation where my voice should never be raised to more than a whisper.

One student's art sculpture

So what question would I like to echo out into the inter-webs? I want to inch closer to: What is our responsibility as settler teachers to our First Nations students? How can we not reinforce colonialism as white teachers? How can we reimagine education in meaningful ways for our students with the resources that we have to create real space and opportunity for them?

I’ll draw on five events that have happened since my return to NSL after the Christmas holidays to order my scattered Sunday thoughts:

• I started to try to have a warm meal for my students everyday.
• One my mature students buried his murdered son.
• One of my students lost her boyfriend to suicide.
• The dog the teachers usually look after was eaten by a wolf.
• And for about four weeks, my attendance went up from three regular attendees to eight students.

The students getting out of the class

So how do these things relate to those questions? Well, since I came back from the holidays I started caring a little less about the academic side of school and started focusing in on how to get students coming to school. On how to get them feeling hopeful and capable and appreciated. On how to shoo-away some of the widespread tragedy that seems to skulk around every corner in the north.

I remember before I left for the holidays one student and I were talking and he said: “Lindsay, it is just so incredibly boring sitting at a computer trying to do high school.” I looked at him, and in that moment, all I could say was: “Yeah, I’m sorry. That doesn't sound fun”. I’m grateful for his frankness because it gave me a greater drive to make my alternative classroom more engaging for students. To try to do more with what I had because I don’t like it either: this incredible lack. Lack of choice, lack of resources, lack of opportunity, lack of hope. I caught this same student looking up an article back in the fall, and asking him: “Oh, what’s this?”. He said: “They found my father.” The newspaper article read: Homeless Man Found Dead In Winnipeg River.

Fun photo scavenger hunt

My students are not just dealing with what designer shoes to buy or if their friends like them. They are dealing with confronting those who have sexually assaulted them in court. They are dealing with the death of murdered family members. They are dealing with suicide, with depression, with anxiety. They are dealing with hunger. With bedbugs. With lice. They are dealing with parents who have addictions. They are dealing with not becoming parents with addictions. All the while, they are making the choice to come to school. Or the choice to not come to school.

So what’s my job? What’s my place and my role as a privileged individual coming into this underprivileged community with its own complex past and present? I still don’t have an answer to that question, but I do have the feeling that if I am to impart anything to my students, it is simply that they matter. Their stories, their accomplishments, and even their failures are important. I do not have the expertise of a special education teacher. I do not have the experience of a veteran teacher or the first hand cultural knowledge of someone who is FNMI (First Nations, Metis or Inuit).

One student's art project

All I know is that I care. I am human. I am flawed, but I care. I can give them food. I can give positive reinforcement. I can say good morning. I can set high expectations. I can be consistent. I can build their confidence by scaffolding them at the level they are instead of imposing expectations of where they should be. I can make them tea. I can ask them how they are everyday. I can treat them with respect. I can honour when they need space, and I can know when they need support. I can model kindness and humility. I can encourage them to do the same. I can give them prizes and awards for doing their work. I can give them leadership opportunities. I can listen.

These are all things I can do.

And while there is a lot of hurt here — and being the sensitive soul I am, I cannot help but acknowledge that deeply — these small things I can do make my story up here worthwhile. At least that is what I tell myself when I am afraid I'm doing my students a disservice. When I feel the lack.

I want to see my students laugh and make positive associations with school. I want them to see the possibilities they have in front of them. I want them to have a new story when it comes to school. I want to learn from them and their culture and make space for that. Because maybe, just maybe if they believe they matter, they will forget about schooling, and just focus on learning for themselves and no-one else. Focus on their story and their next life chapter.

It’s a long road ahead, but with every student that comes into my class — and that keeps coming — I feel hope. And hope is what keeps me going. It's also what I suspect keeps my students going too. So thank goodness for hope. Tomorrow is another day, and another chance for me to tell my students just how much they matter.