For the past few weeks, my home state of New Hampshire has borne the hot lights of intense presidential campaigning. Candidates have made the rounds at our diners, VFW halls, and the occasional bean supper (pronounced “suppa”). That’s in the typical cycle of the First-in-the-Nation primary, but as we know, nothing about our times are typical.
My view of the primary comes from the classroom—and what I see is mostly disturbing. Young people are watching and waiting to see how the adults in their lives will respond—to see if our words about caring, sharing, and respecting ourselves and others are true.
Like many teachers in the past few years, I’ve struggled to keep my head above water—feeling the immense burden of compassion fatigue. We entered teaching to nurture learners, to encourage civic participation, and to be “helpers.” Yet the current political climate punishes caregivers doubly by targeting educators and the students we are devoted to caring for each day.
My view of the primary comes from the classroom—and what I see is mostly disturbing.
I started my career in education supporting a fourth grade class of students, most of whom were the children of refugees, newcomers to this country.
Since then, the physical classroom has not changed much—alphabet rugs and tiny plastic chairs can still be found in our rooms. But the world has changed, and we, the teachers, have changed with it. The things that children are seeing, hearing, experiencing, interpreting, and repeating have changed. The harshness of politics today is a strong undercurrent in how our profession is being harmed by the ripple effect of trauma.
Ask teachers, and we will tell you that relationships are the bedrock of learning—but it feels like we’re building on shaky ground these days. We do our best each day to promote kindness, to get kids to pause and reflect on their words and actions, to be considerate of their peers. Still, even these efforts and expectations have come to be a political football, as we have seen with eight states banning social-emotional learning.
The classroom teacher of a decade ago did not fear losing their job for reading picture books. There is a sense that you are putting your career at risk if one classroom comment or discussion goes in an unanticipated direction. That kind of pressure is bad for students, teachers, and for preparing students for civic life.
The weight of working through COVID-19, trying our best to be there for our students, and then becoming targets of the culture wars has profoundly harmed teachers.
The psychological toll on teachers resulting from the systemic attack on our profession can be seen as a form of “moral injury.” Recent studies have been conducted into the effect of such work related pressures in other fields. The idea of work-related trauma reducing employee retention and wellbeing has also gained attention.
One NPR report in 2023 described these kinds of systematic psychological injuries as: “the feelings of guilt, sadness, and defeat felt by health care professionals when we know what our patients need but can’t provide it.”
Sadly, this description fits the experience of many educators today.
As we venture further into this new year, we must ready ourselves for the challenges of teaching now—teaching under political pressure, teaching as an act of unbending hope as we confront acts of transgression that cast long shadows over learners.
Public schools bring young people of different backgrounds and beliefs together to learn from one another in community, sharing knowledge and ideas to create a more complete vision of the world and of one another. This is why the public school is where the ideals of democracy touch the ground and take root.
By investing more in education, and giving teachers their due, we might be able to turn things around.