Part Of My Education

 Three years ago this week, I was on strike. At the time, I walked off to join the picket line in front of my school to fight for a living wage for my fellow teachers. After a couple decades of keeping my eyes on the relative prize of being an educator, I wanted to assure those who followed me into the shared pursuit of knowledge would be able to own their own home, raise a family, and not have to spend nights wondering if there wasn't a better future for them somewhere else. I was up to my career's neck, but others were just beginning to wade in. I wanted them to get as wet as I was, or at least have a better metaphor by the time all was said and done. 

The good news: We won the day. The school district upped our compensation package and made us all feel a little more valued. All that marching about and shouting earned us a raise and, we believed at the time, some respect. 

Three years later one of the reasons we are being given for the proposed closure of schools, most of which are located in black and brown neighborhoods, is one of hiring and retaining teachers. Somewhere in there, we just priced ourselves out of a job. Or maybe the powers that be would like us to view those who are taking up those valuable salaries in schools that are under enrolled as the reason for us all not getting rich. As one of those salaries, I have to say that if sacrificing my paycheck is going to somehow magically balance a budget that has been historically mismanaged, then we are in a bigger world of hurt than I had previously imagined. Or if the idea that smaller community schools are no longer in the plans for a district that seems anxious to turn over buildings and staff to charters. Charter schools, which are smaller community institutions, with a history of limited success in Oakland. 

Three years ago, I walked out of my school and took to the streets in the hope of making a stand. I wanted to put my stamp on a moment in time. I wanted to breathe new life into my little corner of public education. Now there is a cry for more strikes. More protests. More stands. And I wonder if our community can withstand more struggle. More strife. These past few years have contained more than our recommended daily allowance of strife. It would seem that the struggle is not over. I look around me and see faces I remember from three years ago, and faces from strikes in the past. Three years from now, will we still be fighting this good fight?

I don't know. It's part of my education.