Love Letters to "Bad" Students; Dreaming of Feminist Teaching as Care Work Beyond the Pandemic

Dear Avery*: 

I just wanted to check in with you on how you are doing, but also to offer my support in any way possible. I got an email from the Dean of Students and even if not, I just want to reassure you that I will work with you on everything. My suggestion at this point is that we agree on an Incomplete for the semester. This will give us time to work together and finish it at a later date so you can focus on the more important things right now. 

Best, 

Lyn 

In March 2020, I was teaching a college course in women's, gender and sexuality studies at my alma mater while simultaneously pursuing my own graduate degree. I was excited and overwhelmed at the same time. I told a colleague in January that, "the most important thing that they can take away from me is empathy for others and a new appreciation for who they are." Little did I know what I was walking into. 

I remember vividly the last time I was able to be with my students in person; a privilege afforded to me by my university, as so many colleagues across the US and the globe have not been so cared for. I gave up all pretenses of trying to teach as if it was just any other day. It was early enough in the week that I only had my suspicions of what our university was going to do, but I wanted to prepare my students for the possibility of not coming back from our break right away. 

They were unnerved. Most of their other professors were not talking about this, or were cancelling classes right before spring break to give us all more space, psychological as well as physical. Even then, we all tried to reassure ourselves this was going to be a quick, two-week shut down with limited interruption to the rhythmic work rituals of the university. 

What does it mean to be present to the unknowing, the uncomfortable, and the painful experiences of teaching that we may want to quickly push aside? How can we, through connecting with this side of our teaching, increase not only our students' capacity to care about their learning, but their emotive connections to their peers, communities and those that guide their learning? If there is one thing that the pandemic gave me and my students, it was the understanding that all of us, myself included, are flawed and human, and that this mutual care work of knowing and valuing each other is integral to our survival. 

Hi All:

I hope everyone is doing okay in these very trying times. We are at a point in the semester where things are very stressful under normal circumstances. However, I am cognizant that you all had a shortened winter break, a spring break that has gotten pushed to the end of the semester, and we are still living in a time of upheaval. This is not just because of the pandemic, but heightening political tension, and national tragedies, such as the recent hate crime against the Asian/Asian-American/Pacific Islander communities in Georgia this week. I have heard from a number of students who are struggling, scared, frustrated, burnt out, and dealing with loss. 

Instead of trying to push on like everything is normal---because everything is decidedly not normal---I want to provide a healing, solidarity and community care space instead of class. Please come if you'd like a place to talk, vent, share, and be in community with your fellow WGSS students. I will be running this space from 3:30 to 6:30 pm tonight and you are welcome 

to attend for as little or long as you would like. 

Best, 

Lyn 

As someone living with mobility issues and chronic pain, the transition to online teaching was more beneficial than difficult. I can admit that I missed the energy exchange, the way a room of students can light up when you're facilitating a learning experience; but not having to drag my aching bones out of bed painfully early to give myself time to acclimate to the day, and not having to walk across a large campus to my classroom was transformative. This space gave me more time for care, both for my students and myself. 

Coming together online for our synchronous classes via Zoom was a lifeline for me, a sentiment that was expressed by many of my students. I have always built mental health check-ins into my time with my students, usually at stressful times during the semester. Online, we started doing grounding activities regularly, and I received thankful asides from students who had limited skills in quieting their unease. I found myself expressing vulnerabilities to help normalize our simultaneously numbing and activating experiences, in ways that might have seemed out of place or too forthcoming prior to the pandemic; the great equalizer had provided us insight into our collective fragility. 

I have given more extensions, incompletes, optional group projects and alternative assignments since the pandemic began, though these were all options that I provided for students prior to this. I can only credit the greater emphasis that I placed on care within the class itself, and the invitation of students behind the curtain, not just to the intent behind my teaching, but the expression of my own regard for them. What can it mean to develop this kind of commitment to self-care and transparency about our soft and tender points into our pedagogy? How can we urge our students to prioritize themselves and develop their agency as social change agents

and feminists if we are not willing to meet them where they are at and produce the environment that will allow this to happen? 

Dear Riley*: 

I'm so sorry you're having to deal with this. I really want to emphasize that this is something that is happening with many other students. You're not alone in having greater distractions and worries. It is normal during this stressful time! I also want to hold space for those feelings, because we all respond in our own way to crises. In many ways, saying "someone else has it worse" causes us to beat ourselves up, and to stifle and chastise ourselves for our own feelings. I encourage you to be gentle with yourself. 

I also want to alleviate any fears you have around our class. I am happy to work with you however you need. We are all trying our best in these stressful times, and it will mean that our work is affected---for everyone! The idea that we can act as though nothing is happening and be normally productive during these times is a trap, because it is impossible. Our mental and physical health will suffer as a result. 

I'm here if you would like to chat as well, via a video call or phone. I promise it will not be a bother. 

Best, 

Lyn 

As we begin to trickle back into what used to pass as normal---a profoundly racist, sexist, classist, queer and trans antagonist, ableist normal---what I am most fearful of is that we will forget this rupture, or try too hard to categorize and rationalize it within its time and space. The lessons so many of us learned and lived were important and valuable. While too often aspects of life in the pandemic were textbook examples of all that is wrong with late-stage white supremacist patriarchy, many of us had a taste of the vision of a future that so many BIPOC, queer, poor, disabled, abolitionist feminists have been dreaming into existence through their own form of care work: activism, community organizing and solidarity between marginalized peoples across the globe. We saw this in part through the actions and protest that brought a greater spotlight to Black prison and policing abolitionist work already being done in summer in 2020, forcing us to reckon with the violence not only of America, but the pandemic itself. 

Teaching is not just about educating. We must recognize and re-think it explicitly as care work, and in community with other caring professions. It has an invisibilized and disembodied gender, sexuality, race, ability and very notably, class, as do so many of the professions significantly impacted by the pandemic.

What could teaching look like post-pandemic if we tap into that understanding of care, both for our students and for our teachers? Re-embodying our teachers and our students, and the human cost on all sides through the pandemic, emphasizes for us the importance of caring---and we must be careful not to let this slip through our fingers in the rush towards reclaiming a past that never truly worked for so many of us. What could teaching as care work contribute to the futures we want to live in if we recognized it for the liberatory possibilities it can create? What could our communities look like if we re-imagined them as opportunities for collective and collaborative learning, growing---and caring---together. 

*Names changed to protect student identities.