If this summer has left me with anything, it has left me with the command to be fearless in my teaching. The summer was hard in ways I could not have imagined in April, and yet, here we are, in August, still standing. I am stronger than I thought. I can do. 

And I need to. So many of my children bear scars from past battles lost, and they bring their demons with them each day. They fear failure. They fear success. They fear alienation from their communities. They fear alienation from themselves. They fear. So I need to be fearless for my students, to model the fearlessness they will need in their own lives in order to rail against the dehumanizing processes that threaten learning.

I have been thinking about the dehumanization of education because, on August 14, I sat for the GRE. I felt fear in the days leading up to the exam. I cringed as I heard my voice in my head reciting the familiar testing strategies that we pretend to be important. I squirmed as my name transformed in to a number, trapping me into the rigid performance of “testing.” And I cried as I recognized practices in my school and countless other well-meaning schools contained within the extreme dictates placed upon me that day. I realized that when we strip our students of their dignity, when we turn them into numbers and erase their names, when we systematize and organize to meet our own needs without counsel or consultation, we feed their fears.

Teaching and learning should be acts of joy. This year, I will be fearless in advocating for my students’ humanity, starting with my class rules. I will be fearless so they can be fearless. I will be fearless because I can. And I know I can, because I survived this summer.