I’m also shocked– shocked– at how many downloads the rubric has gotten.  Are people interested in my little old handouts? Seriously? I always thought it was my philosophical acuteness and acerbic wit. I’ll put more stuff up if you want me to…

Not that the tizzy itself is really anything new– I’ve blogged about the damaging amounts of time and energy it takes to combat a broken school system before. What is becoming new, I feel, is the high-profile social acceptance and encouragement of such time and energy, as if the only hallmark of an effective education is the adult in the classroom– who luckily gets divorced or hospitalized as a result of their work. ASCD is even asking questions this week on how much administrators rely on the “niceness” of their teachers to carry out their plans– and carry the educational day.

And what is the common thread? It is a willingness on the part of people in power, however well-intentioned, to spin their terms such that they strike our most vulnerable spot as teachers: the need to care for our children. Excellence, love, sacrifice, high expectations, and “whatever it takes” all get mixed into a emotive stew, steaming with the implication that if we, as teachers, question any demand placed upon us, place any limits on what we are willing to do as teachers, we are forsaking our duty to our kids.

This is what Chris Lehman has identified as the Martyr Mythology in schools. It’s a unique rhetorical challenge, I think, one that isn’t paralleled in other union situations. Steel workers care about the strength of their product; textile associates worry about how tight stitches and buttons are. But teachers are charged with something far less concrete, and far more emotionally volatile: the well-being of a human spirit. I’m beginning to understand that the depth of responsibility teachers all feel for this well-being is directly proportional to the danger of our being manipulated for its sake.

For as our public school structures crumble further under the weight of what we now know kids need in order to learn, we will not be asked first to change those structures. We will instead be asked to be those martyrs. It’s almost understandable. After all, what is easier? Reworking schedules, curricula, parent relations, community resources, building design, class size, federal funding? Or merely relying on the documented and inexhaustible compassion of teachers for their students?

Scary.

And not theoretical, in the end. The need to sift out this stew has dogged me since my innocent conversations last week. For if I don’t know where I stand, I– or you– will sooner or later find ourselves sitting in a meeting with someone who will say to us, “But these new requirements are good practice. Don’t you want to engage in good practice for your kids?” And I don’t know about you, but I am almost guaranteed to let my heart speak before my head.

So I’m thinking about a checklist: a trilogy of simple statements that will help me fight the Martyr Mythology. Try these on.

1) Good practice is hard practice.

In order to prevent this fact from being used as a rhetorical weapon against teachers, we need to accept that it is true. Even under the most ideal of teaching circumstances– say, a socioeconomically supported, resource-rich class of fifteen students or less– good teaching will always be difficult, because it involves the ever-shifting, daily-changing, half-uncontrollable internal and external environments of a growing child.

To then try to make an argument to your administration from ease — as in, “Practice X is easier,” or “Practice Y is too hard”– may be true, but it’s also very tricky. It opens the door to the spirit-squashing and irrefutable response, “Why are you interested in teaching getting easier? You should be interested in teaching being good.”

The teacher needs to shift tactics here. Having a conversation about “efficiency” might be one way to do this. “Effectiveness” might be another. These are words that sidestep the pit of the Martyr Mythology. They convey the very real concern of whether a practice is practical or sustainable, without allowing the teacher to be dismissed as “tired”, “old school,” or “slacking off.”

2) Hard practice is not always good practice.

I’m sure we can all tick off on our fingers several things we do every day that make our lives more difficult, but don’t enhance our educational efforts for kids. Ask me about our attendance books sometime.

But also included in this category is a subtler form of systemic demand: practice that is essentially good, but is functionally redundant or non value-adding. The teacher who writes daily personal reflections on her lessons– but is also required to do so on the prescribed district-sanctioned form– comes to mind.

Teachers need to be ruthless in questioning and resisting as much of this kind of practice as possible. Our contracts provide some grounds for this resistance. Other situations will require good faith conversations with higher-ups, or finding and implementing solutions that are better than the ones presented to us by our systems.

One way or the other, a good portion of the Martyr Mythology rests on our compliance with hard practice that is not good practice. There’s a one word response to these kinds of systemic demands, however you can manage to say it. No.

3) Hard practice, whether good or bad, is not always sustainable practice.

What is sustainable practice? This is the age-old question.

My union’s answer is that a sustainable practice is one that can be achieved within a seven and a half hour work day. Extend beyond that time frame, and additional compensation of some kind is required: time, benefits, or money.

Me? I have never worked a seven and a half hour teaching day in my life. I don’t know any teacher worth their salt who does. On the other hand, I have also never been compensated fairly for the effort required to excel as a teacher– equivalent to the work week and responsibilities of any doctor or lawyer (as they are in most countries in the world, by the way).

So my personal feeling is that even if the union’s punch-card eight hour day approach is laughable, its line on compensation is as good a place as any to start defining what is sustainable. It’s where I might start a conversation about paid release time for the new paperwork requirements in my building, for example.

Teachers will differ on final definitions of sustainability, I suspect. But the only important issue, in the end, is that your answer is not, “It’s whatever it takes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So tell me what you think of those.

And one last note on martyrdom. I have the luck to be friends with a minister who is well-versed in the history of the actual Christian martyrs. He pointed out to me last night that historically, a martyr is always reluctant. She never wants to make the sacrifice demanded of her; she never advertises; and she does everything possible to satisfy the needs of her truth before going as far as to give her own life.

The only people who held up martyrdom as a mass standard of behavior? You guessed it. They were the Church administrators.

All around us were little people in blankets, pajamas, on the laps of grandparents, lying across chairs. Flu, the doctor confirmed when I asked. On our way out, one little girl was being strapped into a portable bed. Two ambulances waited.

It made me think.

I would be surprised if there were an informed person in the country right now who didn’t know how the US stacked up against the top ranking country for health care according to WHO (France). But how about one of the bottom ranking countries– Myanmar?

Myanmar has no reported deaths from H1N1 as of last week. But what is the top cause of childhood death in that country?

Diarrhea. Yes– that stuff we cure with Pepto Bismol. The stuff we don’t die of here in the US– zero reported mortality cases in 2006– simply because we have access to clean water and decent waste disposal.

And if that doesn’t give you pause about the health benefits of living in America, think about this: If Ian and I had lived in Africa, there is a good chance he could have died of complications from his ear infection. 28,000 people did worldwide in 1990. That’s not counting the massive amounts of disability incurred via hearing loss, the top cause of which in developing countries is untreated otitis media. The WHO considers this such a severe problem that they have developed a worldwide health program specifically to address it.

Imagine. Imagine that your child gets diarrhea, and knowing that he might die from it. Imagine that your son gets a double ear infection, and knowing he might go deaf– because there is not a walk-in after hours clinic five minutes’ drive from your house, or a Target with over-the-counter medication at your fingertips, but a single traveling doctor you can walk to– if you’re lucky– once every few months.

Our current national debate about universal coverage, while absolutely essential, is also a privileged one. There’s no other way to remember it– except to remember it.

Try remembering it this way.

My true fear would be that quantity diminishes quality. I don’t usually post until something really moves me, and then it often takes  me an hour or more to put the post together. I’m aware that this  does differ from other edu-bloggers, who take a more Tweet-y approach– but then again, our articulated purposes for blogging are different.

I’m also aware that you are putting forth advice for a collective student blog, versus adult singletons. But here too, do we wish to encourage flash posting? I’m not so sure.  Does gratifying a “digital” audience trump thoughtfulness? You say yourself that kids will struggle to post meaningfully. Why not work within their limits?

And more to the point– why isn’t student analysis of the purpose of the blog (newsy updates, reflective writing, or aesthetic publishing) driving the amount of posts?

What do you think, readers? How often do you post to your blogs, and why?