"Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy."
-William Golding, Lord of the Flies
I'm something of a cynic. I know, it may be hard to believe, but it's true. Just when I believe that I can become no more cynical than I was the day before, I become continually disillusioned by the world in which I live—and the district in which I teach.
Let's recall Kyle, the walking nightmare who essentially plagiarized an essay and needed to pass his final exam to graduate. (See Playing the Percentages.) Just as he sort of plagiarized his essay, he sort of cheated on his exam; that is, he copied off of a neighbor, but changed a few answers. I am unsure why I am incredulous that he would pull this again (after cheating on the midterm and his Macbeth unit exam), but I am still appalled.
But more than being incredulous and appalled, I was filled with a sense of dread. I realize the implications of accusing Kyle of cheating: 1) Kyle not graduating, 2) my being called a liar because I do not have 100% proof, and 3) parents raising hell with the administration and superintendents' offices. I took a deep breath and sought out the assistant principal.
Sam, our AP, doesn't like this kid any more than I do, nor does he believe in passing kids along if they don't deserve it; however, he told me point blank that I was "fighting a losing battle." He cited incidents in the recent past when the area superintendent caved on another issue with this very student. He insisted I would not win; I should ignore this incidence of academic dishonesty.
Until I inconveniently noticed Kyle had cheated, I was feeling pretty good about my job: I seem to have gotten through to Neal on some level, and I had just shamelessly proclaimed my awesomeness on this blog by posting parents' and students' comments to me. Knowing that I would not have the support of my superiors was a hollow feeling: I too would have to fold in the interest of self-preservation. I felt sick.
As I drove home that afternoon, I realized that I was disgusted not by the events that transpired, but at my own naïveté—I was a fool to believe that earning a high school diploma is about education and not about politics.
Annie, do not give up the fight. Remember these feelings of frustration, anger, resentment, and disillusionment, and use them as fuel to fight for reform of the system. Obviously your superintendent fears the parents' backlash and the possibility of not being re-elected at his position, but the more that voices of reason like yours are heard, the more other people will have to start opening their eyes and recognizing the inherent flaws in the system. Do not be so hard on Kurt; in many ways I imagine he has been taught his whole life that what he is doing is not so wrong, and that he has essentially found a way to do the least amount of work and still get by. That may be his ultimate goal which he has creatively, albeit immorally achieved. I am sure you understand that the changes have to start years before students meet you, and there are those that will slip through, like Kurt. But remember that your convictions and passion for what is right for these kids, despite the politics, is what really matters. Keep Kurt in your memory as a failure of the system, and do not allow such failures to diminish the enthusiasm you have to give these kids a better future. Without teachers like you continuing to fight the good fight, the politics of the system will overwhelm it's intention of serving the kids in it with a quality education. I hope you will allow yourself to feel the full range of emotions on this issue, make your voice heard, and continue to be an incorruptible figure in your work. And if nothing else, I believe in what you're doing.
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