School Space.
Everyday, I think about school shootings. I observe every space on campus with a vigilant eye — looking for escape routes, objects that might barricade the door, concrete reinforced walls, objects to hurl, anything to keep the students safe. Even if its only for a moment. I imagine lunging at the door, the bullets ripping through my chest, hoping that like some comic book protagonist, my will carries me to neutralize the shooter. On the first day of class, or “syllabus day”, I mention active harmer protocol alongside my comments on the fire escapes and what to do in case of an emergency. I’ve done this for four years, and sometimes when I explain the information to colleagues, they shudder. I am still surprised at this response, though I admire the naivete.
For the past few years, there has been a critique on post-secondary education and its encouragement of inclusivity in academia. Those who have been venomous in their critique coined now mainstream terms like “snow flake”, “social justice warrior”, and “pc culture”. These words are meant to be diminutive terms that seek to delegitamize efforts to create equity in academia. It now seems tragically ironic that these words are used to decry earnest efforts to create a “safe space” or “safe zone” — another ire of critics. The tangible evidence of the the “pc culture” going to far. In these designated areas, hate speech was forbidden as it was seen to inherently attack the idea of a inclusive space, a zone for everyone. This is also where the first amendment movement to protect nationalistic and misogynistic forms of speech on campuses, locate a portion of its roots.
A student hurried into class today, a minute or two late. I usually complete my roll during the first minute of class, to conserve the rest of the time. But, also to remain true to my students demanding schedule. I launched into my lecture, he immediately interjected as he sat in his chair. “Professor, what part of Florida are you from?” I heard about the shooting while teaching yesterday, but between grading and classes, I did not have the heart to investigate the headline. I’d awoken this morning to more details on the shooting in Parkland, Florida. Whenever there is a school shooting, I carry a dark shadow for a few days.
I immediately shut down the question and explained that we had a lot to do today. Ending with, “and, I definitely do not want to talk about the shooting.” We did have work and I was triggered, but my student was concerned and I couldn't handle the empathy. I suppose that is one of the casualties of teaching. The soft heart that drove you into the noblest of professions, must harden to survive. Not all schools are the same, not all teachers struggle as deeply as others. But one thing remains constant — the racial and ethnic composition of the school does not matter, the economic tax base that feeds the school does not matter, even the presence of armed police does not matter, when students are killing masses of students with semi-automatic weapons.
In a sense, I truly believe schools can be a safe space. But, this would require a massive cultural shift towards empathy and loving thy neighbor. The idea of a safe space seems divine after every mass shooting. At the end of class, as my students began to gather their things, I answered his question.
“I went to high school in Orlando. I completed my undergrad in Tallahassee,” I said. He paused for a moment, and said cool. I continued, “and I’m sorry I shut you down earlier, over the shooting. Its just that when there is a mass shooting at a school, it always make me question why I do this job.” There was a brief pause, I could feel the gaze of each of my students. “That’s okay professor,” he said as he made his way to the door to leave for our four-day weekend, the Winter quarter recess, “I understand.” Several students remained, completing the last few sentences of their work. I answered the remaining questions, and then the electric clock read: 10:20 AM. “Alright everyone, I hope you have a wonderful, long weekend,” I said as I began erasing the dry board, “And, don’t do anything stupid — please, come back and see me again on Tuesday.” They laughed and quickly filed out.
