There is a crisis of compassion, and I find myself grappling with the apathy displayed by my children.
The era of indifference. It’s not about me, though that was my initial assumption. Engrossed in vaping, heads buried in screens, they seem to resent me, yet not entirely.
I probed further, a common occurrence for any teacher at any given moment. Exceptional educators, invaluable mentors who deserve recognition. I questioned the students about how each teacher tackles the ‘Sleepy Magoo Syndrome’—a term coined by myself—dropping books, sounding alarms, placing phone calls, and my personal favorite, skillfully confiscating cell phones.
Euphemisms not only sugarcoat reality but also exacerbate a grave issue that chips away at my spirit daily. It’s a cause for concern, one that should resonate with you as well.
As an English teacher on the front lines since 2007, I have had a unique vantage point, one I consider a sacred privilege: I unlock the gateway through writing assignments, and the students pour their souls onto the pages. I delve into their struggles, encompassing their worries and past traumas. I vividly recall reading two poignant essays by siblings from different academic years detailing the impact of their parents’ divorce on their formative years. It was profoundly moving.
Over the years, from 2007 to 2024, I have witnessed once bright and fervent eyes dim. Writing, to them, seems like a futile endeavor.
Compelling children to sit still, book in hand, and appreciate the written word feels akin to exorcising a possessed populace. E-books evoke anxiety in them. Some children seem burdened by the weight of their digital reads, while others huddle over their screens while reading.
Most ingeniously use their cell phones as impromptu “bookmarks” when they assume we’re not watching. Reminiscent of how my brother would firmly plant his obstinate two-year-old at his desk and read aloud while keeping a vigilant eye, I, too, find myself tethering them to their desks.
A photograph of Caitlin Hanratty (Left). Fifth-grade students in a class photo (Right). Caitlin Hanratty’s headshot is featured. Fifth-grade students in a class photo (Right). Caitlin Hanratty/Getty Images/Richard Hutchings
As I pen these words, Governor Hochul has recently enacted a regulation that does not guarantee consistent or increased funding for schools annually. Consequently, my city has axed summer school—for the second consecutive year—to cut costs. Last year, it was due to the financial collapse in our locality.
Today, I candidly apprised my students of our summer school’s precarious status, emphasizing that many of them are failing due to incomplete assignments, yet I was met with indifference and nonchalance.
My anecdote underscores two critical points. Firstly, a generation of youths averse to reading foreshadows a world devoid of kindness and knowledge, as studies underscore the role of reading in nurturing empathy and compassion.
Secondly, the dwindling ability to engage with and dissect complex texts signifies a decline in critical thinking skills. Every literary masterpiece throughout history is at risk of being supplanted by AI as its pilferer.
More students are being ushered to the next grade level prematurely each passing month. According to hearsay, a student cited this as the reason for not completing their current coursework. We are mandated to assign grades below 50 in the first quarter, instantly tarnishing our rapport with them. What purpose do grades 1-49 serve?
Since the pandemic, physical presence has been touted as essential, as we have demonstrated our adaptability to remote work. There is no longer a compulsory attendance policy. As Woody Allen famously quipped, “80 percent of success is showing up.” This fundamental principle underpins a functional society.
Students are promoted despite being absent 50-60 times. Administrators have shifted this responsibility onto us without a coherent strategy. We are instructing students without enforcing their presence.
We are fostering a culture where a specific demographic is confined indoors, devoid of social interaction, and detached from the world. They are poised to become the future “work-from-home” cohort or casualties ripe for the impending AI encroachment.
Students grapple with formidable challenges that bleed into their academic performance. If a student has a harrowing personal history, we tend to turn a blind eye to their academic shortcomings. Recently, I offered to accompany a highly intelligent yet unsupported student to college in the vicinity.
Children proudly skip school when not feeling unwell, with some parents complicit in their truancy. Educators are obligated to show up, as are the students. We have devised lessons that can be disseminated via Google Classroom, catering to substitute teachers lacking subject expertise. We must extend the same level of attention to absentee students as we do to the present ones.
Anyone who has experienced a transformative teacher-student bond understands that such alchemy cannot be manufactured en masse. We strive to ensure that absent students who fail to complete assignments still pass. We send out countless reminders. It’s all documented on Google Groups. We employ various methods to re-engage students, with increasing efficacy.
As we delve into the narrative of Malala Yousafzai, who defied the Taliban to pursue education and was shot in the process, the notion of selling our educational institution feels degrading and disheartening. Thus, a part of us withers. We retreat. Engrossed in vaping, heads buried in screens.
While exploring Tara Westover’s memoir “Educated” with my junior students, we delve into the complexities of parenthood and individual aspirations. What plans would you devise for a child if circumstances prevented you from raising them?
We must shatter the illusion that a child’s success hinges solely on the caliber of their teacher or school district, as opposed to fostering engaging learning environments and adequate resources.
It’s not due to oversight by the school app or the absence of task postings on Google Classroom. It’s a crisis of compassion.
We must strike a balance in our responses to both positive and negative stimuli. We must become the most significant influencers in these children’s lives. Above all, we must refrain from compromising our values merely to weather the storm. For we must return, eventually.
Caitlin Hanratty imparts English lessons to a sizable cohort in the Hudson Valley, New York. Her work has been featured in the Gay and Lesbian Review. She aspires to add more accolades to her repertoire. All viewpoints expressed are solely those of the author.
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