Teaching as a Black Woman During COVID-19

Our voices are just as important as our struggles.

I want to tell you that everything’s alright — that I’m feeling fine and channeling any anger or sadness into more positive outlets. But, I’m really not okay. Not at all. I was sitting through a Zoom meeting this morning, listening to my colleagues discuss how we’re going to mitigate remote versus face-to-face instruction regarding issues of COVID-19, safety, and privacy.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about the New York City high school students that I had taught this summer. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jacob Blake, who had just been gunned down by police days earlier and maybe paralyzed from the waist down. I feel lost and alone in a sea of faces. I want to cry, but I keep my composure as my video and audio remain in their off positions. I am the only African American female in my department. And I think of Breonna Taylor every day. She is my mom, aunt, sister, niece, and cousin.

This time in all of our lives is challenging. We are dealing with massive unrest — internal disillusionment as we see all of our establishments and structures tumble, or at least grow warily unstable. We know what we have doesn’t work — health care, education, justice under the law — but we’re at a loss for how to change it. There are many ideas at play regarding reforms, but with COVID-19, the likelihood of getting funded for these changes anytime soon is all but negated.

I feel people pull back from issues regarding racism and police brutality as they start to discuss COVID-19 and protests. And money. People are understandably worried about their incomes, jobs, and being able to take care of their families. But, I am worried about poverty and folks being able to get enough food and clean drinking water. What happens if they can’t pay their rent or back rent? What happens if they become homeless, and how will this affect their children?

I worry about essential workers and others who are getting COVID-19 even as the numbers of infected or dying are decreasing in some places. The common denominator is that most of these people who are disproportionately affected are minorities. Race is still the issue, and it still is ineffably linked to poverty, education, and healthcare.

In the Spring semester, I taught mostly international students who wrote essays concerning their fears about the spread of COVID-19 and what they saw as the lack of necessary enforcement of preventative measures, such as wearing masks, by officials. This summer, I taught high school students who wrote personal statements for college which focused on COVID-19, race, and culture, and identity, and being worried about injustice regarding their own safety and protection as American citizens.

What struck me the most about both of these teaching experiences is, in fact, their similarity. First and foremost, my students were not asked to write about any of those issues but chose to face some of the internal pressures that they were dealing with daily as part of their lived experiences by writing about them. And these students encouraged me. They reminded me to be a better listener and that I was not the focal point. They became champions for one another and gained respect for others who might face similar issues like themselves.

Most of all, my students have made me recognize that saying my truth, speaking it out loud, is not something I should ever fear or be ashamed of — we are all champions who should speak these truths as we listen carefully and intently to one another’s stories and hear our voices.