Think of the Children!!!

Almost 24hrs ago I was introduced, via Twitter, to a very shouty, angry racist travelling on the Croydon Tramlink.  A day later, my Facebook feed is full of links to the video, accompanied by gasps of shock and horror.  Some people have dared to dip a toe into the treacherous waters of race relations in today's Britain.  There are musings on her upbringing, her dependence on various drugs, and - from the particularly brave - a lament that this woman is perhaps hurting as she perceives freedoms and benefits of living in the UK slowly (not so slowly) being eroded.  Of course she is wrong to blame immigration for this...but she has to blame something.

"Yes it's a checked cap...something to say?"

What struck me most about the many comments I've read, from friends, from friends of friends, from absolute strangers on the YouTube posting, is the almost universal cry of how sorry we feel for her poor baby and how she "doesn't deserve to have a child".  This worries me far more than the original video.  This woman (whoever she is) has behaved abhorrently but who is anyone to decide who may and may not breed?

Yes, her son is being raised by a racist.  An angry, aggressive, foul-mouthed racist.  He is being taught hatred and, judging by how calm he seems to remains as his primary caregiver takes on an entire tram of strangers, abusive language and conduct doesn't phase him.  This is sad.  But we are all capable of rising out of our pen and for there to be (as one friend of friend has stated) "no hope for him" denies him that basic human right: to learn, to love and to live an enlightened life despite the best efforts of those we are born to.  


What upsets me the most?  The anti-chavism of the comments.  I hate it.  I hate the word.  I hate the attitude. That some of us are entitled to totally dismiss others because of their background, their values, (Heaven forbid) their accents.  Attached to this video and its numerous postings around the web are some vile vile sentiments that "we" could raise her child better.  Like it or not, this woman represents a part of our culture; and a micro-culture I am happy not to be a part of.  Denying someone the right to raise a child they bore purely because we don't like what they say amounts only to the eradication of those cultures.  Let's all pat ourselves on the back for being so educated, so liberal, so progressive...but let's never own up to wanting to to live in a country populated only by people like us.

Take a Step Back if you want to Leap Further.

I've pinched this picture from Cidne Wallace.  She's an artist who creates inspirational pieces like this.  You can buy her stuff at: http://www.artisanartsonline.com/servlet/Categories

Tomorrow I take a huge step backwards in the hope that it will get me back on track.  I return to EFL teaching at a Summer School in Sussex, a job I haven't done for over 4 years.  So what happened?  How did I come to stop SummerSchooling and why am I going back to it after what, in EFL terms, is a huge absence?

I've taught in Summer Schools since 2003.  I had spent six months in Athens teaching at a Frontisteria (private afternoon school) and was back in the UK preparing to start a PGCE.  Every year I went back, always a couple of weeks late because the state schools I taught in always broke up a little later than the boarding schools we took over.  I'd bring the kind of skills rarely honed in EFL teachers who generally work with adults or in environments where, to children, the teacher is King.  Summer School takes huge numbers of teens and pre-teens and mixes them all up together in an exciting and challenging environment far far away from their parents; it takes a certain kind of "classroom practitioner" to reign them in.  Discipline aside, I had a greater academic understanding of learning and although no better a teacher, I was able to explain a lot of the theory.  My final Summer School posting was in 2007 when I reached the dizzy heights of Director of Studies.  I loved it.

I had been able to perform that role because I could be available for the entirety of the Summer.  This was because I had turned my back on teaching here in UK secondary schools.  That's a story for another time maybe.  When the course ended, I went back to temping jobs until in April 2008 I began work as an e-learning consultant for a web 2.0 firm: another job I loved completely.  It did mean my Summers were no longer my own to do with as I pleased and since then, I've not been available to set up school in global villages buried deep in the English countryside.  A harsh compromise but one I figured it was time to make; we can't live our lives afraid to let go.

Yet tomorrow I return.  4 years since I last heard myself referred to as "Teacher 'Elen"; 4 years since I played tennis barefoot because flip flops just don't work on court; 4 years since I pulled on a branded polo shirt and marched a string of students along Whitehall; 4 years since I last had to emergency-cram the conditionals into my brain so I looked like I knew what I was talking about.  It's not been the smoothest road: 2 redundancies in 12 months and a couple of freelance opportunities which kept the wolves from the door but me firmly locked behind it.  There was an event which knocked me witless and made me more grateful than I can express for the opportunity to batten down here in my little flat and tap away on a keyboard in exchange for money and my independence but now, July 2011, I'm ripping those battens off my windows and stepping out into the sun.  It will be hard work and it will be exhausting but my word will it make me feel alive again.