Heroes
Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez
My five-year old friend, Gabriel, has been designing a super-hero as a Year 1 literacy project. His image - drawn on a great big piece of paper - was the same size as him with distinguishing features made from carefully-cut pieces of orange paper. Gabriel’s super-hero has bat ears, horizontal torso stripes resembling an impressive six-pack and a large orange penis which is, he told his mum, the source of his hero’s power. After a brief WhatsApp exchange, Gabriel’s mum, Bex, and I agreed that the best strategy was to congratulate him on his fantastic work, make more coffee and leave his teacher to address the penis-focused power issue during their next Teams one-to-one.
Meanwhile, Wilf is preparing for his seventh birthday. He has written an hour-by-hour timetable for his day that begins with ‘Pancayes’ at 7am and ends with Harry Potter at 19.00 before bed at 20.00. Liam and I both feel wretched that Covid 19 will prevent us from ‘den bildin’ with Wilf at 14.00 and so we have been super-efficient in an attempt to manage our misery. As a result, Wilf’s birthday gift - a S.W.A.T helmet complete with a tinted anti-riot visor - has been stashed under my sister’s bed for several weeks. The helmet is part of a law-enforcement uniform that Wilf has requested and, alarmed as I am at the idea of a seven year old in a bullet-proof vest carrying handcuffs and a serious-looking weapon, I appreciate his determination to uphold law and order. In fact, I am fairly sure that joining the S.W.A.T. team is Wilf’s response to the pandemic that has stopped his playground games and sleepovers with Granny.
Today, MPs have held a minute’s silence in the House of Commons to mark the death of Captain Tom Moore; the newspaper front pages carry pictures of him, the flag flies at half mast above the Palace of Westminster, and the Queen has paid tribute to him. An extraordinary combination of indomitable spirit and physical frailty made Captain Moore a powerful, poignant hero. With his smart jacket and bright medals, his back stooped and his voice reedy with age, Captain Moore’s determined fragility gave us an image of stoicism as we struggled to adjust to an invisible threat that forced us to disconnect with one another and retreat inside for safety.
On Monday, U.S. Congressional Representative, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez demonstrated courageous vulnerability in her Instagram Live description of the insurrection on Capital Hill. For me, AOC’s account of 6th January represented the sort of heroism that I want to encourage in my students. Wearing a baggy grey sweater and with steam rising from the hot drink on her desk, AOC told her story in an open, unpolished manner. She explained her confusion and her shaky decision making with language and gestures that exposed raw fear, unrehearsed bravery and the unspooling horror of the experience. AOC also managed to convey her understanding of how extreme events can alter perception as she spoke of the Capitol policeman who came looking for her. And - with remarkable honesty - she explained how her experience of sexual assault made it particularly important for her to tell her story without apology or distortion. She knew, she said, what it is like not to be believed, to have one’s truth challenged, and to be blamed for being the victim of someone else’s crime.
When teaching became digital during lockdown #1, I thought a great deal about the differences between what one can achieve when working alongside students in a classroom and what is possible during online lessons. ‘Moving online’ meant altering teaching objectives and learning outcomes. So even though Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s Instagram video would provide a fantastic focus for a Sixth Form lesson on spoken language and the use of social media platforms, I would not use it with my students in an online lesson. Violence, fear and sexual assault are such emotive topics that I want to safeguard my students in a way that is only possible if I am in the classroom with them. Challenging issues such as these often arise in lessons, frequently because the students themselves have seen something in the media that they want to discuss. As the #MeToo movement grew in confidence from late 2017, students regularly initiated whole class conversations about the abuse of power by people like Harvey Weinstein. When conversations like these take place, I listen and share ideas but - more than anything else - I keep gentle watch over the students. Teaching face-to-face, one can read changes in students’ moods, language or gestures. This is not alarmist observation; it is the same courtesy and sensitivity that we apply to everyday conversations so that we recognise when our words touch bruised emotions.
When students become face-boxes on a screen, I adapt my teaching choices because it is impossible to intuit their feelings as I would during day-to-day classroom interactions. And yet my wishes for these students have not changed one little bit: I still hope that they can be the super-heroes of their own lives by wearing their courage and their spirit and their vulnerability openly and with absolute honesty. I want them to be brave enough to be their whole selves and to tell their whole stories because that is how they will thrive in this big, bad wolf-world.