Reclaiming Power in the Aftermath of the "Budget Repair Bill"

4 Colours of Solidarity - Eddie Malone
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We work the system, steal taxpayer dollars, and are incompetent to boot. We don’t deserve what we have earned, and we certainly don’t deserve a voice in our working conditions. Our years if not decades of preparation and training do not make us worthy to earn what many of our students will make within a few years of leaving our schools and colleges. Rather than providing an essential service that keeps the economic engines going, educating future workers and good citizens, we manipulate and mooch off the system.
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These are the messages about educators lately, in the newspaper/in the air, and even though we have been labeled a social problem, we are supposed to solve social problems – with chins up! We are not supposed to become cynical, because after all, they are overpaying us to inspire. We must stand proudly and confidently in front of our classes as indefatigable super-teachers after taking a good bashing in the morning paper.
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I’m a third-generation educator on both sides of my family, honored to continue the tradition with my own twist and emphasis on communication, writing, and creativity, but sometimes I feel like I’ve landed myself in a fine mess. Did my grandmother have it harder or easier in her one-room Kentucky schoolhouse? Did she have such a difficult time staying strong, proud, and focused on teaching and learning?
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I have felt so demoralized lately, trying to sort out the high demands on and expectations of educators along with the assault on our rights and the blaming of teachers for societal problems that, in my opinion, have almost everything to do with poverty and the ever-increasing gap between rich and poor in our country.
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At first, I thought it was just me. My overly sensitive psyche and body were just not handling the stress well; surely the math, econ, and trades instructors were of hardier stock and doing just fine after the passing of the “budget repair bill” in Wisconsin. I figured it must be the long winter, because surely no teacher in her right mind would let Governor Walker affect her sleep patterns and appetite. But then we started sharing stories and I found out my colleagues were breaking out in hives, experiencing jags of sorrow and rage, and feeling powerless and incompetent. And these are talented, stable people.
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One colleague told me that a feeling of helplessness is the greatest cause of stress, and some research led me to this description of burnout: “exhaustion and passive responses within a work environment. . . [which occur] after prolonged uncontrollable events [that] cause the worker to think more narrowly about the options they have for responding” (Beaumont, 2009). Part of helplessness is not only feeling that “outcomes no longer depend on actions,” but also a sense of personal incompetence (2009). So here we are, three weeks after we lost our collective bargaining rights, an 8% pay cut coming down the line, difficult retirement decisions for some, and employment uncertainty for all. We fought the bill with all we had, and it passed anyway.
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What can possibly come next? According to Beaumont, “The opposite of learned helplessness is learned mastery, learned optimism, and hardiness. Control—the ability to change things through voluntary action—is the opposite of helplessness” (2009).
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I’m a longtime fan of the serenity prayer, and it’s a simple fact that there’s a heck of a lot I simply can’t control right now. Our country is in a fair amount of economic and political turmoil, and this isn’t going to change anytime soon. But I can set aside time each week to send emails to legislators, support the union, and work toward longer-term change. (To maintain my sanity, I probably cannot keep checking the WisPolitics Budget Blog every hour.) I can take good care of myself physically and emotionally, and I can rededicate myself to my work. My professional focus can stay on the classroom, where I can continue to be an enthusiastic and effective teacher.
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Our students need us now more than ever, because even – especially – in difficult times, there is much to learn and teach.
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References:

Beaumont, L. (2009). Learned Helplessness. Retrieved March 23, 2011, from Emotional Competency: http://www.emotionalcompetency.com/helpless.htm

Malone, Eddie. 4 Colours of Solidarity (photo). Retrieved March 23, 2011 from flickr: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/16/20312604_122d6b5123.jpg

Madison Musings - February 23, 2011

Contorted sleeping bags, inflatable mattresses, the smell of sleep and bodies and a waking, stirring, marble, windowless building full of college students stretching and eating bowls of cereal: the Capitol felt inhabited, lived in, was. Drums beat strong at ten a.m., the pounding on of buckets that was the heartbeat at the center of the rotunda, is the heartbeat of this movement.
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In front of every entrance and cordoned-off set of stairs, police officers stood and watched, the cops in their world and the protesters in theirs, officers standing sharply and protesters fluid and sprawling, crouching, stretching, eating, but with no animosity. I spent an hour just wandering, looking at signs and posters, post-it notes on carved marble, neoclassical paintings and the central dome always beating, sometimes faintly and then so strong my insides moved.
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The women’s bathroom was inhabited too, and one sign read, “Thank you Capitol staff for keeping our home clean.” Another, taped to a bag of pads, said “Take as needed.” One woman breastfed; another passed toilet paper to her mother under a stall door. The only acts of vandalism in the building were on the plastic toilet paper roll, where the brand name SCOTT was amended in one stall to read “Impeach SCOTT Walker” and in another, “SCOTT is an asswipe.”
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In the gallery of the Assembly Chamber, during the long hour before the session started, the woman behind me quietly outlined the traits of a sociopath and compared them to the governor. The hall below filled with a sea of clean-cut, well-fed white men in dark suits on one side and a diverse crowd of men and women in bright orange shirts - “We Support Working Families” - on the other. I create a false dichotomy, yet one that was visually striking from a distance like plumage to a birdwatcher.
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Those of us in the almost-full gallery sat and waited, and after the roll call, the Minority Leader took the floor and his reprimand to the Republicans for rule violations the previous week turned to shouting, and the opposite wall of the cavernous room became a thin membrane that vibrated with the roar of the protestors on the other side, as if they were about to break through, as if they had.
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Somewhere in the building, I assume, the man under discussion sat behind a large desk, not yet revealing strategy to an imposter millionaire, sticking to principles of his own that I could not fathom – trickle-down economics; the inalienable rights of the private sector. I felt only anger at the callous handling of dignified lives.
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As did academics, community members, old and young hippies, Wisconsin Public Radio reporters, college student organizers, Jesse Jackson standing on a milk crate, firefighters marching in rotunda circles to drumming, tired police officers, fired-up octogenarians, Senator Tammy Baldwin, a determined youth with eerily Leninesque eyebrows, a scraggly Teamster – “Honey, here’s a sticker for your sign,” a curious dread-locked college student stopping by after class – “What union are you in?”, sheriffs – a lot of sheriffs in day-glo vests, a lot of firefighters from Beloit, a British preacher in a white suit, children in strollers – “We stop by every day for a half hour or so,” a man with a scrawled-on yellow umbrella, a bookish young woman gathering signatures and recovering from a migraine, polished television reporters, shaggy and watchful photographers, and throngs of calm teachers with angry signs – reasonable, measured people.
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We were the first domino; we had to lean into that mean forefinger, because if we went down, everything could. So we stood and pushed back, as in a trust exercise with no trust. The people moved in and out of their building, and the violent thing never happened except for the violent thing that was happening.