New Beginnings & New Homes

Humbled is a great word to describe the beginnings of this fresh semester, as I enter into new practicum placements. I am involved in three practicums this semester, all equally phenomenal and challenging. My first placement is for special education in a behavioural specialist’s room. Here I am working with students that have behavioural diagnosis’, who often struggle in the typical classroom setting and need alternative options to learn both academia and social skills. The second is for my other minor, teaching english as a second language. I am placed in an english learning language (ELL) room, working one-on-one or with small groups of students who are learning or struggling with their english speaking, reading and writing skills. The third is in the realm of adapting physical activity for individuals with special needs. I am a coach with Special Olympics that builds fundamental development skills for children with intellectual disabilities. Mainly focussing on basic skills such as running, jumping, throwing, kicking, catching, balancing, and flexibility, through interactive play. I am thrilled to be working with these students, each of these placements encompasses my passion to come alongside the marginalized students of our school systems, love on them, and guide them through their educational journey with encouragement, challenge, love, and support in every possible way. Each day that I hear a new student’s story, why they are in any of these programs, and the struggles that these precious young lives have gone through already at such a young age, opens my eyes to the brokenness right outside my door; brokenness that I have the opportunity to pour into and build back together. I sit here, humbled; my heart strings have been tugged immensely this week due to this realization, specifically as I have been closely aligned with numerous Syrian refugees in my placements.

In the last year the refugee stories have been pouring into our lives, bombarding the news with heart wrenching descriptions of violence and terror that real people are experiencing on the other side of the globe. Hearing these, I found myself in such a desperation to help. At first it was such a distant crisis that all I could do was pray, pray, and pray some more for the hurting people, the broken families, and the haunted children of Syria. Now, bringing their stories into our neighbourhoods I have an open to door to put these prayers into action. What a pleasure it is for me to learn from these beautiful individuals. I have the opportunity to pour into refugee children in two out of my three placements, getting plenty of exposure to and experience with them; I am so richly blessed and feel humbled that I get the privilege of building relationship with them. I would like to outline my first interaction with these students to paint the scene of my experience for you to further understand my thoughts:

“I walked down the narrow hallway toward the pale blue door, hearing the chaos of children giggling, screaming, and chatting. Footsteps frantically running about, supplies and toys being thrown around the room. From the opposite end of the hall I heard the teacher desperately trying to direct the students through a group activity. My mentor teacher in front of me, about to open the door, looked back at me with an expression that said ‘brace yourself’. We opened the door and the chaos was just as I had imagined. I loved it. We gathered four students amongst the craziness to form our next ELL group. Each student was spoken to individually, given very distinct and direct instruction, complimented with lots of hand gestures: “Pause. Put away. Door” The four students were all wearing typical, worn, and mismatched North American clothing, eating cheese strings, oranges and fruit roll ups. They eventually got to the door, where another woman walked in, dressed in traditional Syrian garb. She conversed with the four students in Arabic, explaining to them what was expected. They instantly stood in a straight line at the door, waiting for my teacher and I to give them the ‘ok’ to walk out. The students looked at me often, wondering who this stranger was, all quite standoffish and uncomfortable with the new face in front of them. As we walked down the hall the two boys were constantly touching each other, pinching the back of their necks, pulling their hair, and stepping on the backs of their shoes. They couldn't stay quiet either. The teacher stopped the line five times before we got to our destination, repeating: “Shhh, hands on hips and zip your lips”. We sat on the carpet and I began chatting with one of the girls. I asked her, her name and she did not tell me, the teacher interrupted saying: “Her name is Roy*”. I sat with her, putting lego pieces together, trying to have a conversation, and she would just silently keep playing, ignoring my questions. The teacher came around again, looked at Roy, pointed in my direction and said: “This is Miss Stuart, can you say that?” Roy repeated after her: “Miss.” “Miss.” “Stuart.” “Stuart.” Roy apprehensively made eye contact with me, and I simply smiled. I kept persisting in getting to know her, and she slowly gave me answers. Within ten minutes I had learnt that she had three older brothers, and two sisters, her parents names, her favourite colour, and all about the Barbie doll that she got for Christmas. We briefly discussed what hobbies she has, she explained to me that she felt sad and lonely, because she didn’t have any friends. I told her that I wanted to be her friend, she smiled. Although it was rough, she was able to communicate all of this with me in English. I was amazed, mostly because when I observed the teacher conversing with Roy, she was talked to as if she only had basic english skills, as if she was clueless. But, when I conversed with her, she was able to keep up the conversation on her own. Why was this? I wondered. For the next twenty minutes, during clean up and carpet time, Roy stuck to me like velcro. I even got a second smile out of her as we sang the clean up song together. Her insecure attachment and mannerisms screamed her inner struggles: her gaze was always locked to the floor, she was religiously sucking on her thumb, or constantly fidgeting with her shoes; she was uncomfortable. This distressed attitude was demonstrated within Roy again at Recess. Her and a couple of other refugees (they tend to stick together) were playing outside when a Helicopter flew overhead. Most of the students stopped their play, pointed and giggled in awe of this amazing machine, but Roy and the others dropped to their knees and covered their heads with their hands, in fear.”

Out of this interaction with the students, my many observations blossomed into questions about the integration of refugees into the western school system. I cannot help but weep for these children of which have witnessed too much for any eyes to see, let alone a six year old. They have experienced life in turmoil, and constant distress, never knowing what safety really looks or feels like. That is home for them. They come to Canada, where all they have ever known has been left behind, and have to rebuild their lives. As they arrive the first order of business is the children and getting them into school. They come into our schools, where they are placed in a room of four walls, thirty strange faces, and a seat to call their own. Now what? They are expected to sit still, listen to a teacher who doesn’t make any sense, move at the sound of a bell, and walk in a straight line down the halls. Teacher’s get frustrated when they don’t do all of these things, when they don’t assimilate to the way of western education. Due to the large number of students each teacher is responsible for, they are unable to give the one-on-one attention that is necessary; therefore not recognizing the individual’s true progress and potential, often dumbing them down—just like Roy. They are left feeling lonely, confused, and therefore uncomfortable—unsafe. They feel unsafe in their new environment. The environment of which was supposed to bring them that exact security. Thus, they act out. Portraying temper-tantrums, defiance, and inappropriate behaviour is the only way they can get the attention they are longing for, to communicate that they are uncomfortable in a way that does not use language, and therefore bring understanding. My largest concern here, is how can we expect these children, who’s trauma haunts their every thought and every action, to sit still and behave just as the others? From my experience working with students who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), their actions are the number one indicator for us to understand their trauma. This is the best starting point, especially with children as they often struggle to communicate their emotions effectively, even more so with a language barrier. Most prominently in this case, we see refugee students act aggressively toward their peers, as violence is the only form of communication and problem solving they have been exposed to. Further, It is understandable that they have troubles sitting still, and listening; they are in constant fear, they are not at peace with their surroundings, they do not know what safety looks like. Naturally, they are going to be uneasy. How can we as teachers build a classroom experience for refugee students to become comfortable? Trust being a key piece for this to happen, but that comes from relationship, and relationship comes from spending time together, and when a teacher has thirty students to watch out for, imagine how long that relationship and therefore trust is going to take to be built. Furthermore, What expectations should we as teachers have on these students and their behaviour? Is it realistic, or fair to place them in a chair, and expect them to follow along? Is it even the most effective choice to put them into the school system so quickly after their arrival? In opposition, there have been studies that show the immense benefits of structure within individuals who struggle or suffer with trauma. It busy’s them, gives them an organizational output, and funnels their struggles into effective use, i.e. learning. All strategies and their success will vary from child to child, but as far as I have observed in more than one setting, structure does not sit well with these specific individuals and the baggage they are carrying into the classroom. Here, I think there is a difference between structure and consistency. Structure is having inflexible expectations and schedules of which place students into a mould of behaviour. Consistency is maintaining normalcy within a schedule and environment so the student knows what to expect. The difference being that within the created environment there is flexibility in how and where the student can be incorporated in a way that benefits them most. For example, lets say every morning the students get a half an hour of play time. Consistency would say that this happens every morning at the same time, but within play time they have options of where and what to play with. They can play lego, or blocks, or draw. They can move to the carpet, the rainbow table, or the whiteboard. Structure would say that there is one option, one appropriate place and acceptable manner to play. There is lego, and it must stay on the carpet. Within academics, lets say during a math lesson, consistency would say that there is a lesson, then work time, but there is flexibility in how to and where to do your work. You can stand at the back, or sit in your chair, or bounce on the exercise ball. Versus structure that would enforce sitting still in your desk, listening to the lesson, followed by quietly working individually. Admittedly, I am not yet a certified teacher, and this is my amateur opinion, but I personally would strive to mould a classroom environment that is consistent, but not out-rightly structured. This way of education gives students autonomy, learning through interactive activity and play, group work and real-life, hands-on tasks. There is intentionality to making room for students to run about, to express anger, fear, or frustration in a safe and non-disturbing environment. It values student progress in a way that is best for them, not what is easiest for the educator: student centred learning. This view is heavily influenced by a Montessori education model. Is there a way to integrate some of Maria Montessori’s concepts and strategies into the public school system now, making room for such things for these particular students? I could continue, going on and on about how marvellous Montessori education is and how it benefits students, specifically those with a diagnosis of some kind; but the bottom line is that from what I have observed, Montessori education boils down to one thing—student centred learning. It is the teacher recognizing the student’s needs, altering strategies, and practices to benefit the student most. Of which I think the refugees of our school system here and now are in desperate need of. Not only for their success in school, but as an individual of society, of which has the right to feel safe, welcomed, and incorporated into their new country—their new home. As we teach, interact with, and invest in the refugees that are in our communities, how are we demonstrating sympathy toward what they have endured, and how are we going out of our ways to love on and create a new home for them that encompasses this sympathy? How are we expressing selflessness in catering to what would help them best? Love. It starts and ends with love. I encourage each and every one of us to go out of our way, humble ourselves, and reach out to the refugees of our schools and our greater communities. Not having an expectation for them to sit still and listen, but to create an environment with freedom of expression, safety, and love.

*not student’s actual name