Reflection

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It was one of those mornings where you wake up and nothing is better in the morning. I walked to school in a haze, tripping on the protruding brick on the sidewalk that I step over every day. The Boston April mist felt like sharp, violent ice, targeted at me personally.

I walked into school. It felt different. None of the ritualistic homework complaining, no giddy laughter emanating from the computer lab-turned-YouTube-video-screening-area, none of the gossiping in the alcove under the stairs. I hadn’t talked to Rachelle since freshmen orientation, but she was the first person I saw and I fell into her arms. Our teachers become people, wiping tears from their eyes and reaching out for long embraces.

We had a school-wide assembly. The principal spoke with his usual poise and composure, but this time people really listened. He enumerated all of the resources and supports we had. In English class, Ms. Brewster, the very teacher that always said “forgetting your book is like forgetting to wear pants,” did not have her book. We went around the table and talked about how we felt.

 Spanish class hurt the most. Sara wasn’t there. The girl that used to sit next to me was dead. The girl that used to sit next to me had killed herself. That class, we took a slow stroll through the Public Gardens together. We talked about our feelings, shared our favorite Sara memories, and walked silently, noticing the tulips.

 It wasn’t easy for a week, a month, a year, even longer, really. But the people in my school made it bearable. Sara’s best friend told me that I was always Sara’s favorite freshman. The teachers checked in. The school therapist had extra hours. We went to her funeral together in big yellow school buses. Spring continued to arrive and we all missed her dearly.

The Grassroots Organizing Website Project broadened my perspective, allowing me to think beyond my own personal experience of trauma. Throughout my research, I empathized, marveled, criticized, and questioned. Here are some of the thoughts that repeatedly occurred to me:

        1. Coping with the trauma of Sara’s suicide was not easy, even with the love and support of an entire school. I cannot imagine the experiences of students who deal with complex trauma, on an everyday or regular basis, and feel that they have to cope alone. It is demoralizing to learn from teachers, who, instead of showing concern, interpret students’ pain as misbehavior or apathy. It is distracting to worry constantly about situations and people outside of school. It is disheartening to feel like the only person struggling.
        2. My research has led me to believe that we have promising pockets of response and support but that we still need change on a broader, systemic level. Grassroots organizations that address urban trauma exist, but they focus on specific traumas (e.g. domestic violence, police violence, family fragmentation, or urban health), and are not directly connected to school. Yes, the grassroots groups are doing inspiring, innovative, and impactful work. I was amazed to learn about the Ella Baker’s Center’s Restore Oakland community, the empowerment of youth at BAY-Peace, the collaboration between artists and community members at People’s Justice, and the unique niche being met by Hope for Miami. But it is not enough. We lack a systemic grassroots organizing effort to address urban trauma in schools.
        3. While much of the responsibility for supporting traumatized students falls onto teachers, they do not receive the preparation and guidance that they need. Terrasi and Crain de Galarce describe the efforts that teachers should make to create a “trauma-sensitive” classroom (Terassi & Crain de Galarce, 2017).1  Fostering such an environment adds to a teacher’s already heavy workload; it requires that teachers change their relationships with students and parents, rearrange their classrooms, alter routines, and request more from the administration. Further, it can be emotionally taxing to support students dealing with trauma (Terassi & Crain de Galarce, 2017). Yet, as the EduColor Twitter Chat on trauma revealed, most teachers receive “no training [about traumatized students] beyond telling S[tudent]s to speak with their counselor.”2  There is a clear need for more professional development and teacher training on this topic. A grassroots movement that takes on urban trauma in schools is also important because it would provide a site of support, education, and solidarity for teachers.
        4. Supporting traumatized students is becoming increasingly necessary and pressing in the current political climate. The EduColor Movement articulated it succinctly: “policies, personnel & curricula are sites of trauma.”3

       

  1. 1. Terassi, S. & Crain de Galarce, P. (2017, March 1). Trauma and learning in America’s classrooms. Phi Delta Kappan, 98(6), 35-41.
  2. 2. RoxanneHodges. (2017, April 27). [Twitter post]. Retrieved from https://twitter.com/search?f=tweets&vertical=news&q=%23educolor&src=typd
  3. 3. EduColorMVMT. (2017, April 27). “Q4. When policies, personnel & curricula are sites of trauma, how can educators navigate this and stay healthy for themselves and their students? #EduColor.”  [Twitter post]. Retrieved from https://twitter.com/search?f=tweets&vertical=news&q=%23educolor&src=typd

Images:

  1. 5 Collaborations to ensure trauma-informed care for youth and families [photograph]. (n.d.). Retrieved April 28, 2017 from https://ncfy.acf.hhs.gov/media-center/slideshows/5-collaborations-ensure-trauma-informed-care-youth-and-families