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- A New Hippocratic Oath For Teachers - September 9, 2021
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- Pandemic Stories of a Teacher #1: I'm Smiling Mr. Courtney, You Just Can't See It - April 6, 2021
- Teach to the Rest: How the Pandemic Could Be the Best Thing for Education in 20 Years - April 1, 2021
- OPINION: I Chose The New Deputy Secretary of Education Myself Once - February 23, 2021
- What Does It Take To Keep A Republic? - February 3, 2021
- Global Education: What We Don't Teach Has Never Been More Important - January 19, 2021
- Dear Betsy, Thanks for the Memories - January 13, 2021
In March of this year, I watched as a student’s beloved grandfather had a stroke via Zoom. It was beyond frustrating to know there was so little I could do for him, and the event was not only traumatic for my student but pretty much summed up the entire year for me as a virtual instructor. What I saw Orion's* face that day, after a year of watching my students battle what no kids should ever have to face, finally woke me up.
For Orion and I, there was a new understanding between us. It’s an understanding that now feels different than the sworn oath I took when I accepted my teaching position. That oath, which was, in essence, to teach with fidelity and to never harm a child, felt too basic now. What I needed was a new oath, something that reminded me that the teacher I wanted to be was someone who understood my students as more than just bodies in seats taking tests.
And then I remembered that doctors have just such an oath. Their Hippocratic oath isn’t just meant to prevent harm to a patient, it’s to practice a profession with a code of ethics that extends beyond bureaucracy, politics, and financial restraint. In fact, a modernized Hippocratic oath sounds quite pertinent to me right now.
A good doctor cares for the body-all of it.
Teachers, now more than ever, need to care for the whole child too.
And thanks to the lesson Orion* taught me that day, I’ve made my oath. And it starts with my empowerment in the classroom to be the teacher that isn’t tied to anything except that which empowers my students.
This is my teacher’s Hippocratic oath:
I will respect the teaching mentors among us with experience and expertise in the field.
In the middle of No Child Left Behind, my staff and I were once told by a principal that “until [your] students are all 100% proficient none of you can consider yourselves an expert in something.” Given a list of non-negotiables, we got in and did as told. Even the most veteran of us began to work on our craft anew. Now, I’m making my own non-negotiables. Chief among them is learning from those who have boots on the ground and skin in the game.
I will apply a curriculum that is equitable, affirming, and challenging. I will avoid the twin treatments of narrowing the curriculum and dumbing down the content.
My staff, like inner-city schools nationwide, has long been asked to narrow our curriculum when test scores need to rise. When questioned prior to covid, we were told “The children will get the rest later.” If I have learned nothing else during the pandemic it’s that school should be a place that children will miss and that they should get that rest right now. School enriches children and then students thrive and excel. The idea that achievement comes before enrichment is no longer a viable, logical, or factual phrase to me.
I will remember that there is an art to teaching, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh my test score graph in the hallway despite what administrators tell me.
Putting a quality teacher in every classroom must now be the same as allowing each and every teacher to regain a sense of autonomy. That is where inspiration lies and inspiration is what makes a quality teacher.
I will not be discouraged to say, “I know best.”
Surveys across the nation for many years reveal the reasons why teachers leave inner-city schools like mine. Not surprisingly to me, the number one reason is the lack of respect teachers feel and the loss of input they have in decision making. I vow to find the voice to speak up when I need to be heard, to advocate for what my students need and what their families want.
I will remember that I am not teaching a child in the here and now, but also a future adult whose economic livelihood depends on far more than a 5% rise in test scores at our school site.
I will not accept the elimination of programs that lay a foundation for the passions that make school relevant to my students in the first place. When pressed for schedules, I will remind my colleagues, staff, and administration that technology, the arts, humanities, conservation science, physical exercise, and STEAM enrichment opportunities are just as important to a child’s future and our collective future as a society (and even more so for marginalized students of color) as math and reading are. I will remember that equity lies in access too, not just achievement.
I will teach in order to prevent ignorance, racism, sexism, and indifference.
I will never fail to allow these important truths and relevant histories to flourish in my classroom despite the white-washed materials made available to me. I vow to never let an objective in a curriculum guide overshadow powerful, pertinent, and affirming life lessons that develop tolerance, compassion, and self-affirmation.
May I always remember what I saw during the pandemic, and never fail to act on my conscience, on my heart, and in my head for my students’ future selves.
Those of us in the classroom during the last two decades of high-stakes testing reform know well the achievement oath we were asked to teach by, whether the public did or not. We accepted it, we bettered our craft, we read and implemented, we collaborated and analyzed data. And then in 2020, we had a window into each and every child’s life, and we saw again our students’ achievement is much, much more than what we were trained to believe it was.
Thanks to Orion, I have seen clearly where my priorities lie coming out of this pandemic, and going forward I will carry them with me in this new teaching Hippocratic oath.