Potentially Stupid

Two of my six 7th grade classes are extremely difficult. Forty minutes with a variety of learning difficulties and behavioral disorders can make me want to hang myself. (I’m doing research on how to deal with ADD. Hopefully it will help both me and the kids.) Yesterday, I did something that was potentially stupid but at the same time very positive with one of those groups.

As you may know, 12 Turkish soldiers were killed near the Iraqi border on Sunday. The following day, many of the kids in one of my classes were excited about the prospect of military retaliation. In particular, A felt it was good and necessary to kill terrorists. He expressed his enthusiasm by shooting a roomful of imaginary terrorists with a gun formed by his hand. Without giving my opinion on the matter, I managed to settle him and several students who vocally supported his actions.

Yesterday, A entered the classroom with a colored map of Turkey, Iraq and surrounding countries. Before the lesson began, he excitedly tried to tell me what he thought was going to happen, what he thought should happen and where the terrorists were. He was trying so hard to express himself in English that I didn’t want to discourage him. At the same time, if one student holds my attention before the lesson begins, the rest of them go completely nuts and are difficult to settle down. I asked him to sit down, but promised we would talk about it later.
I gauged the mood of the class. All of them were interested in what A had to say and wanted to talk. Had I thought that any one of those students would be offended or upset, I would not have touched the subject. The kids clearly felt a need to talk. While the topic is a sensitive and potentially offensive one, I decided to change the lesson plan on the spot. I called A to the front of the class, and told him he could be the teacher for a few minutes. It was his responsibility to tell the others to be quiet if needed. He went through his routine.

B (these are their first initials) who is normally silent unless called upon, felt compelled to join A at the head of the class. He too tried to express himself in English. When the effort was too difficult and his thoughts flowed too quickly, he fell back on Turkish. T translated for us. Everyone listened. No one imitated gunfire. There was more interaction in English during that lesson than in any other before. Although I do not agree with A, B, T, Y nor C’s opinions, I was really proud of them for their effort. And while I don’t agree with them, I think it is important to give kids a forum in which they can express their opinions if they are not violent or overtly offensive. Clearly, their opinions are shaped by their parents and I was therefore careful to remain neutral.

A produced a handwritten list of 100 kids from the 6th-8th grades who wanted to join the Turkish soldiers. Not all of the names were boys’ names. I found that quite interesting.
I found it odd that the PKK was not directly named for the first 15 minutes of the discussion. Whether they assumed we all knew who was responsible for the 12 deaths, I don’t know.
According to A, the terrorists live in Istanbul, Izmir and Ankara. They spend the day in the city and at night go to the mountains to train. Where exactly those mountains are, he could not say.

While remaining neutral, I started to ask them questions. “Who is in the PKK?” “Americans, Russians...” I was the one person who mentioned the word Kurd. Blame was placed on Americans. “The Americans do this, they do that...” I interrupted to remind them that I’m American. A look of surprised realization came over T’s face and she quickly apologised for offending me. I told her no offense was taken and that although I am American, I do not support what my country has done and is doing in Afghanistan and Iraq. Additionally, and I think they understood, I told them that I would never say that Turkey was good or bad, or that the PKK is good or bad. (Really, I’m in no position to say. Nothing is black and white, I haven’t lived with this reality before, and I never want to be one of those foreigners who steps in to say how things should be run. Additionally, I do not pretend to understand the situation.)

I asked if they knew what the PKK wanted. I drew a really bad map of Turkey and made a circle where I think the PKK wants to establish their own country. IP corrected me, took my chalk and drew a line down the middle of my map. When I asked them why they wanted their own country, they stared at me blankly though they understood the question.

To be honest, not much of the discussion made sense to me, yet this was the first time there was a sustained discussion in my class, and it was the first time of few of them voluntarily spoke. For that reason, I was very proud of my kids and told them so. It’s not often they receive compliments.

During the break, I told a few of my fellow teachers about the class. They were horrified. I later told the assistant to the foreign language department director that we had a discussion about the PKK and terrorism and that the kids were amazing. She didn’t recognize the students’ accomplishment in English; in fact, I don’t think she even heard I said it. Understandably. Without getting angry, she firmly told me never to talk about it again, the subject was too sensitive and I could expect angry phone calls from parents. I went back to the teachers’ room fearing that I would be called into someone’s office the following day to answer for my actions, knowing that my students and I nevertheless experienced something positive.

No parent has called so far. I will never touch the subject in class again.

My second potentially stupid action is to post this story on a blog. I’m not so paranoid to think that some government association will track me down to question me about what I’ve written, but I do know that I’ve opened myself to negative criticism, not to mention being called stupid.

Misconceptions

Recently, I had a phone conversation with my dad. He jokingly asked me how life was in the Middle East. As with many jokes, there was an underlying sense of anxiety to it. Slightly offended, and wanting to set things right, I firmly reminded him that I don’t live in the Middle East. Technically, I live in Europe. While Istanbul isn’t as “European” (whatever that means) as say, Paris or London, it’s not Beirut either. I live in no more danger than in New York or Bloomer, Wisconsin for that matter so don’t worry about me Dad.


On a recent trip to the United States, two of my ultra-conservative, hyper-Catholic (we are meant to suffer in this world so we can gain an eternity of happiness) relatives made derogatory references to my proximity to Muslims. With mouths squeezed into sphincters “So, how are those Muslims treating you?” and “Whatever you do, don’t let those Muslims get you down.” In both instances, my back went stiff and all the hairs on my neck stood straight. I wasn’t nice to the first relative by coldly stating that there were stauncher nationalists and more narrow-minded people in the same room as we were. Their beloved Christian, god-fearing George Bush and friends are far more dangerous to all of us than the man from whom I buy dried figs. I was too aggravated to deal with the second. I can’t unpaint that black and white world, a world in which there is only one true god and all other people regardless of religious affiliation will burn in the hellfire of damnation.


It’s already established that I’m going to hell in a hand basket.