Forest Lessons, No 8

An anarch's chronicle of public education.

This week I’m throwing a curveball. We’re gonna talk a bit about how I ended up in this situation. After that, we’ll do what happened this week.

Back in 2022 I was working at an insurance startup. I got laid off in a mass purge. Economy wasn’t doing so great and they ran out of money. So on and so forth, I was told. In any case, the door didn’t hit me where the good Lord split me.

Enter the best friend, stage right.

He’d been living out in the country for a time, you see. His then-girlfriend worked at the high school. Chronic need for teachers, place like this, thanks to limited housing and most folks lookin’ for something “better”. More interested in careers than the work, I mean. To my eternal credit I had a degree and a pulse. Got me an interview, single one by video conference call, and was hired on the spot. Still remember jumping up and down in glee, my then girlfriend smiling broadly. We’d met at work. Been laid off together. We talked, decided to take the plunge together.

This is where it got weird.

On the way out to sign some paperwork for the background check, a good two hour trip by car, we got a flat tire. Took too much time to sort out so we came back the next day. Turns out my best friend’s brother had just moved out of his apartment near the middle of town. We met with the landlord and secured it that day. In fact, my principal didn’t even know I lived in town. She found out last month. But that’s alright, she’s a busy woman.

Anyway, we settled the lease terms with a short chat and a handshake. Who does that these days?

No matter. Coming into my third year I’m absolutely killing it. I know this because I’m left alone to my own devices. Any meetings I have with the folks in charge, they’re good ones. Kids are learning. I’ve got a couple strong allies among the staff, folks who love teaching for the art of it. Like me. We’re building something real here. I can see it, like any historian worth his salt.

And so it strikes me, as I look back, how odd of a time to become a public school teacher. We don’t rank nearly bad as Congress - or, gasp, the media! - but we’re not exactly loved out there in the wide world. Public schools have been absolute disasters for a while. This is known. As for me, I still have those quaint notions of public service where I consider myself a servant of the people. I teach my neighbor’s kids to read, write, and think. Anything else is rubbish.

So you gotta figure I was put here for a reason. Or guided here. What might that be? Everyone knows an East wind is blowing. There’s change coming, whether we like it or not. Could this be a real opportunity? Build something new, build something different, as the carcass of the old is washed away by tides of history? Maybe that’s the wrong perspective. Maybe the metaphor I want is the butterfly. I’m in a cocoon, becoming. But what?

I suddenly remember my Jünger.

Christ is anarchic. St. Paul is not.

The phoenix of the Church rose from the ash-cocoon of the Roman Empire. Became something different. Something new. Something the people at the time needed. I remember something else. Something deeper in me.

The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world. So wake up. Wake up and smell the ashes.

All who see the sun will die. As for Theodora, purple is the noblest shroud. I guess for me it’s tweed.

Doom driven it is.

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Speaking of doom, earlier this week a few of you probably saw this Note of mine.

Happy to report the Socratic dialogue, as informal as it was, went pretty well over all! My highest performing classes had some really great insights. One of the assistant principles (a good egg) dropped in to check it out and seemed pleased. More importantly, the kids seemed to enjoy it. The stronger ones wanted more. None of them had done anything like it before.

Part of what made it successful was the fact it was optional. Students could take their test two ways: verbally or written. The point here was to create an environment where reading, writing, and speaking was going on in a higher-than-usual academic atmosphere. We’ll be doing this on the regular, with their dear teacher dialing up the heat each time. My hope is by the end of the year they’ll be capable of a class wide research project lead by myself. Our very own little Manhattan Project. With less explosions. Maybe? Anyway.

Not bad for freshman, I think. If their literacy capabilities increase, I’ll be happy. Which brings me back to that screenshot above. In my short time in school I’ve discovered quickly a real problem is the sheer amount of money sloshing around in the feed trough. It accomplishes nothing much beyond complete and total waste. I’m no expert, and I probably need to learn a little more, but you know what my gut tells me in regards to something like the Department of Education and similar “educational” organizations? Give ‘em the full DOGE. Both barrels. Gut the bastards, toss their corpses in a hole, and never think of them again. Metaphorically speaking, of course. What schools need are passionate teachers like the academies of old, transmuting their love of a subject to their students, as divine providence intended. We’d get better outcomes, pay the teachers better, and spend less money overall.

What do you all think? Let me know in the comments. I haven’t really thought much about this whole Department of Education thing, but I should probably get prepped for the inevitable discussions.

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Thanks for reading this week’s edition of Forest Lessons, my weekly chronicle of teaching in public school. Like I said in the essay, it’s a weird place to be these days but perhaps there’s a great purpose at work. If you agree, kindly consider subscribing to The Partisan.

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