Jennifer Horgan: Teachers are not your children's friends. They are far more than that

I’ve been watching the Wonder Years on TV. It’s perfect for the times we’re living in – a daily dose of lost innocence and longing. Kevin Arnold’s little shirts and his earnest little face make me smile every time.

In last night’s episode, Kevin asks his teacher for help with maths. Seemingly cold and formal, the man meets him every day after school, until one day, he doesn’t. Bewildered and unaware that his teacher is unwell, Kevin looks up at him with his inimitable puppy dog eyes and croaks “I thought you were my friend.”

Ever the professional, the man replies, “I’m not your friend; I’m your teacher.”

What a line!

It sounds like a put-down but in fact, it’s a line brimming with dignity and love.

Teachers can be a lot of things in a child’s classroom. They can be friendly, and warm, personal, and caring, but they must never, ever be a child’s friend; they can never be a child’s friend because their job is far more critical than that.

A teacher is a guide, a facilitator, an instructor, a clarifier, but above anything else, a teacher is a protector, a safeguard.

Like other frontline professionals, the job suits only a very particular type of person. And as you can imagine, it takes years of training, continued professional development and the highest levels of sustained support. A teacher is in a caring role and carers need to be cared for. It’s basic.

What a joke Ireland is in this regard!

Schools are now in an emergency because schools haven’t been supported. We’re inspected but we‘re not supported. We’re sent circulars, not help. We scramble for basic information, often hearing it first through the media.

For 18 months, innumerable teachers and principals have called for better safety measures in schools to protect staff and children. We asked for primary students to wear masks like most other young children across the world. Nobody listened. 

Politicians and the public listened to people who don’t work in schools instead, those who demanded it was time to go back to normal.

Schools asked for air filters so we could close our windows in winter. We’re still frozen. I wear two coats to work, and I still can’t warm up. I have seen students’ teeth chatter in class.

We asked for contact tracing to remain, and it was taken away – its removal was even celebrated, presented as progress.

Schools were ignored and gaslighted by politicians. We were told to appreciate our suite of measures: an inadequate supply of Co2 monitors, hand sanitiser, and the ingenious renaming of tables as pods.

If this is what’s happening in schools, I dread to think what it’s like in hospitals.

As far back as last May, UCD academic Ms Orla Hegarty commended the education sector for taking “ventilation seriously,” but added that schools would require more supports ahead of the new school year.’

Ms Orla Hegarty was also ignored.

Undergraduate students, those without degrees, and postgraduate trainee teachers are now being sent to schools to plug the gaps. Rest assured they won’t be supported during their time in class; there isn’t anyone there to support them! These young people, who we should hope to inspire enough to protect future students, are putting their studies and reflections and professional development aside, because the profession they’re entering is buckling.

Imagine, if 18 months ago, we listened to teachers instead.

But when it comes to health and education in Ireland this is how we do things. We push frontline workers to the brink and when the system collapses because of it, we push them even further, call in fresh recruits who are denied an opportunity to build their expertise and knowledge in a fair, sustainable way. And the beat goes on. Always and forever the same.

For us fully qualified teachers, professional development has been put on hold but we’re still fair game when it comes to inspections by the department. This comes as no surprise to any of us. Inspectors swoop in every few years and then they swoop out again. There’s no sustained contact or support. There’s us and then there’s them. Two separate camps. It’s no wonder they’re not returning to classrooms to help. They’ve no idea what that would mean.

The bottom line is this: teachers and students are absent because they were made vulnerable by a lack of basic supports. So, we’ve decided to deny our young unqualified teachers the time to train and develop their skills in a supportive atmosphere.

The public is now seeing what we experience as teachers all the time.

Ireland, start listening to your teachers. They’re not your children’s friends. No. They’re far, far, more important than that.