Commentary: Looking at the good, the bad and the ugly of last school year

This is the part of summer break when I check my blood pressure at the community center and find out it has dropped enough so the machine no longer recommends that I consult my doctor Immediately. I have space and time to reflect. This last school year has provided me with three things to consider: the good, the bad and the ugly.

The good: My students showed up to classes with energy; they worked to achieve, with some joy, what their teacher required of them; and, by year’s end, each demonstrated they can read and write better, whether the topic is a boating accident that almost killed a person or a graphic novel about a girl growing up during the time of the Islamic Revolution in Iran.

One of my students, a boy with dark curly hair and an offbeat sense of humor, stopped by my office to say, “Hey, Mr. Miller. I just want you to know I’m sorry about what’s been happening.” That relates to the ugly but is still part of the good — he showed care for his teacher and thought about complicated events for himself.

Also to the good, a student shared his photography, which was recognized by our state university, and invited me to the opening of his mom’s restaurant. Another student in a presentation to our class shared a photo of the allotment deed — yellowed, crinkled, folded and unfolded — of 40 acres to his great-great-grandmother, a member of the Cherokee Tribe, approved by and witnessed by the principal chief of the Cherokee Nation on “this 9th day of Feb, A.D. 1907.” He proudly shared his ancestry and presented the tear-drenched consequences of the forced assimilation of Native Americans.

The bad: I work at a school where I witnessed and participated in the freedom of speech being quashed by a small group of vocal and powerful parents. I teach Elie Wiesel’s “Night,” Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried” and George Orwell’s “1984” and guide students to connect literature to current events.

Last year, it was Russian President Vladimir Putin’s war in Ukraine. This year, Israel and what continues to happen in Gaza. I asked: What qualifies as genocide? I said: Consider your tax dollars and your parents’ tax dollars and your teacher’s tax dollars that contribute to bombs falling from the sky on women and children and babies in Gaza. Not to think about that, I said, was bad.

I was called to the central office to explain. I was asked not to talk for the rest of the year about women, children and innocent people being killed. I was asked not to say the words: Israel, Palestine, Hamas and Gaza. I was asked to stop wearing a keffiyeh to school because a student reported she felt fear when she saw a teacher wearing a scarf. I complied with the “suggestion” to be silent in order to stay employed.

The ugly: After hearing I wore a keffiyeh, another teacher spread the news to her inner circle, members of her temple and members of the school board, using her connections to clubs, classes, religion and friends. This catalyzed rage from some members of the school community, and key members of administration informed me the office was being inundated daily, that they were spending all their time and energy dealing with calls and emails demanding I be fired for being antisemitic. I was called into fraught meetings, even after I stopped wearing my keffiyeh.

On separate days, I was accused of wearing a keffiyeh-patterned sweatshirt and then a Palestinian pin; the principal was embarrassed when he was compelled to find me and verify the inaccuracy of these reports. I researched union representation and legal counsel. The principal showed me the photo parents were circulating, a comparison of a keffiyeh to a white hooded robe. I am of Jewish heritage and stated so, but that was ignored. They “interviewed” my students to find corroboration that I made students feel unsafe. That failed. I was reduced to tears as I spoke of my Jewish grandparents.

Beyond the threat to my job, I wrestled with the frustration and disappointment that I wasn’t teaching my students by example, not modeling what being a good citizen is, not demonstrating in real life what great authors have written about in history. I was failing to teach my students how to observe, think, connect to global events and challenge the narratives in media and from people around them.

The other teacher inciting the fear, which caused the phone calls and emails, was directed to stop speaking about me and my scarf. Then the school year ended.

But the good must outweigh the bad and the ugly. After summer break, I’ll return to teach like so many others with the hope our hearts — no matter the challenges to our compassion and humanity — will hold.

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Adam Patric Miller has taught high school for 25 years in three states and currently teaches in St. Louis. He is the author of the book “ A Greater Monster.”

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