(Work) Rage Against the Machine

When I became a teacher, I didn’t think I’d experience the things I am going through at present. Some of them, I did foresee, like being requested to remove my nose piercing because it’s not very teacherly and being questioned on my giving research breaks to students. What I did not see coming was being instructed to tell my gay students they shouldn’t wear makeup or earrings because, essentially, they were still men. I never imagined being asked to require students to purchase a book written by another teacher in the college, which I honestly think is not very well written.

“How much does it cost, ma’am?” I asked.

“It’s two hundred and five, but you tell the students it’s two hundred and twenty. Fifteen pesos goes to you,” I was told.

I didn’t want to require my students, but being a new teacher, I wasn’t too keen on going against the people who had been in the institution for much longer. So I said yes. For weeks, I postponed breaking the news to my students because, first, I already had a book on which I based my course syllabus, one that was not only well researched and well written, but also practical and easy to understand, and second, I thought there was something very wrong about what I was asked to do.

I teach in a public school, a state university, in Pampanga, my home province. When I graduated from college, I thought, I want to teach at this school, but did not immediately apply because I decided to spend a year doing things I probably won’t have the luxury of doing once I started teaching. This year, however, I decided to give it a go. I got in. And this is where my story begins.

When I applied for this job, I took all my piercings off, concealed the tattoo on my upper back with a collared blouse, knowing I probably would not get accepted if the people who interviewed me saw them. They have expectations, of course, and coming in wearing a nose stud and a tongue ring, and flaunting the Japanese character for dream inked on my skin guaranteed a failure. I wanted to get in.

I needed to get in.

And I did. Fast forward to my first week on the job, I was summoned into the dean’s office by the dean herself and was asked to remove my piercings.

“I hope you don’t take this negatively,” she began. “You’re pretty. You really are. But I think you’d be prettier if you removed that thing on your face and the one in your tongue. Our students might get the wrong idea. They’re not like students from other colleges. These students are future teachers. Why do you wear those anyway? Is it because they’re fashionable?”

I was offended. There I was, a newbie teacher, facing the dean of the College of Education alone in her office with the door shut behind me. “No, ma’am,” I said. “It’s not because of that.” But I didn’t say any more. How was I going to make her understand that my piercings weren’t simply accessories for me, that they were a part of me? My voice was shaking. I was scared.

I called my best friend and told her about it. I called my boyfriend too. I didn’t know what to do. It may seem like a small thing to some people, but it was a big deal for me. The reason I wore my piercings to school was because I wanted my students to learn that just because a person doesn’t fit the stereotype of a teacher, doesn’t mean they can’t teach. I did my best to speak well in front of them on my first day. I wasn’t trying to be cool or different, I was just being myself. I was celebrating my individuality, and at the same time, I was attempting to teach my students not to judge people based on appearances.

“My nose has nothing to do with my brain,” I remember saying. The students burst into laughter and, much to my surprise, started applauding. I was embarrassed because I did not expect that kind of reaction from them, but at the same time, it made me think that maybe, just maybe, I’m doing something right.

Until that incident involving the dean happened. I went home that afternoon with conflicting feelings. Both my best friend and my boyfriend said I shouldn’t remove my piercing because there’s nothing wrong with wearing it. But I was scared. I didn’t want to antagonize my superiors, mainly because I didn’t want to dislike or fear going to work. On the way home, I came up with a plan. I was going to purposely lose my nose stud in the shower, tell my mother it probably went down the drain, in case she asked, but when I finally got home, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I went to the bathroom and started to cry. I cried for a long time. Bawled, even. It turned out I was angrier than I had myself believe. I couldn’t do it so, the following day, I removed the stud as I soon as I got to school, and then put it back on as soon as my classes were over. I still do that every school day. And this is something I hate myself for. Another is agreeing to sell my students that book. Only, I told them the truth about it.

I don’t know if I did the right thing, but I felt the students deserved to know what was going on.

“I’m not taking money from you,” I said. “I admit, I’m broke and I’m desperate for money, but there’s no way I’m taking anything from my students. Fifteen pesos is just fifteen pesos, sure, but with all the students I have, I could easily get four thousand pesos. I just can’t do that.” And then a student revealed that a teacher from another college sells the book for two hundred and fifty. Wow.

Just recently, I got in trouble again. I gave my Mythology class one meeting off as a research break and got a lecture from the dean again. Apparently, when students do research, the teacher has to accompany them to the library because, according to her, they might make noise and disturb other people. I was stunned. When I got over it, I politely informed her that I did not send my students to the library, that they were probably not at school and are doing their research elsewhere. I don’t remember exactly what she replied, except that she said something along the lines of “This is how we do things here.” And I remember her saying something about UP, which, I must admit, irked me.

I didn’t like telling people I was from UP. I didn’t want people to think I was bragging about it, or that I was being arrogant. I was scared of being judged wrongly, I guess. But that has changed. I’m not scared anymore. People can think whatever the hell they want, they’re probably doing that already anyway.

I’m not scared anymore. Well, not really. I still am, because I don’t know what sort of trouble I might get into next. Just today, a student told me that a teacher from another college stopped coming to school because he started asking students to open up to him regarding their problems at school. The student said it’s unclear whether he resigned or he was terminated.

I jokingly told the class, “I’m next.”

And maybe I am. My college friends never fail to remind me to be careful because “you know what happens when you challenge the status quo.” When I imagine what I could possibly get subjected to in case they find out what I’ve been doing and telling my students, I get scared. But that’s okay because it means I’m being brave. I’m doing something in the hope that things in this university would change for the better, regardless of the risk of losing the job I love, the job I’ve dreamed of having since college. But I realized I can’t be the teacher I am aspiring to be if I turn a blind eye to the things I see happening around me.

Once, a teacher celebrated her birthday at the faculty office and brought lunch for everyone. While I was in the kitchen, my student, who, I learned, works as a househelp, came in and said he was going to wash the dishes.

I was repulsed.

You do not make students do that. You just don’t.

And you don’t make students clean classrooms because this isn’t high school. They don’t have homerooms, so the cleaning is not their responsibility. You don’t ask them to buy you lunch because you can do that yourself. You don’t impose your beliefs on them because these students are not blank slates. They are people. Individuals who can think for themselves. You don't go around telling your gay students to act like heterosexuals because that's disrespectful.

Sometimes, I just want to cry because I feel so powerless. I chose this school because I knew a lot of the students here come from families that belong to the lower middle class or to the lower class, even. I want to help them. I want to give them the kind of education I received in UP. I want to teach them the things I learned as a student of UP and as a citizen of the Philippines. I want them to love the Philippines as much as I do. I want them to be proud of who they are, to celebrate their individuality. I want them to realize that they are capable of changing the world if they put their hearts into it.

I don't know. I'm sorry if I'm being incoherent. I could probably come up with something better if I tried harder, but this is all I can come up with right now. I'm still scared. But more than that, I am angry. I'll be honest. I don't know what to do. Which is why I wrote this note. This is a cry for help, I guess. So, um. Help?