I can tell you from my personal experience what teachers have done for me. I owe them my acceptance letter to Carleton, because without their support, I may never have gotten here.
When I heard Sam Hammond, the president of the Elementary Teachers’ Federation of Ontario (ETFO) was proposing rolling one-day strikes this month, I no longer had the energy to be angry. The picket line had already been brought into the classroom with “Wynne Wednesdays.” Every week, teachers have the chance to stand in solidarity in their ETFO t-shirts, telling their students the Big Bad Premier cancelled their trip to the aquarium this year.
All joking aside, I have nothing against teachers. I sympathize with them.
It is wrong our provincial government keeps trying to apply a one-size-fits-all approach to the negotiation process. Elementary, secondary, and French language schools all have different needs.
It is wrong to assume teaching strikes are all about pensions, benefits, and more money. The age-old misconception that teachers are lazy and entitled is far from the truth. The teachers’ biggest complaint right now is the sky-rocketing growth in elementary class sizes. The Globe and Mail published a shocking article that showed today’s average kindergarten classes have from 26 to up to 40 children. Not only do these classes fail to provide adequate attention for every student, they are unsafe.
But what else is wrong is that unions prevent teachers from doing what they love—and that’s teaching.
It was my kindergarten teacher who promoted my love for storytelling and reassured my parents my body just had to grow into my mind. I spent most of those years in the principal’s office after taking matters into my own hands. Those hands usually ended up chucking blocks at people’s foreheads.
It was Mr. Z in Grade 6 who taught me perseverance, even when it involved algebra.
Ms. Theil saw I was bored and always pushed me to do better.
In high school, it was people like Pauline, Mrs. Denomme and Ms. Giac who taught me being a nerd was cool. These are lessons that don’t come from a textbook.
Some of my fondest memories have nothing to do with assignments and blackboards. They have everything to do with moments like my Grade 8 graduation, when Mr. Riedel belted out “Milkshake” and we snuck pepper into everyone’s drinks when they weren’t looking.
I know Hammond argues these strikes will not prevent teachers from doing their jobs, but I don’t think he understands how big a part these “non-essential services” play in a child’s education.
Sometimes hearing something as simple as your Grade 11 biology teacher saying he left his teaching position at Oxford University to teach high school has the potential to turn a student’s life around.
When I look at old pictures, I barely recognize the girl looking back at me who felt like she had to put on a suit of armour to hide from the world. Mr. Batcher saw potential when he looked at me, and obviously that continues to resonate today. It is because of teachers like him that I went on to university not afraid to speak my mind and hold my head high.
These strikes help no one—least of all teachers and students.
Every teacher I have ever connected with has told me teaching is their passion. It is never about them. It is about their students.
And I am afraid that the union’s actions will allow students like me to fall through the cracks and force their teachers to watch.
