What's Going On?

This is my third year working as a teacher in a small school in the North of Portugal. During this time I've been noticing a few things:

Working as a teacher is not the same as being a teacher.

Children – not only in this country - spend most of their childhood away from home. This is more than strange: it's sinister. And everyone seems happy about it, except perhaps the children who don't get a say.

And where do they go? To school. Here, they normally open a book and learn only what is in that book, page by page. If they raised their heads and looked out of the window, they'd see, at different times, leaves turning yellow, forest fires, rain, a family of magpies, a sleeping cat, a harvest of olives, a hawk hunting in the sky, cherry blossom. They're seldom close to these things in real life, and here only the rebels raise their heads from the book and catch a glimpse. When they do, most don't know what they're seeing.

The children are rarely asked to do something from scratch. Take drawing: instead of starting with an empty page, the book gives them a complete drawing and shows them where to colour and what colours to use.

Kids don't go along with it peacefully. They misbehave. Teachers catch the flak and are not being paid any risk or stress allowance, although they should.

Some teachers are wonderful, and some really DO try, but they struggle inside multiple straight jackets: the national curriculum, assessments, inspection, daily bureaucracy. There is little time left to make a difference, after ticking all the boxes.

Teachers: people with families and money worries and lots of other kinds of stress. Look at me

I teach English as an extra-curricular activity. In essence, I am Insignificant – and to quantify my own insignificance: each child sees me two or three times a week, for 45 minutes. I teach an optional discipline. Results don't matter, and there are no exams (I'm delighted to say) or pass requirements. I get paid about ten euros per class (before tax).

My first year was dizzy. The second, a nightmare. In the third year, this one, I'm surprised to discover that I love the kids and I love the teaching.

I've also been reading about education. I read that the modern education system is designed to churn out a pliant workforce and an army of consumers for the future. Creativity is actively discouraged and blind acceptance is injected daily in the subconscious. One ant will strive all its life to be identical to all the other ants and, once there, will be unquestioningly happy.

All deeply upsetting, especially here in the trenches.

Something needs done. I was watching the pre-schoolers shuffle back to class the other day. Some of them are still in nappies. They are here for nine hours daily. 'Look at them', another teacher told me. 'They can't even walk or talk properly and the parents send them here and forget about them.' 'How can they?' The teacher shrugs. 'Echhh. Always the same story: work, have a coffee, work some more. Find someone to babysit. The state stole their children and they're happy about it.'

The state stole our children (we stole one of ours back but that's another story). And for two hours a week I kidnap those held in this little school and take them to my classroom to learn English.

During my school breaks, I'm starting this blog, to talk about them . If, during their coffee break, any parents wanted to know what's going on, they could follow the link and read. It's not much, but it's more than the school report.