The Death Cycle

As our second term draws to a close, many teachers (including myself) have begun looking past our upcoming final few months of this school year and into the next. Jobs are being applied for elsewhere. Final trips to other parts of the Arabian Peninsula are being booked for those not returning (few people would fly halfway across the world to visit Beirut, but two hours is another matter). Files are being organized for quick reference in the off chance that our curriculum doesn't change...again. And most importantly, many of us are taking a few moments for a little bit of desperately needed introspection. Some reflect on what they have or have not accomplished so far this year in school. Some reflect on what needs to be focused upon and developed within themselves, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Some reflect upon relationships, both personal and professional, and how far they have or have not come and why.

As far as my introspection is concerned, I decided to focus on the type of person I want to become for the rest of this school year and certainly into the next. My task is made easier by the fact that I already have a concrete example (thanks to Hollywood) of the type of person I would like to be. Perhaps you are thinking somewhere along the lines of Michelle Pfeiffer in the film Dangerous Minds. Or maybe you think Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society is more up my alley. At the very least, you must be hoping that I am aspiring for a poor man's Jim Belushi from The Principal. Unfortunately, you would be searching in the wrong genre for my current role model. I am aiming to become more like the archetypal grizzled Vietnam War veteran a la, Tom Berenger in Platoon, Christopher Walken in The Deer Hunter, or Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now.  Hopefully, I don't miss my mark terribly and become more of a Colonel Kurtz character, which is definitely a possibility.

Fortunately for me, I was provided with an opportunity to test this new persona out this past week as our lovely bureaucratic governing body sent a new teacher out to the trenches on the front lines to do some shadowing at my school. Efforts by my colleagues to keep me away from this new recruit were valiant, but in vain. It is a foregone conclusion that the highlight of any day for me would be to shock and appall a new teacher fresh off the proverbial boat. After showing him exactly what kind of insanity a typical 6th period class exhibits, I sat him down to impart the little bit of knowledge and wisdom I have gained through my first year so far. He explained how he had some international experience and he was keeping his expectations tempered by the harsh reality. What worried me though (because at the end of the day, apart from amusing myself, I really try to avoid needless suffering at the hands of others), was that he kept going back to the idea that his passion for teaching and students would get him through the days.

Now in any civilized society, I would certainly not disagree (if you haven't gathered this by now, this place is a rather exceptional case). In Abu Dhabi, things are a bit different. I felt it was my duty to impart on his hopeful newcomer the wisdom of the "Death Cycle" (while channeling my inner Martin Sheen, hopefully not from Wall Street). This system is loosely based on the 5 stages of grief that people must go through when experiencing loss. I refrain from using the word "grief" because, how it applies here, it is all about death. What is being mourned through this process is each individual's belief in the idea that education and advancement is possible for all people, everywhere. We all must pass through it, and it is never pretty. Please, allow me to elaborate.

Stage 1: Denial
When anyone first comes to the UAE to teach, they have at least some belief that on some level, in some way, they can educate, guide, and inspire their students. For the first couple of months here, they struggle with this idea as they encounter roadblock after roadblock. Certainly there must be something they can change in their lesson plans, seating assignments, or classroom management that will alleviate their issues. Unfortunately and inevitably, this never happens and the frustrated teacher must move on to stage two.

Stage 2: Anger
This is by far the most entertaining stage to view from the vantage point of someone who has already passed through it. In this stage, the teacher is frustrated basically every day he/she teaches a class. This frustration builds over the course of time eventually blowing up at inappropriate moments. I am certainly no stranger to these incidents. Common signs of someone in this stage are: cursing and yelling the moment they close the English office door; angry, silent, focused trudging to their class; mysteriously broken furniture in their classroom; an increase in the number of movies shown in class from one day per week up to five; and many other individualized expressions.

Stage 3: Bargaining
In this stage, the teacher holds on to the last vestiges of hope. Anything that could possibly be used to motivate a human being is attempted. All traditional values associated with teaching are abandoned in the hope that some way, no matter how compromising, these students can learn at least a little bit. A very typical sign of this stage includes offering students marks in exchange for better behavior (which never works).

Stage 4: Depression
This stage often involves the teacher drinking heavily, often on school nights, and giving up on any semblance of lesson planning. They may spend an entire period just sitting at their desk while the class has free time to talk, argue, fight, spit, scream, or whatever else they feel like. This is also the stage where many teachers may just disappear in the middle of the night, only to resurface in a different country sending only a belated email to inform their employer and coworkers of their new career direction. Teachers are usually very quiet during this stage as they wrestle with realities that they never believed they would face. However, if they can make it through to the next stage, everything will be alright.

Stage 5: Acceptance
The wisdom of experience really makes itself known here. In stage 5, the teacher understands that nothing will work with his/her students. They realize the futility of fighting a culture and momentum that they are hopeless against. They refocus their efforts on themselves and begin relegating their teaching life to the deepest recess of their waking mind. Teachers in this stage can continue "teaching their lesson" without anger despite the fact that not a single student in their class is listening. They can sit expressionless while administration describes what a terrible human being they are for not signing a piece of paper that they never realized they had to sign or understood because it was in Arabic. They also have no emotional or intellectual investment in the fact that students' marks are conjured out of seemingly thin air and changed on the slightest of whims.

This is what the successful teacher in the UAE aspires for.

I know that our new recruit believed me to be a jaded, ineffective educator. This is completely normal. I only asked that he keep in mind these stages as time progresses and his ideals are inevitably crushed. Realizing that there is a method (no matter how disheartening) to this madness, can be comforting. If you are a teacher and know anyone in the earlier stages, please pass this along to them. There's plenty of room for everyone in stage five, where indifference is king.

Peace Pigeon or Doomed Dove?

In all of the hustle and bustle, excitement, and cluster loving that brought 2011 to a close, a few events slipped through the cracks that I would be amiss to neglect shedding some light upon. The most important of these (at least according to most locals that I unscientifically and fictitiously polled) was the 40th Annual UAE National Day. Amid all of the negativity and sarcasm that I normally spout, I can still take a moment to recognize that just 40 short years ago the majority of Emiratis were still traveling around in nomadic tribes, herding camels, collecting dates, and just trying to provide a basic existence for their families. This is easy to forget in the face of such rapid development and gaudy excess.

Baba Zayed looking like he's seen better mornings

 

About a month before the actual National Day (December 2nd, for those of you keeping track), people everywhere began the celebration ramp-up. Cars were covered in either the red, white, black, and green of the UAE flag or the likeness of Sheikh Zayed sporting sunglasses and a sneer. Buildings were illuminated with multicolored spotlights that occasionally proclaimed this year's slogan, "Spirit of the Union." Organizers were flown in from around the world to plan festivities at Sheikh Zayed Stadium, right down the road from me. Not to be outdone, schools around Abu Dhabi incorporated some manner of celebration into their daily morning assemblies.

These celebrations took varying forms. There was anything from the classical favorite of potato sack races, to the classical favorite (at least in this area) of a man angrily and unintelligibly shouting a poem in Arabic for 10 minutes and everything in between. As with any other morning assembly, I always did my best to feign understanding and politely listen, in order to set a good example for the kids, cause it's all for the kids. Ever the gracious hosts and proud countrymen, my Emirati colleagues did not allow me to remain on the sidelines for long.

One morning as I stood with my class of 30 drowsy 10th graders doing my best to keep them in something that vaguely resembles two straight lines, amidst all of the Arabic that was usually spouted from our tinny and distorting set of ailing speakers, I heard something that I actually understood, "Arabic, Arabic, Arabic, Mr. Richard, Arabic, Arabic, Arabic." I had no idea what it was referring to or if I was supposed to do something. Luckily, my students had heard enough to understand and began shouting at me to join a handful of other teachers and administrators gathered under a 40 foot long UAE flag at the front of our courtyard. Thoroughly confused, I made my way and asked what I should do. Someone motioned for me to stand at the end of a line of about eight similarly confused individuals.

As I stood there appreciating my new vantage point about two feet higher than usual and much more at the center of attention, I noticed someone reaching under a folding table covered with a table cloth to mess around with what looked like a few milk crates. Suddenly, I saw him reach into one and pull something out...something alive. It wasn't very big. At first I thought it was some sort of rodent, but I quickly realized that it was a bird, a pigeon or a dove maybe. If it was a dove, then it was a dirty one. He then took this pigeon/dove and thrust it into the hands of the first person in my line. Crap, what was going on here? As quickly as he delivered that first pigeon/dove, the Steve Irwin of rural Abu Dhabi reached right in, grabbed another one, and expertly gave it to the next person in line. I still didn't know what was going on, but it dawned on me that everyone in line was going to be manhandling a possibly wild and diseased bird. I crossed my fingers that just like everything else in the UAE, this was a poorly planned activity, and they would run out of birds before my number came up. Just in case my hopes were to be once again dashed into the sand, I took a moment to observe the techniques that the other teachers were using to control these birds. They all seemed calm enough, the teachers and the birds. One hand around the neck seemed to exert the bulk of the control, with maybe the other hand around the body, just in case.

I held my breath as each bird was in turn taken from its cage and delivered to its captor. Certainly there couldn't be eight birds in there, I hoped. As luck would have it, this was the one time that someone actually planned correctly, and there were more than enough birds for everyone. Everyone else looked as calm as could be. As I tensed up when my pigeon/dove delivery came, I felt like they were all looking at me judgmentally, thinking, "What, don't you strangle birds in front of a thousand people all the time?" I felt sorry for my bird as avian husbandry clearly did not come as easily for me as it did my Arabic counterparts. My poor pigeon/dove kept struggling and straining to fly away as I simply gripped tighter and tighter.

Up to this point, I still had no idea what we were actually doing with these birds besides potentially asphyxiating them in at least one case. Suddenly, someone gave us the universal sign for "let those birdies fly," and let them fly we did. I couldn't let mine go fast enough. It was later recounted to me that I appeared to let my pigeon/dove go in rather dramatic fashion. I can't disagree with this assessment. That bird received every bit of encouragement it could from me to get up in the air. Let's just say that there was a lot of follow through with that release as I pushed it up into the air as high as I could reach.

Perhaps our pigeon/dove release was meant to symbolize peace and unity or something along those lines. I still don't know, as it has never been explained to me. What I do know, is that my bird was happy to be released, and I was happy to release it. As it left my hands, it quickly flew up towards our partial roof before turning back to head for the big, blue, desert sky. It never quite made it there as it flew straight into one of the numerous windows that line our courtyard. Don't worry, it was okay, just a bit dazed. It hung out for the rest of the day with our regular resident pigeons. You know, the ones that spend their time shitting on everyone, and I am pretty sure there is some solid symbolism in that.