Covid, remote teaching and a glass half full.

Is there anything worse for a teacher with no motivation than having to teach because certain things are stopping her from progressing? And for those with more of an affinity for the profession, is there anything that can further impede educational processes in Colombia? Yes. It’s called Coronavirus. I remember the day when they announced the start of the lockdown, the use of face coverings and hand sanitiser, social distancing, homeworking and, to my horror, the move to virtual lessons.
 
It all happened so fast. In less than two weeks, teachers and students across the country had to adapt to the new normal. In developed countries with competent governments, the crisis may have been better handled. However, here in Colombia, the situation seemed to me like a barn full of mad chickens, running around aimlessly. The national government ordered that all students in primary and secondary schools, as well as universities, should continue with their education from the comfort of their own homes; with the help of the internet, their education would be altered, but not stopped.
 
Ah, but what alterations there were! In the best cases, students had to be in front of their computers for nearly the same number of hours that they would be in school, as happened to my little brother. In the worst cases, students would find themselves in the pitiful situation of not receiving their education at all due to the lack of electronic equipment or internet in their houses, sometimes even the lack of electricity. Although it was very easy for the government to assume that ALL (yes, capital letters here), students in Colombia can access these resources, please, dear reader – don’t forget that if Colombia leads the way in anything it’s the inequality with which people are treated. Hell, the inequality with which we treat one another, even.
 
A clear example are the kids and teachers who live and study in the countryside. My older brother is a primary school teacher in rural Santander. He doesn’t have more than 10 students in his class; working in the countryside, there’s fewer children to teach, as most parents generally prefer to take them to schools closer to cities. In the school where my brother teaches, there are laptops provided by the ministry of education, although that’s all they gave them - laptops. When it comes to improvements made in internet connectivity for rural areas, Colombia is pretty far behind. If a teacher in a rural school wants internet, they have to pay for it themselves; it comes out of their budget and is taken out of their wages. What opportunities do these children have compared with those who have internet and computers at home? Even in cities, these issues of inequality exist. Let’s not forget the poverty that blights this country. In my brother’s case, and for many other teachers in the same situation, it’s very common that remote teaching becomes distance teaching, where students are just issued work sheets to do during the week. With this educational model, the role of the teacher is inevitably reduced to simply setting, collecting and marking work.
 
Now that I’ve clarified the issue of connectivity, let’s talk about teachers and our journey into the virtual. Without wanting to generalise, I’m going to talk about my own experience in this area, which I’ve really come to despise. Not only do I have to contend with spending hours in front of my computer and the terrible back pain it gives me, but also what this brings with it: calls and messages from students at any time (meal times, late at night, whenever), their complaints, their bad connections during classes, the bad attitude some of them have about the situation… But most of all, I have to deal with the high expectations they have of me.
 
If it’s already difficult for me not to let myself crumble under the weight of my students’ expectations in normal circumstances, imagine how it is on a virtual platform. As far as I’m concerned, my students have shown how immature they are in this situation. At this point however, I should clarify that I’m not referring to students who have issues with access to the internet or a computer. Those students aren’t included in this; their circumstances are not their fault and it’s not for me to judge them.
 
For those that don’t have these issues however, it seems that what they want is that I spoon feed them, or “give them it already chewed,” as we say in Colombia. They want it all easy and they think because they have the help of the internet to do their work, they deserve a better mark. Honestly, their lack of autonomy is palpable. I’ve always believed that someone who wants to learn a foreign language achieves better results by being independent and curious, but with virtual education, both these qualities seem to have died a death.
 
During my classes, I’ve learned to use a seemingly infinite number of new techniques and digital tools to capture the attention of my students. I’m an expert in Kahoot, Quizizz, Quizlet, Wheel of Names and so many other educational tools that have been developed, especially during the pandemic, because I want them to at least have a good time in my classes. However, it’s very difficult when, firstly, it’s the same students participating all the time and secondly, after asking a question, no one responds. Trying to encourage participation through a screen is as pointless as trying to encourage a tortoise to walk faster.
 
If the aforementioned is frustrating, now imagine realising that your students see you as bad or mediocre, simply because this is all new to you. Imagine reading a WhatsApp chat in which they insult and laugh at you. Although in my previous piece, I admitted that teaching isn’t my passion, I do want to do a somewhat decent job while I make the transition to a different career and reading messages like that doesn’t help anything. In fact, they give me insecurities that I shouldn’t have.
 
Worst of all, I tend to project these insecurities onto other aspects of my life which isn’t good for the people around me – they end up paying for the plates that other people broke, as we say in Colombia. That was the reason why I didn’t want to continue giving virtual classes to one of my groups. I felt such uselessness and self-hatred that I ended up just sending them weekly tasks to complete with the excuse that I had to other important work to do (my department is currently working to secure our quality accreditation for the foreign languages programme). My resentment for those students resulted in me not even going over their work properly when marking. I felt as though their words were empty, hypocritical and meaningless. Reading their messages in the chat, notifying me that they’d handed in work, made me feel nauseous and when I found myself teaching them, I kept my camera turned off to hide my expression of disgust and resignation.
 
I wanted to get something positive out of remote teaching, but in my case, I couldn’t. I have had more anxious and depressive episodes than in previous years. I also learned that my students only “study” or “learn” to get a grade, whether it be good or just average, in order to pass my class. I have wondered whether I have in my charge little versions of me, who also don’t want to be teachers. But there’s a key difference that works against them: their low level of linguistic ability.
 
I wouldn’t have a problem with their choice of profession if they were at least good at communicating in a foreign language, but the fact that only ten students in a group of 30 actually passed the class says a lot about their capabilities. In truth, it’s sad to see how the majority are only killing time in the foreign languages programme, learning to be teachers without having a decent command of what is essentially their bread and butter – English. I ask myself what type of professionals they’ll be in the future.
 
Right now, I’m waiting for the new semester at university to start. Not because I’m looking forward to it, but because the pandemic has damaged the plans that I had for myself this year. 2021 was going to be my springboard, the start of big change for me. As things calm down and life returns to normal, I’ll ponder if the reason for my displeasure is not my students but myself. I’m conscious that what I do could be better, but I can’t say I’m doing a bad job; my colleagues and bosses say they’re always hearing good things about me. In fact, any self-doubt should be quashed with the knowledge that most of my students have a high opinion of me as a teacher.
 
The funny thing about all this is that it’s always the bad students - those who’ve been taught by every teacher in the faculty and are consistently poor, they’re the ones who tend to complain and fight, and honestly, theirs is the opinion I care about the least. Maybe we’re all bad teachers in the eyes of these kids. A student who’s repeated a semester multiple times, are they bad just because they’re bad, or because their teacher is? It always brings me back to the same question – where is their initiative and desire to learn?

​Translated by Molly Shevlin