I am a teacher fighting…
For the voices of those encased in a city Still crying for justice, a human right, and constant attention. I’m in search for others For others to stand up and shout. I’m asking you to stand. Uplift those who have found their wrist barred With shackles for raising their Voices of discontent at town hall meetings And scream with passion At mute government officials Who are more concerned about the Raises in their pocketbooks Than the futures of my communities’ children Whose blood has been forever changed By a man-made disaster. Raise your voices for those who brave the sweltering sun And blistering cold, Placing survival-filled containers In back seats and trunks In laps of the elderly in wheelchairs And in the palms of stressed mothers and Worried fathers who are there Juggling Struggling Dealing with Infected children and city citations. Fight for those who are puzzled while making funeral arrangements For love ones taken away by an outbreak of a disease That many find obscure But within this town it flourishes In those pregnant women who sucked on ice chips And drank Adam’s ale And will never have the chance to snuggle with the Child that they desperately wanted to hold in their arms. Show belief in the children Who have been forever been infected To those teachers who will fight to find Ways to show love and joy to a generation That had no chance to fight against the Monster of government made decisions To save money over Quality of life. Support the trailblazers that have been speaking On this travesty For the city that they love dearly Even before the media’s limited attention That took awareness into their own hands. Those whose fingers have cramped writing their Government officials Looking for understanding and justice. It’s time to show unity with the citizens of Flint It’s time to show power of America’s unified people. It’s time to take action to make permanent change. We can not wait any longer. Stand. The time is now. I’ll Call Back Later by Jessyca Mathews
810-766-7202 Yes… I am calling because there is Something wrong with the water. You see, I went to the faucet this morning To make breakfast for my children and I noticed A smell, One that I have never experienced before. One that brings me to mind Of sewage, Waste, A smell that is in the wrong place Of my pipes. It’s more of A stench- An odor- A sign that this liquid has lost Its purity and cleanliness. I’ve noticed When placed in a glass There is A color, A tint, A hint That something isn’t right for consumption. Water for my livelihood should not come out The same color as my skin And blend Into the soil with no notice. Something isn’t right. And despite my calls earlier in the week For me to speak To your superior, I can’t believe that things aren’t showing up As improper on your reports. I don’t believe that things are fine. Something isn’t right. I’ll call back later... 1-800-878-1400 Yes… I’m calling to look for help for my city People have started to talk and Think that this water issue is more Important than others want to give it Credit. People around town have started to Complain To go insane At the fact that there are no answers For rashes and mishaps that are Attacking our children. People’s hair growing thin. We can’t help to begin to think that we Are being ignored. Poisoned. Threatened. We are looking for someone to shed Light on the Issue Of the old people crying in their tissue Of losing loved ones to disease. So… If you please… Listen to the people. There is something wrong with the water. We are becoming sick. This can’t be a trick That we would need to continue to beg For someone to help us Find answers For a right granted to All its world’s inhibitors. Something isn’t right. We will continue to fight To be heard Until we have clear answers. I’ll call back later... (Deep Breath Taken) 3...2...1… 517-373-3400 Yes! I was told that it was you! Decisions that you decided to make. For heaven’s sake You could have asked anyone from my city That this was not the solution! Now, We have people stuck in an abyss Of empty water bottles that are Suppose To work like band aids Covering up man made wounds Created by government officials. My child’s skin will never be repaired. Neither will be my loss of hair. I'll never trust anything that runs from a tap For as long as live Because it's not a source of survival anymore. Water is what my household Dreads. The thoughts of still having to pay for Poison I can't even use Is a disgrace to me And all those who Are struggling to survive. My child is crying! My people are dying! We keep asking, “Why?” We keep screaming “HELP!” And there are no answers. Something isn't right. I'll call YOU back later... Teachers rarely can fall asleep on Sundays. There is so much to think about and so much running through your mind that your soul can not rest. One thinks about lesson plans, the obstacles of the week, the child that drives you crazy, and the paperwork that seems never ending.
I was having this weekly dilemma when I heard my phone buzz on the night stand. I figured that it was a family member with some quick gossip or a person commenting on my social media about the latest award show. It was my student. He was disturbed. I have a text messaging answering service that I use with my class. I can text the kids, and they can text me with questions and updates on assignments without each of us knowing each other’s actual phone number. It’s a brilliant idea, but sometimes it becomes nerve wracking, especially when it is the night before a major assignment is due. The constant ring of the app's messaging service was the case off and on throughout the day, with kids sending messages at random times instead of obeying the office hours established at the beginning of the school year. For some reason, I felt the need to look at my app and see that he had sent me a message of importance. When I started to read it, I understood why he needed to talk. My student is Muslim. Him being Muslim matters not to me because I have students of every culture, race, and background in my classroom daily. There are boys with sagging sweats and girls with hijabs. There are girls laced with makeup around the eyes and others who come with cat ears and tails for self-expression. I have everything. Straight, bi, gay, smart, less motivated, homeless, careless, and hopeless. My students are a diverse family, and I am their mother hen in many aspects of their lives. This student, who I have had for two years, sent me an article. The article was about verbal attacks against three mosques in the southern part of the country. According to the source, people were writing letters to the people who attended the mosques and in so many words, saying that they were not wanted in our country and needed to get out. As I scanned over the information, I felt multiple emotions rage within my soul. I was angry when I saw that one man said that children of the religion were from Satan. I was disheartened when they said that the Muslims should "go back to where they came from." I was upset that they would attack a place of refuge and understanding. Religious structures were there to be a place of solace and understanding, a bonding place for people to uplift and care for one another. To target this location, and the people who dwell there, was disgusting and made my soul burn with anger. The writers of the letter emphasized that there was a “new sheriff in town” for people like those who attended the mosque and that the new leader of our country would, “cleanse America and make it shine again.” What exactly had made America dull? Did America, and it’s treatment of minorities ever have a shinning glimmer in the eyes of all of its people? I realized that my student sent the article for multiple reasons. At face value, he sent it because it connected with our topic and book which focused on the Holocaust. There was even mentions that the new president would do to the Muslims like Hitler did to the Jews. It was something that we had been focusing much of our time during the past month. But that wasn’t the real reason that he sent it. Being a teacher of color in a building filled with minorities is a unique job. At times, children reach out to you because they feel that no one else will feel the pain that they are going through due to their culture or skin color. I understand my role. I struggle with the pressure of doing this each day in my life as a high school teacher, and it’s hard to find the line between being a black woman and a teacher with my students, especially more so now. He was looking for comfort, for strength, and for guidance. It took me quite a few moments before I could come up with the correct response to his text. I wanted him to know that I understood his a struggle and felt some of the same emotions as he did. I am not Muslim, but I love my children of that faith and other faiths that are in my room. Not to love them would be an injustice to them and myself. They complete me more than words could ever express. I began to send my text: Me: This is so terrible! Might be a good thing to discuss. Thank you for sending it. Becoming an activist is more important than ever. Student: It’s what the world is becoming… The saddest part of this situation was I couldn’t argue with this point of view. A society filled with fear and hate is the world that we have continued to make for the next generation. My students were experiencing the lack of empathy and understanding from the generations before them. It’s not that kids don’t care. It’s that we haven’t set a good example of why they needed to care for their fellow man. I felt wounded after reading that he felt this way, and in one small line, he had expressed the feeling of hopelessness from a large group of people that I had come to love and adore. It wasn’t fair for him to feel this way. We haven't been fair to these children. What can we do now? Can we repair the world that we have made for them? After much thought, I came up with this response: Me: We will just have to be strong enough to battle against evil with knowledge, understanding, and love. We got this. People who think like this won’t win. I've got your back. Get some rest and see you tomorrow. I didn’t text this to him to make him feel better. I sent it to him because I believed every word that I expressed. We have to find ways to be stronger. We have to get ourselves ready to battle anyone who won’t stand up for minorities and other groups of people that are under attack. We have to find ways to uplift ourselves with the cultural knowledge of one another so that we can speak with truth against people who are fueled by racism. We must take the time to understand the points of view of each other, and we must instill empathy within our souls and for the generations to come. I love my students. Every single one of them. I might not love the things that they do, but they need love from as many people as they can so that they don’t make the same mistakes that the people before them did. I have my students’ backs when someone is threatening them, and I will speak up against hate and speak existence into their hearts. We won’t lose. We can’t afford to lose. We will battle back with our weapons of humanity, and we will win. My phone buzzed once more before I spent the evening worried about my student, my culture, my country, and the human race for the rest of the night. It was my student’s final reply of the evening. Student: “Thank you. I’ll see you in class.” Can someone safety pin me together?
Because I feel as if my soul has been Ripped open with rage and sadness Maybe if I had a million of those Small Securing Devices From the lapels of those filled with pity Worried bystanders Or Individuals filled with Guilt For their Decisions And with Skin color lighter than mine I could feel as if I Mattered I see signs of hate Everywhere Men in white hoods making plans of Parades of glory Spray-painted slogans of me to return to a Continent of my ancestors Children lying down as barriers to keep Classmates From an education and the Re-labeling of water fountains Tears Dripping from the Eyes of those who just want Equality I can't escape it It's growing in number I don't see anything changing for the better But Maybe these safety pins These symbols of security Wore by others Will close me up just enough That my soul won't completely Escape My blackness will not be Swallowed up in the despair Called The Land Of The Free |
AuthorJessyca Mathews Archives
June 2019
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