Teaching Between the World and Me in the New Era of Trump 
—by Angela Rovak, English GE
I was teaching class as the early election results began rolling in on November 8. The atmosphere was tense with both excitement and anxiety, much of it emanating from me at the front of the room. We all agreed to focus on the lesson and assignment for the day and then leave class early to watch the results. Before we all parted, I urged them to go home and pay attention to what was happening, to really notice that evening. I shared the story of the first time I could vote in a presidential election when I was about their age, how I rushed home from work to an empty apartment and sat alone in front of the TV and cried as Barack Obama was named the next president of the United States. I told them, no matter the result, they should remember that evening. Everyone then rushed from the room with smiles and wishes of good luck.
Walking into class on November 10 was one of the most challenging things I have had to do. I didn’t know how to stand in front of that room again and ensure them that the values that I teach—of reason, logic, ethics, evidence, generosity, and concessions—are worthy ventures.
My class has participated in the unique opportunity of reading Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me as our primary and only reference text for this term. We have debated the qualities and characteristics of America; we have argued for the importance of an interrogative education; we have unraveled the power of emotions and fear. What my students took most issue with in Coates’s text is his refusal to propose any answers or solutions that leaves a feeling of hopelessness when you finish the book. Some found that unfitting for text aimed at education and motivating an audience. Some saw it as simply untrue and argued the myriad of ways we should have hope for racial and class reconciliations. I was always heartened by their critiques of Coates, although never fully convinced. I realized this week, however, how desperately I too was holding on to hope.
One student who most passionately argued for hope and the power of the American Dream was waiting outside my door before my office hours began on Thursday. As they talked, eyes brimming with tears, I saw the how shattered their belief in their country became because of the results of the election. They asked me for answers that I do not have.
Only half of my students came to class on Thursday evening. They greeted me with weak smiles at they entered the room and, unlike the usual bubbly chatter that precedes class, no one spoke. No one was even looking at each other. When I stood up to begin class I could sense that each person in the room was truly looking at me—and waiting. I cleared my throat and began by telling them that this has been a hard time for everyone, regardless of political affiliation or beliefs. I reminded them that this classroom was a safe and welcoming space and would continue to be so. The discourse community thrives of the opposition of opinions and perspectives. All of their voices would continue to be respectfully listened to and considered. But, intolerance, derogatory language, discriminatory claims, or harmful language would never be acceptable.
Language is powerful. This is one of the first claims I make to my students and becomes a consistent theme throughout my class. On our very first day of class we watched a short portion of the first presidential debate and, as objectively as possible, analyzed the rhetorical gestures made by each candidate. Even on day one, as I reminded them yesterday, they identified the different appeals to emotion or to logic and analyzed the reasons someone might evoke fear or anger to engage their audience. I told them that we have now seen how very powerful those words can be. And that our words remain powerful as well.
The basic structure of argumentative writing—repeatedly asking questions, analyzing the credibility of sources and information, and articulating a clear and persuasive claim—are skills perhaps more important today than they were last week. I reminded them that practicing and refining these skills is not the task of 10 weeks but the task of a lifetime. Coates taught us to constantly question and seek answers. To read widely and never truly believe that your education is complete. I read to them an excerpt of a response to the election by Alice Walker who encourages us to study and know our history as well as our politicians do. To study the politicians regularly instead of just every four years. To hold them accountable.
I then offered them the opportunity to share their thoughts and ask their questions. There was silence for several minutes. Finally, one student quietly asked, “do we know who wore blackface on campus last night?” This is a question I never hoped to have to answer. The students began discussing the incident and opening up the discussion more and more towards personal reflection. I learned of a student whose mother may have a green card, but many of their family members and friends do not. Another student who is biracial with one side of their family posting “keep American white again” memes to social media. Many parents who are worried and advising their children to watch what you say, who you say it to, and to be aware of your surroundings. One student is in disbelief and recognizes that they still feel like it is all one big joke. One has deleted Facebook entirely. I learned of a roommate who is Persian who has been too anxious and afraid to leave their dorm room for two days, missing class and other activities.
We talked about hope, and self-care, and checks and balances in government, and the First Lady-elect. The atmosphere in the room got lighter and we even laughed a few times. They each thanked me as they filed out of the room. One student stayed back and, with tears in her eyes, told me that our conversation was very much needed and thanked me again.
I wanted to tell and share this now quite long story not because I assume anyone who may read it agrees with me politically or even agrees with how political my classroom may be. I tell it to remind us of something I was made aware of my first time teaching here: we as writing teachers are often the only instructor that knows the names of our students, especially in the Fall term. We may be the only one who notices when they are scared or anxious or when they do not show up. We can each do meaningful work just by acknowledging their concerns and reaffirming the principles of our classrooms. I know how deeply the teachers in our program care about their work and their students. This is our greatest asset as a program. Let’s not lose sight of this.