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How Low Can Language School Directors Go? A Family
Tragedy.
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My father's emails to me while I've been overseas have always been short and
sweet. I've grown used to that. But his last one was different. His last one had
all the subtlety and sweetness of a sledgehammer across the head. It read,
"hi steve.......... i'm sorry to say........... sandra died today.......... she
was suffering at the end but she's not anymore......... I love you......
papa."
That's all it said. I was at an Internet cafe in San Juan del Rio, Mexico, a
beautiful colonial town in Queretaro State. I thought I'd set up shop there and
try to find my next teaching job. Mexico City was way too big, and, after a year
and a half in Bangkok, I was looking for a smaller and more charming place. And
I had thought I'd found it.
If you recall from my last column in February, Sandra was my stepmother. She was
suffering from lung cancer and a brain tumor. She was married to my father for
just over three months, but they had known each other for 20 years. I left the
Internet cafe and began to walk over to see a few of the teachers that I had
gotten to know over the last week. Before I got there, I knelt down just a few
meters from their house and began to cry. Pulling myself together moments later,
I went into their house and explained what happened.
I then called my family. It was Monday afternoon. They had just returned from
the funeral. Sandra had died on Saturday. The Internet cafe that I usually go to
on Sunday was closed. I offered to come back home, even though I had missed the
funeral. My father and both my sisters told me to stay in Mexico and look for a
job. So I tried for about a week. But it's no use. My heart just isn't in it. So
I will be going home again on March 4th.
What does this have to do with how low language school directors can go? About a
week before Sandra died, I applied for a teaching position with Global
International Institute run by a Canadian woman named Laurie Roberts and her
Mexican husband, Mario. After four days of observing classes, and teaching two
classes of my own, (for no money), Laurie decided that she didn't want to hire
me. There weren't enough hours for any of the teachers, and, by then, I had
decided that her school wasn't for me as well. Fair enough. That's life. And
that's the EFL business. We've all grown used to that.
Now, here's the problem: Three days after Sandra died, just one day after my
family buried her, Laurie Roberts wanted to see me. A few days before, I had
expressed my interest in living in the teacher's house, which Laurie and Mario
had co-signed since foreigners here in Mexico cannot be sole tenants of a house.
These teachers had a computer, which was constantly hooked up to MSN Messenger
and other Internet call services. Since I have no such thing, the teachers
agreed to allow me to live in their house so that I could be in constant contact
with my grieving family. I kept having to run from Internet cafe to Internet
cafe in the hopes that their computers worked, which they sometimes didn't.
Without this constant hook up to the Internet, it was very frustrating and
angering.
Just one day after my father buried his wife, just one day after my sisters
buried our stepmother, Laurie and her husband told me that I could not move into
the teacher's house because "The house is reserved for our teachers." You don't
understand, they kept telling me.
"Since you are not working for us, we cannot allow you to live in our house."
And we weren't talking permanently. Just a week or two so that I can be in
constant contact with my grieving family would have been fine. Then I'll move
on. There were two other empty rooms and the other teachers that they were
planning on hiring were not scheduled to be in town until April. So there was
plenty of room and plenty of time.
To say that Laurie and Mario's behavior on this issue was insensitive is a huge
understatement. This is not about teaching anymore. It's not about managing a
school anymore. It's not even about teacher/management relations--- or whatever
is left of it. It's not about school bashing. It's about common human decency.
It's about being ethical and moral. It's about putting differences aside--- at
least temporarily--- and saying to a teacher--- any teacher, not just the ones
that work for your school--- "Hey, I'm sorry about your loss. Even though we
don't work together, stay in my house for a week or two and talk to your family.
Make sure they're okay." (They did, however, find me a cheap place to stay while
I was in town.)
Is that so difficult to do for many language school directors? Do many of them
hate and mistrust teachers so much that they would deny a teacher--- any
teacher--- a week or two so that he or she can get back on their feet after the
loss of a family member? This wasn't just a cruel business decision. It was
human nature at its very worst. We all have choices to make. Choices that will
make or break us. Choices that, when we look back, will either be among the best
we've ever made, or among the worst. language school directors can choose to
treat teachers like crap, commodities, or human beings. It's their choice. But
when they choose not to treat teachers like human beings, we all lose. I've been
saying this for years.
I'm not only mourning my stepmother who lost her battle with cancer. I'm also
mourning the cancer that has pervaded this business--- the cancer of hate, the
cancer of politics, the cancer of mistrust. Over the years I have asked myself,
how low can this TEFL industry go? How low can language school directors sink?
Well, I think I just found out. And it's sad. It's very sad and tragic because
the teachers and our students deserve more. We all deserve better.
I know there are two sides to every story. Sometimes there are three or four. I
will leave Laurie Roberts's email address at the end of this column so that you
can get her side of the story. Apparently, I'm not the only teacher who's had a
problem with her.
Being home with my family is where I need to be right now. Then, when the time
is right, I'll choose another place to go to teach. I've loved most of the
students I've ever had. I miss them. I continue to cherish the friendships that
I've made with other teachers over the years. I miss them too. And I've even
known a few pretty nice language school managers and directors. I've learned a
lot from some of them. But this experience has shook me to the core. How can I,
or any other teacher, trust language school directors and managers who show
extremely little sympathy and compassion for a teacher who just lost a loved one
to lung cancer?
I can understand the business end of EFL, even though I hate it. I understand
that sometimes teachers don't work out at a certain school. I can understand the
uncertain relationship between a Western teacher and a non-Western director. I
understand that many of us get ripped off money and hours. I understand that's
it's far easier to lie to a teacher over the Internet than it is to lie to him
face to face.
I understand all of that. That's business. But what I can't understand, what I'm
not smart enough to comprehend, is how a human being, a fellow Canadian, can
show almost no sympathy and compassion to a fellow teacher who had just lost a
loved one.
The uncertainties of living and working overseas leaves open the tempting
possibilities of language school directors to take advantage of teachers who,
for reasons beyond their control, find themselves in extremely vulnerable
situations, such as a death in the teacher's family. These same uncertainties of
life also offer language school directors a wonderful opportunity. The
opportunity to befriend their teachers; the opportunity to understand us, to get
to know us, to support us, to appreciate our efforts, and to learn from us just
as we have learned from them.
Many language school directors love to use the buzz phrase "reflective
teaching." Here was a perfect opportunity for Laurie and Mario to use some
"reflective directing." Here's a perfect opportunity for all language school
directors and managers to reflect upon how they see and treat their teachers.
I have spent the last week feeling many different emotions: Anger, rage, pain,
sorrow, disappointment, and guilt. Anger and rage directed at language school
directors who don't give a damn about teachers; pain and sorrow for my grieving
family; and disappointment and guilt for myself. Disappointment because I feel
powerless to do something--- anything right now. And guilt because I could not
get home sooner. Here's a perfect opportunity for language school directors to
understand what we EFL teachers sometimes go through.
So I must go home now, or else I'll never forgive myself. Families must be
together at a time like this. This is not a time for teaching and managing. It's
a time for support and healing. It's a time for understanding and forgiveness.
It's a time for reflection and introspection. It's a time to think and rethink.
And it's time--- just to take time.
I'm looking forward to hugging my family and letting them know that I will be
there for them in these difficult times. And one day I'll be looking forward to
being in the classroom once again.
But embracing this business and this industry is getting harder and harder.
Language school directors must understand this. They may not be willing or ready
to accept this, but they must understand it.
Steve Schertzer esl_steve@excite.com
March 1, 2006.
Laurie Roberts's email address:
laurie_global@yahoo.ca
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