By Yuri Watanabe, learning services teacher, Richmond

“I used to love my job!” I hear that echoed more and more among my colleagues, as well as across social media. The past several months have been extremely taxing for many of us. For some non-enrolling teachers, our jobs have changed ominously. We do the best we can as an uneasy, disquieting anxiety swells beneath the surface.

The pandemic has exposed cracks in our social structures. In a diverse, pluralistic country, both the health and education systems are critical junctures where government policies and lived realities converge. Many of these cracks in our systems existed prior to the pandemic but were exacerbated by the crisis. The effects have been particularly significant for some of our must vulnerable children in special education, learning services, and English language learning (ELL) services.

When I first started teaching many years ago, there were three distinct roles within learning services, each with their area of expertise. Special education teachers worked with children with specific specialized needs; learning assistance teachers worked with children who required additional reinforcements or a different way of learning; and ELL teachers worked with students who, for the most part, may not have any learning difficulties, but were learning an additional language.

Through the years, these three roles were amalgamated into one position in some school districts. Now, we have a blended model of learning services where each resource/ELL teacher is responsible for the learning needs of children with special needs, learning differences, and ELL. While there may be benefits of incorporating these roles, there are also substantial drawbacks for some students and the educators working with them.

One area of concern is the issue of workload. Resource/ELL teachers often juggle cases, managing students with a very wide range of special needs who require specific supports, while trying to keep up with the latest strategies and research on how best to educate students with learning differences. At the same time, we try to stay on top of the newest methodologies on second and/or third language acquisition. We juggle these three areas while we strive to keep abreast of the changing and increasing amount of paperwork required.

Balancing the needs of all students I work with is not easy. To give an example, I remember a reading session with a student being interrupted because I needed to meet with specialists who supported a different student. In the midst of this meeting, one of my young students became overwhelmed and needed my attention. I wished I could have split into three different people so all my students could receive the care and attention they needed.

With the onset of the pandemic, ensuring all students have access to learning support has become increasingly difficult. In September, my large urban elementary school was divided into cohorts of three classes. As a resource/ELL teacher, I provide direct services to two classes while case managing the remaining class in my cohort. As a result, it is difficult to provide the same level of support to all three classes.

In addition, many resource/ELL teachers have had to reduce regular services to provide transitional learning opportunities, as well as being required to provide prep release time for classroom teachers in our cohort. The decrease of resource services is particularly concerning for students with learning differences. Being familiar with research concerning the importance of reaching particular literacy proficiency levels by the end of the primary years, I am concerned about the consequences for long-term learning that will result from taking time away from students. As in times prior to COVID-19, these students seem to go unseen. 

I often feel guilty when I leave my students to struggle unsupported in the classroom while I go Zoom with my students who are learning from home. But when I see the warm faces of my online students, I know my support and encouragement are important in helping them get through what might be an otherwise lonely time.

In closing, I would like to focus on another fractured aspect of education that has come to light during these interesting times. Over the years, one important voice has been missing and/or overlooked when it comes to matters of policy and practice. That is the voice of teachers. Our stories of experiences with students hold important multifaceted glimpses of authentic contextualized possibilities. We need our stories heard. Your story as an educator is important and deserves to be heard. Our voices as a collective body of educators matter and need to be heard at every level where policies that affect our students’ lives are made.