The Canadian federal election took place on Monday October 21st. This post is an offering in the form of a reflection.
Tune in next time for Part II from Joanne Tompkins!
I wake up groggily.
My body urges me to hang onto sleep. But, my mind has other plans: I need to check my phone. I flop my arm out toward my nightstand, instinctively thumb my way to the interwebs, and pry my eyes open so that I can read the news. Nothing has changed in the time since I fell asleep: the Liberal Party of Canada won the most seats in the 2019 federal election and will seek to form a minority government.
I spend the next forty-five minutes in a daze, scrolling through news and my social media feed. There is no lack of potentially unsettling items – election commentary, the popularity of the hashtag #weexit, signalling a surge of interest in Alberta’s separatist movement – but mostly I feel relieved that I didn’t wake up in an alternate reality where the balance of governmental power swung to the far right. It’s a low bar, but in the context of western politics this year, it nevertheless earns a sigh of relief from me.
Despite my relief, I’m grateful I’m not in a classroom today, an indirect result of teaching during the 2016 American election.
As you may remember, in the fall of 2016, Donald Trump ran against Hilary Clinton in the American federal election.
That same fall, I taught my first university course as an instructor. I was teaching an upper level theatre and performance theory class.
I’m largely proud of the pedagogical work I did in that class. Behind the scenes, however, it was what I would politely refer to as a shitshow. I was figuring out the online learning system and the specific potentials and constraints of the classroom space; I was doing huge amounts of prep work; I was playing with my style as an instructor; I was writing my dissertation prospectus; I was completing articles, and I was doing all of this while caring for my mother who was undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer (I should say here: while she still has the routine tests, she’s currently healthy and there have been no signs of cancer since she finished treatment in 2017). It was, in short, not the easiest autumn for me.
Then, about three weeks into semester, I realized something: I’d scheduled my feminist theory class for the day after the American election.
I’m not saying I wouldn’t do that on purpose, but it mattered that I hadn’t. And, it mattered, in particular, that semester. As November approached and the campaign filled the ether, I kept looking at my syllabus. There was no way that topic on that day was not going to be a thing.
Six weeks later, I was proven right.
Generally speaking, I’m a pretty emotionally even-keeled human. But, the results of the American election – wherein Donald Trump, after a vitriolic, racist, misogynistic, ableist, xenophobic, islamaphobic (to name a few of the plethora of “ists” that might be included here) campaign, became president of the United States of America – intersected with the challenges of my personal life and shook me. I cried most of the 45-minute drive to campus.
And, then, as teachers do, I pulled myself together, walked into class, and looked completely normal.
Things were not normal, however.
Even though I was teaching in Canada, I could see that the election results had significantly affected many of the students. They looked tired; their shoulders were slumped; their expressions were solemn, sad even. And yet, there they were, in their theatre and theory class at 10 in the morning, looking at me.
I could feel the teaching moment open-up in front of me: the next 80 minutes could be a lesson that bridged the classroom with the world, that created space for the plethora of student experiences (including those that were ambivalent or happy about the election results), and that prompted genuine dialogue.
And, just as quickly, I knew that I couldn’t capitalize on that opening. I was too new as an instructor and too personally exhausted. I performed my lesson plan, and it went fine. But, it wasn’t transformational. It wasn’t even particularly good. It was just a lesson.
I know that many postsecondary teachers see elections as opportunities to generate dialogue or to meaningfully connect the classroom to the world at large. I respect that a great deal.
As an early carer instructor, however, elections have often felt like elastic bands around my teaching practice. The opportunity of the added tension is palpable but so are its constraints:
How do I capitalize on the increased political awareness that tends to accompany elections?
How do I encourage inclusive, respectful, dialogue?
How and to what degree do I perform my own political values?
How do I balance all of these questions in relation to my role as a contract instructor, in a workplace where many of my colleagues have positions that grant them more job stability, and by consequence, more room for error and conflict?
I don’t have the answers to these questions but I offer them, and my election reflections, as a gesture to the other teachers who don’t either.
Sometimes, we don’t, or can’t, capitalize on teaching moments. And, that’s okay. Others will come along.
In my case, I hear another federal election cycle is on the horizon in the United States. As you can imagine, I can hardly wait.