Summer Slump and a Country on Fire - Getting Ready for "what's next"

June comes with contradictions: we need to isolate to keep the world safe - but we need to congregate to make the world better. Stay in your home to stop a virus; march in the streets to bring about justice. Both are right, both are important, both are intensely personal statements about vastly public and far-ranging issues. Even more: the issues converge. People of Color are dramatically worse affected by covid-19, and in so many ways: health, employment, ability to stay safe - and that's on top of 400 years of systematic racism. And - the educational system, as much as we try to do right by students, is not an innocent bystander, both historically and today. So there is that.

The IS graduates are emerging into a world that, but for a visit from Godzilla, could not be much less advantageous. I am curious how they are doing out there this summer. I know some are staying home, caring for family, waiting for something, maybe still working up the courage to step into the professional world (which is bound to serve up a slew of rejections just at this moment). Is anyone hiring? If you need motivated individuals who are familiar with complex expectations, I may be able to hook you up.



Meanwhile, I am sitting at the same desk where I have spent almost every single day since mid-March, still wishing I had bought a more comfortable desk chair. A road trip to TX and ND is out - we are stuck. Nowhere to go, except virtually.







But my email and phone screens also show me some encouraging signs that our shut-down and disconnect is permeable: a request for recommendations from a graduate program in nursing, a note asking for a job reference for the public library, a message "I got a job as a teacher in a preschool." Some students and grads have taken me up on my offers of free masks. I sew, I address and stamp envelopes, I write little notes. "Stay safe!" and "See you this fall semester in class!" And yes, some of them are in Coker colors, or variations thereof. (Actually - you can specify individual preferences, because that's how the IS program rolls.)

I think of the long game. I think about whether and how the students I worked with are prepared for this world, and how I might have prepared them better. In some ways, interdisciplinary studies, with its focus on multiple perspectives, on collaboration, on creative problem solving, on openness towards others and boundary crossing, is a good foundation - the ground is constantly shifting these days, and being able to examine bias, articulate strengths and limitations, and be curious (both emotionally and intellectually) should be helpful. Fourteen out of fifteen interdisciplinary studies majors who sought to graduate this May pretty much did graduate - online instruction, multiple moves, limited resources, and general uncertainty notwithstanding. I think that number bodes well for their ability to persist and survive under less than ideal circumstances.

But so many questions remain. To create change, the courses I teach will need to acknowledge and reflect the current discussions on race, power, prejudice, and fairness and responsibility - and they will need to do that while half of our faces are covered in masks. Some of my students will be fiercely informed and opinionated, and others will be frightened and confused: one more dichotomy to accommodate in the classroom. This will require attentiveness, thoughtfulness, and new information. Also this fall, I hope to work with a cohort of first generation college students, for whom the recent developments, on both fronts, will have raised the stakes of college success while illuminating barriers and challenges. We can do better - we can be more just, more accessible, more accommodating, more aware - and more inclusive and effective. Experiential education is one way we can do this - Alyssa Reiser Prince (ART) and I are brainstorming projects and assignments to share.

When students confide in me, I like to reassure them: it does not necessarily get less complicated as we move through life, but we do tend to get better at it over the years (so it feels more manageable). At this point in the summer, I am not so sure - by mid-August, I should have a solid plan for my classes, and I should feel confident about offering relevant and helpful material toward my students' education and growth - but at this point, I am still waiting for that vision to materialize.

Caspar David Friedrich is a terrible model for the new perspective - a solitary white guy in the clouds. I don't think he'll get anything accomplished up there, by his lonesome. But at the same time, it takes me back to art class in high school - the dreams, the uncertainty, the uncanny familiarity: every generation has to figure it out anew, it can be an intensely individual pursuit, and sometimes it's really hard to see what lies ahead.