Published in the Albany Times-Union this morning:
https://www.timesunion.com/opinion/article/commentary-remote-work-death-academia-17870285.php
I think some of my colleagues hate me. No one has said anything to my face, but I think they blame me and others like me for everything that's wrong.
I've been a teacher for 27 years, and before the pandemic sent us to remote locations, I doubt that I'd missed more than ten days of work. I prepped. I showed up. I taught. I held office hours. I graded papers. I went home to grade some more papers. Repeat.
Before March 2020, I was already extensively using online platforms like Blackboard to start discussions, post announcements and collect and assess essays. So when we were required to move our classes online, I was prepared.
And for me, it all kind of worked out.
I teach at CUNY Kingsborough, the only community college in Brooklyn, and life was good there. I had an office with a window, many wonderful colleagues, a decent salary, health insurance, ambitious students, and a sense of purpose. When the pandemic hit, all of that remained the same ... but different. I still had a window, but it was in my living room; I became even closer to my colleagues as I supported their online needs; my salary was just enough; my health insurance was finally proving its worth; my students developed broader ideas of what they wanted to do in our transformed world; and my sense of purpose as an educator became more resolute.
And when our campus reopened, I remained online.
Underneath my aging facade is the culmination of a boyhood riddled with panic and loss -- all of which I only marginally held at bay. As a husband and father, my anxieties occasionally leaked onto the fabric of my family's life. But years of healthy practices, meditation and therapy have helped to suppress my emotional survivalism. COVID-19 ruined decades of progress. Everything that was wrong within me bubbled to the surface. My heart issues returned; fear-based compulsions took hold (as I obscenely stocked our cabinets with food and toilet paper); the idea of losing my loved ones kept me up at night; and I vigilantly adhered to all the safety recommendations and vaccinations.
And I kept going. I worked, provided and sought peacefulness.
Eventually, my family and I, like many others, moved out of New York City to a quaint hamlet in Washington County, and I got chickens. I still worked my butt off and started to develop a community of remote learners, many of whom were, in a way, doing what I was doing online for the same reasons – protecting, surviving, sometimes thriving.
And I fell in love with teaching again.
And then I was told that I would have to return to the classroom no matter what, and what was left of what I could control of my emotions spilled out. My physician listened to me and my heart palpitations, gauged my elevated blood pressure, and agreed with what I was feeling: "If you don't have to go back into the classroom, don't. It’s not worth it.”
But now, over a year later, my colleagues are complaining louder than ever. They would have others believe that those of us still teaching from home are the ruination of academia.
And I have to wonder, am I?
I am finding peace and doing a better job than I ever have; I'm more available to my students and colleagues; I continue to serve on committees and help shape curriculum; and, in many ways, I feel more a part of my community college than ever before.
So I may be representative of the end of CUNY, but I must be doing something right.
Brian Katz lives in the Fort Edward hamlet of Fort Miller.
