Being Pushed into the Actual, Physical Classroom

On April 3, 2023 the Times Union published my commentary exploring my shift from being a teacher living and working in New York City before the pandemic to one teaching remotely and living in Washington County during the pandemic. In essence, my short essay was a plea to the powers that be to keep me doing what I was so ably doing: offering online instruction at CUNY Kingsborough.

Well, CUNY, like most every other institution, no longer acknowledges the breadth of COVID's impact, the many advances we've made during the pandemic, and the range of personal needs and wants attached to our (falsely labeled) "post-pandemic" condition. I am being instructed to either show up to work, take FMLA (without pay), quit, or be fired.

Let me get a couple of things out of the way: 

Most of my colleagues want to and have returned to work in person. The breadth of the student population has yet to return, but gains of in person learning are showing improvement. There is, however, a significant body of students and teachers still wanting to and requesting remote arrangements... and the reasons are many and viable. As a city school, Kingsborough Community College caters to a wide range of students and their needs. The convenience of online learning improved the lives for those raising families, working full time, taking care of parents, and/or struggling with disabilities. Plus it's a commuter school in one of the more inconvenient locations in the five boroughs. But the same can be true for their professors... and, as an example of this "improved" lifestyle, as a remote instructor I have been more productive and effective than ever before. Reinvigorated, even.

So, the need for people like me to continue to develop online courses is evident. If I were ineffective or placing an unfair burden on my institution, I would not seek an accommodation to continue my remote instruction. My anxieties, my health, and my significantly improved lifestyle would be stuffed back into the shell of me and I would do my job with the same vigilance and professionalism as I always have.

But my accommodation request was rejected based on the following: “Kingsborough is not an online college. Kingsborough Community College is functioning at an 80% in person model. While during COVID we were able to work remotely, we now have students back on campus and the expectation is for the staff to also be on campus to accommodate and support them. On-campus presence is central to student-facing and teaching roles. All full-time faculty must be assigned at least one in-person course. As such, your request for fully remote work is denied.”

The arbitrary "80% in person model" in no way factors in the reality of our situation: In the English department, where I teach, online classes are routinely enrolled well in advance, while many in person classes struggle to supply enough students to remain on the schedule. Approximately 32% of our fall '23 courses are either remote or hybrid (part in person, part online) "models"... and almost ALL of those courses are near or fully enrolled. Still, it should be noted that many subjects like lab-based science courses or studio arts workshops may not function as well in the online arena... yet; but the needs and designs of one department should not influence and compound the difficulties faced by another department. 

Let those teachers and students who want or need to be in the classroom be in the classroom; and when valid, let those of us who want or need to remain online do so. The blanket "80% in person model" falsely  addresses our situation.

CUNY rightly requires an explanation for why one is seeking an accommodation. The forms for employees and their physicians are simple and only ask for vague explanations. Decisions as to why and what reasons will be accepted or denied are made by Human Resources officers with guidelines for allowances. I'm quite fond of those who labor in the HR office at CUNY Kingsborough. Their diligence, kindness, and sincerity have, in my 17 years of employment, helped me to navigate the density of the institution. I am grateful to them.

Still, I wish they had a border sense of what’s going on when it comes to me, some of my colleagues, and many of our students. 

Now that Covid is no longer an excuse for an accommodation, I submitted a revealing explanation for my request (with emphasis on my successes as a remote instructor). I shared with them the psychological ramifications of my return to in person instruction at this time and the likely impact on my physical health. I was honest and embarrassed by my honesty... and the rejection of my request somewhat humiliated me. 

So, in a week I begin my commute from Washington County to Kings County to return to the physical classroom. On the surface, I may look like a hale and hearty individual; however, inside, I’m an anxiety-ridden whirlwind of worries: Can I endure the 3:45 minute commute there and back? When (not if) I get COVID again, will I endure it? Will I spread it to my loved ones? Will I be as effective a physical presence for my students as I was in the past? And how about my colleagues? Will I be as useful, as supportive to them while carting my own baggage of complications back and forth?

I’m about to find out.

It's Been a Long Time...

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.