Note: I posted this photograph one day last week, but since then I have had the opportunity to compose some thoughts about it. Here are my reflections.
One of the most powerful images I have seen of the Russian invasion of Ukraine is this one of a teacher holding class in an underground bunker. The children, bundled up in cold-weather gear and clutching their stuffed animals, are lined up against a cement wall of peeling paint as the teacher sits cross-legged before them on the potholed concrete floor and reads aloud to them. Above their heads, a Ukrainian flag has been hung, just below the electrical wiring and exposed ductwork.
When a person is rushing around their home or workplace, hastily gathering necessities for fleeing the danger of an invading army, who thinks to grab a book to read to frightened, imperiled children? A teacher does.
I imagine the soothing cadence of this one’s voice as she travels over the printed words, the periodic pause to ask questions that check for understanding, to define an unfamiliar vocabulary word, to connect some aspect of the story to the story they read last week, or a field trip they went on last month, or perhaps to some personal experience they may have had.
I envision this one casting her eye about their unsightly, frigid hiding place, searching for additional ways to create an impromptu lesson that will absorb the attention of the little ones, and give them some respite from their fear, their vulnerability, their loss.
Here is a spider, she might say, discovering a cobweb in a corner. What do we know about spiders? How many legs does a spider have? What kind of home does a spider build for itself?
Pointing to the Ukrainian flag, I imagine her teaching the children the lyrics and melody of their national anthem, secretly acknowledging in the back of her mind that by the time they master the learning task, their country may no longer exist. But she wouldn’t want them to forget the glory of their homeland, no matter what comes next.
I’m sure this teacher knows that her improvised lessons will provide her little ones with something to think about besides their current crisis, but she understands that their emotional needs—their psychological well-being—takes a priority over the learning. Who needs a reassuring word? A comforting hug? A gentle reminder of how we must treat each other well, even in times like these?
This teacher isn’t the first in history who has led a class during a period of social upheaval, a natural disaster, or the cruel realities of war, but it’s very likely the first time this teacher has taught under these conditions. Her composure, her resilience, her ingenuity, her work towards transforming the most dire circumstances into something constructive—while literally under fire—is a marvel to behold.
What a miracle a teacher is!
