The Canaries are Dead and No One Wants to Go into the Mine

Coming out of grad school, I considered various options for where to begin my teaching career. I ended up working in my hometown of Tacoma, remaining there for thirteen years before moving overseas. But somewhere in the multiverse, there are alternate Nates that followed other paths. 

I completed my masters in 2006. The seminal news event of my two years in grad school was the failed government response to Hurricane Katrina (just nudging out our failures in Iraq). Millions of us watched as the citizens of New Orleans were abandoned by every level of government and left to fend for themselves in agony. The hurricane was a form of ethnic cleansing, wiping out entire mostly Black neighborhoods, replaced largely by real estate speculators and their AirBnBs. In some ways, it feels like we’ve collectively memory-holed the largely preventable deaths of nearly 2000 people. We must “never forget” 9-11, but it seems we never remember Katrina. 

The hurricane did more than destroy much of New Orleans. It reshaped  neighboring urban centers as people were forced to resettle: 84,000 evacuees to Atlanta; 50,000 to Baton Rouge; and a staggering 150,000 to Houston. In late 2005, enrollment in Houston area schools swelled as families resettled from NOLA. I have family in the area and Houston ISD flung a wide net trying to hire teachers to meet the soaring need. I was offered a job but ended up not taking it. I’ve always kept an eye on news and events in Houston ISD. It’s February 2023 and they currently have 282 unfilled positions.  

Another option I considered was moving to Nevada. Vegas’ population has soared in my lifetime, from 438,000 in 1980 to 2.8 million people today. The footprint of the area has grown to match (see video below). Vegas’ schools have struggled to keep pace but in 2006, before the housing collapse, they, like Houston, were casting a wide net.

Clark County was more of a possibility for me than anything. As with Houston, I’ve kept tabs. They have a MAGA/Sarah Palin school board member, ​​Katie Williams. She ridicules teachers, is hostile toward immigrant families, and is a Covid denier. It’s February 2023 and there are currently 1,079  teacher, counselor, and nurse openings in Vegas. 

Because schools are run by each state, as each state sees fit, data reporting on the number of unfilled positions nationwide vary. But at least forty states and territories are reporting teacher shortages this year (left) and the numbers are far more grave when you look at STEM, world languages, ELL, and teachers serving students with special needs (right). But it is more complicated than that. The shortages have local twists and permutations. States and districts with lower pay and states with so-called “right-to-work laws,” offering fewer job protections, unshockingly have it worse. More affluent communities (and states that permit unionization) are seeing fewer shortages, meaning low-income students and students in flyover country are more likely to have a revolving door of subs, combined classes, or severely limited course offerings

Left - an image from ABC news showing states, in red, facing a teacher shortage (spoiler: most of the map is red). Right - An image from Yahoo!: Data on school staffing shortages by position and the reasons for the shortage (Again, lots of red here indicating a lack of applicants).

There are no reinforcements in the pipeline - Enrollment in teacher prep programs dropped by ⅓ between 2010 and 2018. I promise you the pandemic made this situation worse, not better. During the period when the country shifted to online schooling, much of the country showed teachers their behinds, and people rightfully left the profession in droves. Worsening all of this, teaching is more complicated than it was in the past. I am not a “history teacher.” I teach a college-level US government course, another college-level course comparing the systems of government in the UK, Iran, Mexico, China, Nigeria, and Russia, and a blended ninth grade course: a mish-mash of macro econ, international studies, world geography, and post-WWII world history standards. My job description isn’t atypical. Unless we deeply narrow course options or swell already crowded classes, there will not be enough capable people willing to be subjected to the vicissitudes of teaching in many US schools.  

Over the last decade there’s been a push to get more students into STEM classes and higher-level classes in the Humanities. That’s cool and all but what happens when no one shows up to teach because they have far better options? It feels like we’re about to find out.   

A Three Year Trip from Shanghai to the Netherlands

We were nearly stranded  in China when the first wave of Covid lockdowns hit in January 2020. I was chaperoning a group of students in Shanghai at a Model UN Conference. At the conclusion of the four days of resolution writing and debate, we flew home on January 21. We just made it out. I wrote this piece on January 23,  after getting back to Abu Dhabi, praising Shanghai dumplings and talking smack about high school debate. Unbeknownst to any of us, that same day the first Covid lockdowns began in Wuhan. Within a few weeks everything everywhere had closed. You know the rest of that story. 

The ECOSOC Committee (United Nations Economic and Social Council) in January 2020 at Concordia International School’s CISMUN Conference

Since the pandemic began, my students have been doing their Model United Nations Conferences and debates online. That doesn't sound like a big deal but it really, really is. Imagine going through a full day of school—sometimes in person, often online—then logging on to debate a policy paper you wrote on refugee resettlement with kids in Karachi, Singapore and Seoul, deep into the evening hours. They’re digital natives but I wouldn’t wish that much screen time on  my enemies. It was an insane ask of them and one they met.

Throughout the three year pandemic period, our club naturally shrank. But the students who remain are deeply committed and now seasoned delegates. So, from the moment the UAE government announced they were lifting all Covid restrictions on November 6, students in our Model UN Club have been full speed ahead to the THIMUN Conference in the Hague. The conference is massive: 3,200 delegates and advisors from over 200 schools.  The conference was held at the World Forum. The building is on a sprawling campus, bracketed by the UN International Criminal Tribunal, the Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons, and the Europol HQ.  During the conference, I spent hours circulating to the various committees where my students were debating. In the times between, I got to chop it up with teachers from London, Rome,  Cairo, Tashkent, Athens, and Kaiserslautern. 

The delegates in Environment Commission I, on the last day of debate

Longtime readers know that I am short (betting against) the near-term future, but long (betting for) the kids and their longer-term future. Each time I walked into the sessions in the Hague (with the exception of the chaos that went down in General Assembly I), I was reminded of why my sentiments about both—the near-future and long-term future—are so stark. It’s heartening to see students from all over the world  engaging in complex arguments, many in their second (or third or fourth languages) about disarmament, territorial disputes, human rights, environmental conservation, and myriad other topics. At the same time, I couldn’t help contrasting these delegates and their nimble thinking and commitment to making the best possible policy to the absolute Muppet Show of politics back home. Literally, we’d be better served by having one hundred randomly selected delegates from a conference like this sitting in the US Senate than the collection of fossilized culture warriors who occupy the North Wing of the US Capitol. I would trade Chuck Grassley for a random Jordanian teenager any day of the week.

This was a great experience for the students and for me. I got to spend some time wandering the streets of the Hague and taking in some of the sights. Although Hope and I have tramped our way around Europe, I’ve never been to the Netherlands. All the stereotypes about the Dutch speaking perfect English and being impervious to cold weather are spot on. Three plus years in the Gulf have softened me to how brutal a ten minute walk in two degree weather can be, while these fools were dining al fresco with their toddlers. 

We have one more conference scheduled for this year. But it's almost a home game, a smaller conference (800 delegates) at Dubai International Academy in the spring. It feels good to know that our next conference experience will be in a few months rather than years.

Another Take on that Silly Chat Bot (or Death to the High School Essay)

I hold heterodox views on teaching writing. In brief, the way we teach writing in K-12 largely prepares students for further academia and not actual life. For example, I don’t use MLA (or APA) citations in my everyday life; you likely don’t either. I haven’t used them since grad school. When I want to cite a source, I use a hyperlink, occasionally a footnote.

When it comes to writing tasks, many teachers are obsessed with page and word counts. I try me best to avoid them. When I assign a task to a student, I tell them how many ideas or arguments they need to present, not how much to write. If a student can make a coherent argument for the abolition of the filibuster in the Senate, using two arguments, some evidence, and a counterclaim in 800 words, great! Oh, you need 1800 words? Fine. In the end, I care more about the ideas my students are interrogating than about the volume of writing they produce.

Writing instruction should ideally center on real-life use cases. They need opportunities to play with complex ideas rather than writing fewer, longer high-stakes pieces. I’ve been paid to write. Definitionally, I am a professional writer (don’t laugh). In all the occasions I have been paid to write something, it’s never been much more than 1000 words. If that’s good enough for Slate, it should be good enough for an IB/AP/A-Level comp class.

Now before you start erecting guillotines… Yes, students need to write and revise more often. Yes, they need to be taught to write for specific purposes and contexts (a wedding toast, a resume, a cover letter). But if a high school student can craft a coherent, thoughtful 1000 word essay, they’re in good shape. More isn’t better, it’s just more.

Lastly, almost all the writing my students do in class is hand-written, on-demand. I give them a prompt and some stimulus (a map, a data set, a passage from a primary source) and they go to town for the period. But in each class I teach, there’s usually also one longer, more formal essay each year where students are required to demonstrate more traditional essay skills. I really don’t enjoy reading or grading them, but I understand the exercise has some value.

The preceding was my philosophy on writing until last week when that silly chat bot rolled into room 157.

Real talk, I am never assigning another out of class essay as long as I live. Ain’t no way in hell I’m gonna throw away my evenings and Sunday afternoons trying to figure out if the essay I am reading is Charlie’s or a chatbot. Nope, nein, nada—that is for suckers. I ain’t no sucka.

But it’s bigger than that. The emergence of AI created content onto the mainstream of our society with essentially no public debate or government regulation is incredibly problematic. Even worse, Open AI, the creator of ChatGPT (this is the only time I will use the name of the bot in question because every time you mention them you’re advertising for them), was co-founded by the problematic richest man on the planet, Elon Musk. Even worse squared, another co-founder, Sam Altman, was behind a massive crypto scam, Worldcoin. It promised to provide a form of UBI by collecting iris scans from half a million people in developing states in exchange for a crypto token that now trades at $0.02221. I am not making this up—this is possibly the worst idea ever, carried out by the worst people possible.

To be clear:

I want nothing to do with it.

Burn it with fire.

Let it fall forever in the Mines of Moria with the Balrog that killed Gandalf.

If you think I am being extreme here, that’s okay. Most people I talk to about this topic say the same. I got called a luddite for this take on my own podcast Friday night.

Here’s the thing. Philosophically, when I am presented with a moral question, I assume the “most likely, worst case scenario” and work backwards in crafting my personal response and preferred public policy outcome. For example, should we arm teachers? Well, do you want a racist Karen teacher that “fears for her life” shooting a Black middle schooler? No? Me either. So that’s a rubbish idea. Next, do we want the coverage of the upcoming election to be a torrent of partisan AI crafted propaganda and foreign-funded AI disinformation? If your answer is no (and unless you’re a psycho or a libertarian tecno-triumphalist, the answer should be no), we have to ask ourselves how do we prevent this dystopian hellscape scenario from taking place?

That’s where my conversations about mainstreaming AI start. Some of these pieces coming out from teachers about how they plan to integrate the bots in their practice are the most naive non-sense I’ve read in my whole life. Obviously, AI and machine learning are coming and have a place in our future. But do we have to let some of the worst people on the planet implement it with literally no regulatory checks, foresight, and the absence of an inclusive societal discourse? That’s just silly but not as silly as assigning the same tired essay prompts in 2023.