By Noriko Nakada
Even as I sit here writing this column, I’m not sure how it will be written.
I missed writing the last Breathe and Push post of the 2018. I had every intention of writing a summary of this column’s first year, of this Women Who Submit community willing into publication essays about the labor of writing, about Stephon Clark and Black Lives Matter, about teaching while breathless, and the refugee crisis, about writing while mothering, and creating poetry in the midst of tragic news, about gentrification, and Mr. Rogers, and finally, about the upcoming LA teacher strike.
And then, on December 19th, the day I was supposed to publish that column about Breathe and Push’s first year, the UTLA (United Teachers Los Angeles) set a January 10th strike date and the words for that last column were lost in a sea of text messages and emails.
Winter vacation for our two-teacher household revolved around strike preparations, getting our heads around the work stoppage and organizing our family and school communities. Then we waited, wondering if and when the strike would come, until all of a sudden, after all of those days, it was here.
If you were in Los Angeles during the strike, you might have seen us. We wore red and carried pickets. We chanted on neighborhood streets and on major thoroughfares. We accepted donations of umbrellas, coffee, and doughnuts. We carried beautiful handmade signs that disintegrated in the wet, and then we remade them. We danced on sidewalks and onto computers, and we screamed and sang until our throats grew hoarse. We moved through rain and wind all week in numbers that surprised even us: 30,000 teachers out on strike, rallying crowds of 40,000; 50,000; 60,000.
We stood shoulder to shoulder in awe of the collective power of our city pulling in the direction of a common good: quality public schools for kids and families and communities. We pushed: a whole city, in rain and wind and finally into sunlight, and by the start of the second week of the strike, an agreement was reached, members cast votes, and small victories were won.
These were not the glorious victories you might think 60,000 people in the streets would win. The contract teachers won was not glamorous, but all of those teachers, and students, and families breathed and pushed public education in the right direction.
And guess what. I barely wrote a word about it.
But now the column is almost done, on the night after my first day back teaching, when I wasn’t sure I would be able to write at all.
Neil Gaiman says of writing “You write. That’s the hard bit that nobody sees. You write on the good days and you write on the lousy days. Like a shark, you have to keep moving forward or you die. Writing may or may not be your salvation; it might or might not be your destiny. But that does not matter. What matters right now are the words, one after another. Find the next word. Write it down. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.”
So keep those words coming. Keep on breathing, pushing, and writing because that is what matters. We might not always win. Every draft won’t be pretty or perfect, but we have to keep moving forward. Keep going. Keep writing.
Noriko Nakada is a public school teacher and the editor of the Breathe and Push column. She writes, blogs, tweets, and parents in Los Angeles. She is committed to writing thought-provoking creative non-fiction, fiction, and poetry.
In my eighth grade classroom, a distinct culture had developed. Students were challenging one another’s privilege and entitlement at every opportunity, which was important but exhausting, and I was begin to wonder if my students had learned anything in my class. My students were testing my nerves, and although we still had several weeks left, I was ready for the year to be over.
By Hazel Kight Witham