The night before the Teach for America (TFA) summer institute — commencing virtually for the first time due to the pandemic — I lay in my childhood bed at my parents’ house with tears in my eyes. On a whim, I typed “TFA criticisms” into the search bar and read article after article of valid, powerful critiques of the organization that I — bright-eyed and full of naive optimism — had just committed to for the next two years.
As a junior in college, TFA’s “mission” of ending educational inequity appealed to students like myself: hardworking and passionate about the intersection of social justice and education. But shortly after I started the program, I realized I was unprepared for the two years that lie ahead.
Cut to my third year in the classroom, and I still wrestle with what led me to Teach for America in the first place. I’ve oscillated between blaming myself for not doing more to learn about the widely available critiques of TFA and forgiving myself for falling prey to what felt like an aggressive recruitment strategy.
As TFA cuts a quarter of its staff after reporting its lowest recruitment numbers in 15 years, I feel angry. Angry about feeling hopelessly underprepared after being told that my leadership skills would make me a good teacher; angry for my students, who deserved a much better education than I was able to give them for those two years; and angry that I’m now forced to confront what feels most shameful: that while I joined TFA to be a part of the solution, I was actually a part of the problem perpetuated by the organization.
Parachuting In, Unprepared for Duty
During the first quarter of the 2020-2021 academic year, I needed to make my first-ever parent call. One of my students, Justin, was consistently unresponsive during Zoom classes, failing to engage with classwork or respond in the chat. With his mom’s cell phone number in hand and a sick feeling in my stomach, I called my own mother.
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