Creating sanctuaries for students and teachers, with NYC educator Jonny Adler
On supporting queer kids, battling anti-immigrant rhetoric, and other tough stuff
The question was no longer “How can we make sure kids pass the state test?” or even “How can we make sure kids know how to multiply fractions?” It became more profound: “What do the kids in front of us most need right now? How can we provide that?” – Jonny Adler, middle school educator, NYC
My friend Jonny Adler and I had the good fortune to meet a few years ago, at a school in the Bronx where we both worked as middle school Humanities teachers. The conditions under which we became friends were, however, decidedly inauspicious. Jonny had graduated from Harvard just in time to join the teaching profession at the beginning of the pandemic, which would change every last thing we thought we knew about education. All of our fancy degrees suddenly seemed like so much useless paper in the wind.
I wouldn’t have blamed any brand-new teacher for panicking, but Jonny rose to the occasion. He became our Humanities department’s go-to tech expert, teaching us all how to use programs like PearDeck and Flipgrid to create communities online where kids could still feel seen and heard, even through Zoom. I don’t know if I would have survived this time without him.
Jonny continued to have my back even after we no longer worked down the hall from one another. When I started this newsletter, Jonny read seemingly every post, leaving comments or texting me thoughtful and encouraging feedback. (It helps to have friends who do this professionally!) In return, all he’s ever asked of me, an elder Millennial ten years his senior, is my perspective on more old-school educational problems, like what to do when a kid claims they can’t get to work “because they don’t have a pencil,” or when you’re getting the mid-year yips and they just won’t seem to lift. I value these cross-generational chats immensely.
Now, Jonny faces down the prospect of finishing a year of teaching history and civics in a diverse community where both topics are extremely relevant, but also fraught. I’ve asked him to join me here to share more about what that’s like, what he’s learning along the way, and how folks who work outside the classroom can be most helpful to the helpers in their lives — and our most vulnerable kids.
In the spirit of my recent series on loving-kindness, we also reflect on:
Caring for self: what brings him to the work and what sustains him in it
Care from close friends and family: what his loved ones do to help him keep at it
Expanding the circle: How we as educators make sure we’re including all students, even the ones with whom we do not share an identity or background, and
The tough stuff: How we work with difficult people and topics in the classroom
We’d love for you to join the conversation too, so please drop a comment if you’ve got any questions for Jonny that aren’t answered below!
Caring for self
Where did you grow up? What else grows there? What was it like for you to grow there?
I grew up in New York City, where a surprising number of things grow. One thing that comes to mind is the ginkgo tree, which I remember learning in preschool has been around since the time of the dinosaurs. Of course, I interpreted that to mean that the ginkgo trees on 96th street had been around since the Jurassic period, which I now understand is not entirely true.
I have really fond memories of exploring neighborhoods with my family—the subway taking us as if by magic from our familiar streets to ones I’d never seen before. The beauty of New York is that I still get to do that: the city is big enough and changes rapidly enough that you can be from here and always have more to discover.
What is your earliest memory of tending another being?
I remember playing doctor as a toddler and paying very close attention to the cuts and bruises (real or imagined) of anyone who would let me.
What or whom have you most loved tending since?
One of the great privileges of my life so far has been getting to help nurture teenagers into young adults—ideally ones who are responsible, kind, active, and aware of the context of what came before them (to paraphrase a certain Vice President).
You know as well as I do how joyful that work can be, and how difficult. Adolescents are fascinating people who are by turns hilarious, brilliant, brutally honest, and occasionally infuriating. I have never had a boring day of work, and I’m never unsure of whether that work is important.
You and I have talked about your experiences as a Gen Z teacher, entering the teaching workforce just before 2020. Not a great look for our profession, but one that also helped us bond, as your tech wizardry helped me through a very tough time, as a new mom who was suddenly charged with carrying fifty stressed-out students through the end of their seventh grade year, online.
Can you take us briefly back to that time, to give us a sense of what it has been like for teachers like you who entered the field during this era, and are still trying to help school communities emerge from it?
I’m not even going to wade into the thorny question of whether I identify as Gen Z or not (shout out to my fellow Zillennials) and instead just flash back to 2019. It was my very first year as a classroom teacher, and that autumn was a whirlwind. I was learning so much every day, and I was getting my butt kicked—albeit productively, with support.
Just as I felt like I was starting to get the hang of things, Covid hit, and what started off as a joke on TikTok (“someone take one for the team, they’ll have to close school”) very quickly became a harsh reality. Suddenly, the people I’d been looking to for answers just didn’t have them. There was no playbook for this. We had to write it ourselves.
In some ways that was terrifying, and in others it was kind of liberating for a new teacher. While I still had lots to learn about teaching, I didn’t know any more or less than anyone else did about teaching during a global pandemic. That gave me opportunities to experiment and share what I found with colleagues like you.
The wins were small (“Isn’t this interactive whiteboard neat?”), and the deck was definitely stacked against us. With all those blank Zoom screens staring back at me, I often felt like a YouTuber with a rapidly dwindling audience.
And who could blame our students for not being fully present? They were surviving a crisis, watching the world they knew falling apart, often taking care of younger siblings, sometimes grappling with the deaths of loved ones. If amid all that they could avoid some classwork and play video games with their friends instead, why wouldn’t they?
We’re not nearly done grappling with the long-term effects of that disruption, but I think it forced us to go back to the fundamentals in important ways. The question was no longer “How can we make sure kids pass the state test?” or even “How can we make sure kids know how to multiply fractions?” It became more profound: “What do the kids in front of us most need right now? How can we provide that?”
That attitude persists among most educators I know—a prioritizing of kids’ well-being above our academic goals for them, which are of course important, but are downright unattainable if kids’ most basic needs aren’t being met.
What makes you feel like your own needs are being met?
Making tea and taking the time to drink it slowly is a huge joy for me. There’s nothing efficient about it whatsoever, and that’s what makes it great.
Exercise also helps me get my head on straight. Running has been the main way I’ve done that for a long time (perhaps a bit obsessively on occasion). Another form of exercise I’ve come to more recently is dancing, something I only rediscovered—and allowed myself to do largely without fear or embarrassment—in the last couple years. I’m not sure there’s anything else that comes close in terms of pure joy. Of course, it has to be with the right people with the right music in the right place (shout out to a certain venue in Ridgewood), but when it’s good it’s so good.
What do you read when you’re looking for inspiration?
I reread James Loewen’s Lies My Teacher Told Me when I want inspiration for a good history lesson. When I need to be reminded why education is important and beautiful, I read the copy of Sarah Kay’s All Our Wild Wonder that my teacher prep program gave me on my first day of teaching. Another text I return to on tough days is “Desiderata” by Max Ehrmann, a poem that’s more of a litany of wisdom than anything else.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
– Max Ehrmann, “Desiderata”
Care from close friends and family
You and I are often the go-to planners for our respective social circles. We’ve joked that you and I should both get t-shirts made that say “Cruise Director Stacy.” And yet being Cruise Director Stacy can get tiring, sometimes. What helps you to feel like you’re able to put down the cruise director clipboard?
People who are drawn to teaching definitely tend to be good at—and take pleasure in—shaping positive experiences for others. This tendency is something I genuinely like about myself, and I’ll take just about any chance I can get to throw interesting people at each other or to organize an excursion to a fun neighborhood.
Still, planning experiences for others takes energy, and sometimes I just don’t have it in me. Especially after a long day of teaching, the last thing I want to do is plan activities or make decisions. My days are already full of decisions, ranging from the trivial (“should I let this kid go get something from the other room?”) to the profound (“how do I make sure this kid who is struggling gets what they need?”).
I’m so grateful when people who love me take some of my decisions off my plate when the workday is over so I can fully enjoy spending time with them. I really appreciate it when my friends suggest the time, the place, the movie, or the activity when they know I’m fried and I want to be done answering questions for the day.
What other adult communities or sanghas keep you sane?
This one here at In Tending is so special. I also find myself seeking communities built around shared experiences that are spiritual in some sense or another. In that vein, attending Quaker Meeting with my friend Claire, lighting Shabbat candles with loved ones, and experiencing music in crowds helps me to find the sacred amid the everyday-ness of life.
For us teachers, having adult mentors at work – people willing to share their hard-won experience with us – is also essential. Who are some of yours?
Well, you’re one of them, so thank you for responding to my voice notes and sitting with me on front porches.
Aw, shucks!
Our former colleague and boss Alby Ruiz is another mentor whose example and classroom presence inspire me and push me to be a better educator.
Alby for president, 1000%.
I’m so grateful when people who love me take some of my decisions off my plate when the workday is over so I can fully enjoy spending time with them. I really appreciate it when my friends suggest the time, the place, the movie, or the activity when they know I’m fried and I want to be done answering questions for the day. — Jonny Adler
Expanding the circle
Dr. Rhonda Bondie, one of your mentors from Harvard, has been influential in helping teachers figure out how to create classrooms that are truly inclusive – which is something I discussed in my interview with educator Rachel McEvoy. What have you learned from her about making all kids welcome?
I’ve learned so much from Rhonda, but more than anything else, I come back to her learning routines, which take the lofty goals of inclusive education and make them concrete and practical. There’s also a board game in development, which rocks. I got to work with Rhonda on a Library of Congress grant developing free professional development modules for teachers, one of which focuses on using her Zoom-In Inquiry routine with primary sources, that I also recommend.
Dr. Eric Soto-Shed is another mentor of yours, and a leader in civics education. I can imagine we’ll be rethinking that – again – over the next four years of this presidential administration. What have you learned from him on the elements of an effective civics education? What can parents and teachers do to ensure their kids are getting access to a wider view of history, and their active role in it?
Eric often brings me back to this central question: what skills and knowledge do kids need to be active, informed, and engaged community members? What follows is a lot of inquiry around topics that matter to students, using primary and secondary sources, culminating in kids’ taking “informed action” based on what they’ve learned. (To see this outlined more concretely, educators can read about the Inquiry Design Model or look at complete units built around this kind of historical inquiry.)
At home, I think caregivers can talk as much as possible to kids about what’s going on in their local communities and the wider world, modeling the kind of curiosity and engagement we want young people to have.
We’re both white teachers, educated in predominantly white institutions, aka PWIs. You went to Harvard, I went to Emerson and Bank Street. At the same time, you and I are both dedicated to serving a widely diverse population of students, and constantly checking our biases as part of that process.
How well did your PWI prepare you for the realities of teaching in a diverse place like New York City? Is there anything that PWIs can do better in this regard?
I feel incredibly lucky that my program (formerly Harvard Teacher Fellows, now Harvard’s Teaching and Teacher Leadership track) placed supporting kids of color at the center of its mission. We spoke frequently about how our identities showed up with us in the classroom, and in affinity spaces I got to speak with other white teachers about the kinds of dynamics that would likely be present when we worked with kids and families of color. My program also emphasized partnering with communities rather than saving them, pushing us to value the strengths that students and families bring with them.
This kind of frank but thoughtful discussion of race feels hard to imagine amid the current anti-DEI backlash. What I think many critics of DEI miss is the way these kinds of discussions can surface uncomfortable truths that will be present in the classroom whether we acknowledge them or not. I understand not wanting to boil people down to their most obvious physical identifiers, but I think something very important is lost when we don’t name the elephant in the room—especially when race and racism have such a long and complex history in this country and in education specifically.
As a history teacher, I particularly appreciated the extent to which we discussed how the very concept of race and the structural inequalities that accompany it are products of specific historical moments—moments that continue to shape the educational landscape we’re living in now.
What I think many critics of DEI miss is the way these kinds of discussions can surface uncomfortable truths that will be present in the classroom whether we acknowledge them or not. I understand not wanting to boil people down to their most obvious physical identifiers, but I think something very important is lost when we don’t name the elephant in the room. — Jonny Adler
I also feel fortunate to have had great teaching mentors from a range of backgrounds. The ones who looked like me helped model ways that culturally responsive and anti-racist teaching could look for a white educator. The ones who didn’t look like me helped me understand how powerful it is for kids to see themselves reflected in the person at the front of the room. I’m never going to be able to offer that for Black or Brown or Asian kids, at least in terms of racial identity. But I might be able to offer a window into something else—or reflect back a different aspect of their identities (I’ve connected particularly well with train nerds and sneakerheads over the years).
Predominantly white institutions can continue to improve by creating better pathways into education that lead to better paying jobs for teachers of color, because we need more of them. Predominantly white institutions can also continue to improve the way they prepare white teachers by getting us ready to support kids with the greatest learning needs. Families entrust their children to us, and we have a profound responsibility to do right by them. If we’re not doing that, it doesn’t matter how good our intentions are or how sensitive we are to our biases as white educators.
This is work that never really ends, and there was a steep—and humbling—learning curve for me when theory gave way to practice in the Bronx. I definitely made mistakes, and I’ve done my best to learn from them.
As you note, you and I were both taught, in our programs, to be extremely careful not to allow what is called deficit thinking to enter into our teaching. That is, we are encouraged to see that students in all communities, regardless of their median annual income or their racial makeup, have strengths and assets that they bring to the classroom. When you came to our school in the Bronx, what were some strengths that you noticed in this community?
No disrespect to my beloved Upper West Side, but there’s a certain sleepiness to the neighborhood I grew up in, and the Bronx is anything but sleepy. I usually got into the area pretty early in the morning, and already Norwood would be in full swing: parents getting their kids to school; adults getting to work and battling over parking; shopkeepers and vendors opening up storefronts and stands (shout out to the juice spot on 204th).
Norwood is home to many recent immigrants from all over the world, and I do think that brings with it a serious determination to make it in a new country. Many kids have a willingness to buckle down and “do the work” necessary to achieve their goals and the dreams their parents have for them. I really admire that.
What’s more, I noticed and appreciated the softer side that came out amid all that hustle. New Yorkers (and Bronxites in particular) are busy people who aren’t always known for social niceties, but there’s deep kindness there too. I felt it every time someone told me earnestly to “get home safe” or “be well.”
Families entrust their children to us, and we have a profound responsibility to do right by them. If we’re not doing that, it doesn’t matter how good our intentions are, or how sensitive we are to our biases as white educators. – Jonny Adler
The tough stuff
Teaching kids can certainly be hard, but dealing with adults in school communities can also bring tension. For example, you recently had to deal with trash that another teacher’s class left in your room. Real talk: How do you respond to that, mindfully?
Ooooof. Yeah. My classroom is on the smaller side, and kids are famously not great at monitoring where their limbs end and where other people and things begin (my poor plant has already been knocked over twice this year). I expect this from kids, and it’s part of what we work on throughout the year.
What really grinds my gears, though, is when other adults facilitate kids’ leaving messes around. I’ve learned to be as explicit and direct as possible with other adults about the way I like my classroom to look—and to enlist students as stewards of that. Leaving cleanup checklists behind has helped a lot.
Would I prefer not to have to do that? Of course, but it’s better than nothing.
Speaking of messes created by other adults: you and I talked shortly after the election results were released, and unsurprisingly, you and other teachers were exhausted from holding space for kid emotions while trying to tend to your own. You also mentioned that there was a lockdown drill the day after the election, which boggles the mind. How have you tended to your nervous system since then?
Honestly, I pushed through the exhaustion and then I got sick. I don’t recommend this as a strategy, but I will say the body has a way of demanding what it needs when you don’t provide it. I spent the following days fully resting, which I really needed. I also got to check in with mentors like you and Eric, who compared notes with me and gave me a chance to process things. I’ll also note that, while being the adult in the room when big things are happening in the world can be hard and overwhelming, it also gives me a clear sense of purpose and direction when I might otherwise spiral.
How has the political rhetoric around immigration and immigrants affected your school community?
I’ve noticed kids being extra careful around each other when topics like immigration come up—and when most political topics come up, frankly. Unfortunately, I also know from experience and from headlines that kids will use the rhetoric they hear from politicians to bully and demean each other when we’re not looking, which breaks my heart. I think the best we can do as adults is to model and set clear expectations about how we treat each other—and hold the line with logical consequences when our expectations are not met.
Unfortunately, we’ve also begun to have hard conversations about how the school would respond in the event that immigration enforcement agents showed up at our doors, something that was previously unimaginable under presidential administrations of both major parties. It saddens me more than I can say that we’ve now added ICE raids to the list of things that kids and families worry could happen at school. The Supreme Court has maintained that all kids, regardless of immigration status, have a right to a public education under the Fourteenth Amendment. Nothing should get in the way of that.
You and I have also mentored queer students in the past as they tried to figure how be their authentic selves at school. What do you think people need to know about how to help these students feel safe in their communities over the next four years? What can teachers do to help? What can parents do? What can other students do?
This one is really tough, and I don’t think there are easy answers. Teen mental health is already a public health crisis across the board, one that’s even more pronounced for LGBTQ+ kids. These next four years will no doubt present even greater challenges—and indeed have already begun to do so to a horrifying degree. I have a lot of faith in the resilience of young people, but I also know they can’t do it alone—and they should get to be kids, too.
One of the most important things parents and teachers can do is identify kids who are struggling and help connect them to resources. So often, kids don’t realize that help is available, or they worry about the stigma around asking for it.
Students can show up for their friends as they always have, asking what they need and providing what they can. They can work to be upstanders who call out bullying and discrimination when they see it—and who ask for help from trusted adults when they’re worried for anyone’s safety.
More broadly, schools can work to become places that actively embrace all aspects of students’ identities. That’s easier said than done (and much more difficult in the face of growing legal threats), but I do think it’s possible to build school cultures—in collaboration with adults and kids—that actively welcome young people as they are and continue to do so as they grow. It’s easier for me to say this writing from New York than Indiana or Florida, but my belief in teachers’ finding ways to look out for their students even when they’re not supposed to (see Jarvis Givens’ Fugitive Pedagogy) remains strong.
I think it’s worth adding that I believe that all of us who care about queer kids have a responsibility to advocate for them politically, especially since most LGBTQ+ kids are not old enough to participate directly in the democratic process. That means showing up for them at the ballot box, speaking out in words and actions, and applying pressure on our elected representatives.
You and I have both taught in private and public school settings. I’m now seeing the “private vs. public school” debate being revived as people attempt to figure out where their children should attend in the next four years. It feels like there’s no “right” answer, perhaps because the question focuses on individual rather than collective action. What do you think?
I don’t think there’s a right answer on the individual level; I think parents can and should make the choices they think are best for their children and their situations. That said, I believe everyone—regardless of whether they have kids or not—has a vested interest in there being a robust and effective public school system in every community.
On a practical level, we need the next generation of researchers, engineers, healthcare workers, teachers, and artists to be really good, and that will only happen if our schools are excellent and available to the widest possible swath of the population. On an ideological level, I believe the “common school” is one of the most beautiful American ideas ever imagined. That vision of a place where children from every conceivable background, income level, religion, and political stripe come together to learn for free is utopian in the best sense of the word. The profound challenges of making that vision a reality should not deter us from trying our absolute best to make it so.
Where can people find you if they want to engage further with your work?
You can check out my somewhat half-baked professional website, jonnyteaches.com. Maybe posting the link here will motivate me to do more with it!
Further reading:
On creating communities that meet kid needs (and adults' too!) with educator Rachel McEvoy
In Tending online gatherings: created for caregivers, by caregivers
this is SO GOOD. thank you for this.