For two weeks, from January 19th to February 2nd, I was out of school. My educators were on strike, negotiating with the Newton School Committee in hopes of settling a contract.
For the first three days, I felt promise. While little ground was made during negotiations, I felt proud of my teachers for standing up for themselves, just as they taught me to. That’s why I supported the strike.
But by Tuesday, I started having concerns. When a Newton teacher and NTA organizer went up for his closing remarks at the January 23rd rally, I heard name-calling. I heard him publicly shame Representative Auchincloss for his silence. I heard him encourage the crowd to humiliate Auchincloss for his strong connections to the mayor and his lackluster support for his alma mater school district.
But when that speech about “shame” turned into a chant, I became worried. When that singular shout evolved into a crowd of yelling educators, I felt uncomfortable. I weighed the words, mouthing “shame on you” along with the crowd, but I quickly stopped. Their cruelty left an ugly stain on my lips. To shame is to shut off.
My concern only mounted when I saw my School Committee practice the same behavior. I was stunned to see my school district’s “Did You Know” posts, an Instagram campaign that shifted the responsibility of the strike to solely one end of the bargaining table. I became further concerned when I heard stories about the School Committee sending rejected proposals back without feedback or next steps.
My concerns only peaked on January 26th, after the student rally. For two hours, Newton students from all over the district gathered by City Hall to share how the strike was impacting them. Sixty brave students, from third grade to twelfth, signed up to speak.
I was rejuvenated by their speeches. I was exhilarated to hear children half my age advocate for their education. However, this energy was quickly met with fear. As the crowd of students began descending down City Hall’s steps, NTA representatives took to the microphone. They asked attendees to take to the streets. They asked us to block the roads and stop afternoon traffic. They asked us to practice civil disobedience.
I spoke to the rally organizers before the event: this wasn’t part of the plan. Nowhere in the rally’s agenda was the ask for students to stand on the roads, putting their bodies in harm’s way. I was there to support my classmates. We were all there to share how we were feeling. Now, we were being asked to break the law.
I got scared.
Fortunately, no students were harmed that day. The NTA swiftly pivoted to walking on the sidewalk when they realized that the Newton Police would not allow a march in the streets. However, in spite of the good intentions behind each of these incidents, the student impact of the shaming, the Instagram posts, and the attempts at civil disobedience are all symptomatic of what the prolonged strike had evolved into. No longer was the strike an escalated effort to expedite 16 months of draining negotiations; it boiled down to an all-too-familiar political dichotomy: us vs them. I’m right, you’re wrong.
My classmates and I got stuck in this crossfire. Now, we pay some of its consequences.
On the Monday we got back, my classmates and I were asked how we were feeling post-strike. I gave my candid opinion: I am concerned about the future.
I am concerned about my AP exams. Physics E&M is already hard enough. How am I to deal with the loss of six classes? I am concerned about how my school will treat the strike. Will we just move on, occupied once again by our onslaught of midterm exams?
However, what I’m most concerned about isn’t the academic short-term but the city-wide long-term. What’s Newton’s future?
What’s the future of a district that has parents suing its teacher union? What’s the future of a city where public officials fail to have productive conversations with their educators? And what’s the future of a school system where students feel stuck in between the two sides of an adult conflict? My anecdotes about the strike aren’t to point out how I’m hurt. It’s to show how we all are.
This realization comes at a pivotal time for me. In a few months, I’ll be putting on my cap and gown, preparing my goodbyes to a school system I’ve called home for thirteen years. Newton Public Schools taught me how to write. Newton Public Schools showed me how to speak. Newton Public Schools encouraged me to ask questions.
So as I prepare to leave this district, I have one final question: How will Newton heal?
Will we heal by pulling our children out of public schools, further widening the inequity between private and public? Will we heal through shaming public officials or litigating those who stand across from us?
Or will we have a conversation?
We’re lucky to be a small enough city that can operate as a community, but the easy choice to speak without listening has gotten us here. Only through recognizing our decades of frustration can we mend our city’s issues.
As I prepare for a new chapter of my life outside of my hometown, I hope to see our city work together to find a common truth. I hope we can be a model for communities elsewhere — a beacon for how people can respectfully disagree while solving hard problems. We may not have solved it at the national scale, but at least we can start locally.
Wishing all the best,
Kevin Yang
Newton South High School, Class of 2024
Senior Class President
Newtonian born and raised
In this op-ed, Kevin Yang represents his personal views, not those of his high school class.