Hi Friend.
For this week’s newsletter, I wanted to do something different.
I wanted to share a personal story of one of the most challenging days of my career and why what you do matters.
A couple of years ago, I oversaw my college’s Alternative Provision program. I had to design and facilitate lessons for students excluded from mainstream schools.
At the time, I was working in the Isle of Dogs, Tower Hamlets - one of the most deprived parts of East London known for violent crime, drugs and poverty.
Then, Tower Hamlets was known as the ‘Acid attack capital of the UK’, with 25% of all UK acid attacks taking place in the borough.
The incident occurred in my first week as the new NEETs coordinator. I was getting ready to teach my Post-16 class when one of the youth workers stopped me from going into the room.
The Course Director and Youth Projects Manager quickly approached me, looking solemn and slightly distressed.
My stomach tightened up — something terrible had happened.
That morning, our management team was informed that a 16-year-old boy had been stabbed to death in Plaistow the previous night.
The slain young man was a very close friend of the lads in the class.
Although the police weren’t sure, they suspected that it could be a case of mistaken identity - a street gang attacked the boy, assuming he was a member of a rival group.
The Youth Manager told me it was a miracle that these guys attended class. Because of the tragedy, the senior leaders were extremely reluctant to let them go early.
We knew some of our boys were gang-affiliated, and the community police were monitoring the situation.
The police had sent a couple of constables to the centre to speak to the boys and ensure they didn’t do anything stupid.
The word on the streets was the killer was identified and known in the community.
Ten minutes before, one of the youth workers heard one of our lads say they were going to find the boy and ‘ride out’ – meaning they would kill the lad in retaliation.
I knew that my lesson plan had become completely irrelevant.
The boys huddled in our centre's music studio. I squinted through the hazy glass windows, trying to get a sense of their mood.
I couldn't see anything. I had to go in.
Holding my breath, I pushed the heavy scarlet studio door and gingerly stepped inside. It was completely silent as I entered. I could see shock, confusion, and anger in every one of those boys' eyes.
All of them had their hoods up, covering their faces. But if you looked carefully, you could see the studio lights glisten off their wet checks. But they would never tell you that.
When I offered my condolences, one of the young men became enraged. He told me to move aside, squaring up to me as I had my back to the door.
I knew I had very few options, and they knew that too.
I asked what he and the boys were going to do. Without skipping a beat, he scoffed and looked me dead in the eye.
He said they would enact 'street justice' as that was 'the law of the road.'
They were going to kill the person they thought did it.
A couple of them started to get up, ready to move out. I racked my brain to say something - anything that would get them to stop.
Then it came to me. I asked this question:
“Will killing the guy this bring your friend back?
They stood there frozen in silence what seemed like an eternity.
The mood shifted a little – one of them muttered that their friend wasn’t even a ‘roadman’ and he wanted to go to university to get a better life.
One by one these young men spoke about how good of a person he was and how they would miss him.
I quietly hinted at the Course Director to set up the microphone booth in the next room - one of the youth workers went to work creating the backing track.
I knew that many of these guys were aspiring rappers and singers who had dreams of making it big in the music world.
So I asked the to write a song dedicated to their fallen friend.
Within an hour, the young men wrote a beautiful song detailing their adventures, dreams and how they would have to find a way to live without him.
It was one of the most emotional, tragic yet life-affirming experiences I had not only as a teacher but as a human being.
When they recorded their tune, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. It was a fitting tribute in a terrible circumstance.
I stood there with the Managing Director, Course Director and Youth Projects Manager in awe of these young boys using this song to express their grief but also their gratitude for their close friend.
The mood changed in the class from despair and desolation to love and meaning.
There were no reported troubles that night, and the suspected murderer was arrested that week.
So what's the lesson?
We are trained as teachers to focus on learning and the curriculum.
But we are in perilous times - and our students are struggling.
Whether it’s the cost-of-living crisis, the violence on our streets and or witnessing brutal international conflicts unfold in real time, they are more anxious and pessimistic than ever before.
But in these difficult times we all share, we must recognise we must create spaces where our students can express their emotions in pro-social ways.
We have to strive to give our students hope and teach them that they still have a future despite all they see and hear in the media.
It's almost become a sport to bash teachers in the UK. According to the media, we are moany whiners always looking for a handout.
But forget the naysayers: You do fantanstic work with extremely limited resources.
You work your butt off to ensure your students get the very best care and attention. You don't get the recognition, respect or money you deserve.
And I wanted to use this newsletter to simply say:
Thank you.
Your work saves lives. Don’t you dare forget that.
The next TOTR issue comes out on Thursday, 17th October.
See you then!
Karl C. Pupé FRSA
