Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

How do you go back to the way things were, when you are no longer the same person before nothing and everything changed simultaneously?

After being on a six-day strike that has now been resolved, I am sitting here alone, anxious and overwhelmed with emotion. For six days, four of which occurred in torrential rains and wind that eventually culminated in Southern California’s signature sunshine; the LAUSD teacher strike is now over.

Hours of chanting, marching, helping others make signs, taking bathroom trips, venturing to rallies on the Metro, shouting on a megaphone at oncoming traffic [that very well may have just been me], or hunting for something to eat, are over. I know I am supposed to feel happy, even elated that I am going back to work, but I’m not. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and cannot wait to settle back in to the rhythm of my routine; but how does one measure a lifetime lived over the course of a week? How does one press on with the mundane after the extraordinary?

It’s hard to really quantify the week’s events, but I am going to do my best to illustrate that the ending of the strike, is ironically really anticlimactic. There’s all this tension, build up, and intensity funneling into what’s believed to be grand finale of sorts. But in reality, it’s not like that at all. There are no bells and whistles, signal, or culmination of all your strike efforts. It all just abruptly ceases. 

Things went down like this:

We got word there was a tentative agreement via text message on Tuesday, January 22, 1019 at 9:30am. 

Union representatives went to learn the details from Union officials at 2pm, then brought the ballots back to school sites anywhere between 4-5pm.

Between 5-6pm we voted, went home, and by 8pm the strike was officially over which was confirmed by an 80% ‘YES’ vote to approve the tentative agreement. 

And that was it.

No swan song. No grand finale—it was just over. I’m not going to lie, even now the shock of it all coming to an end feels so unfinished and like a total let down. If you’ve ever been on a picket line, you likely understand how this feels. The overwhelming sense of sorrow that has engulfed me since has been intense and at times made me so anxious that I find myself wondering why my heart is racing while at rest. See, while there is some semblance of resolution with the tentative agreement, all of the energy spent on the picket line just seems to evaporate like morning dew, leaving the lasting feeling as if the whole thing was just a dream. Did it happen? Was it really like that? Did we really all just stand in the pouring rain for four whole days? Did we all just share something so special together that it forever binds us in a closeness that only we could possibly fathom? Holy shit, did we just make history?

I am not going to take you through my day-by-day, but what I will do is try to bring you ever so much closer to what life really looks like on a picket line.

First, for some reason people in the city of Los Angeles and maybe even elsewhere were confused. When an entity such as UTLA (United Teachers of Los Angeles) members vote, approve, and actually strike, the people on the picket line do not get paid. They do not call in, leave sub plans, check nor respond to email, or fulfill any of their job duties. Now, if someone chooses to cross the picket line, meaning they choose to work, they are a scab. If someone calls in a sub claiming to be sick, they are still paid even though they do not report to work, and they are a scab. If someone conveniently gets a doctor’s note riiiiight before the strike and is miraculously healed when the strike is over; while I cannot prove it, I am going to call them the worst kind of scab. Period.

You may view me harsh for my judgments, but let me teach you a thing or two about how a strike, or at least the LAUSD Teacher Strike of 2019 went down. Buzz of strike was brewing for about a year. On August 31, 2018, 98% of UTLA members voted YES to authorize a strike. Read that again, AUGUST 2018. The initial strike date was October, then it was pushed to November, then it was announced that UTLA members would work two days of the second semester to precure their health benefits, THEN would strike on January 10, 2019. However, due to Austin Beutner’s efforts, an injunction prevented the January 10th start date and the strike was pushed off yet again. This time until Monday, January 14, 2019. So, why I am telling you this? Why am I giving you this timeline?

Because I heard some people defend scabs saying things like:

– Everyone has mouths to feed

– You don’t know someone’s situation at home

– People have bills to pay

And that bullshit isn’t even all of it. Yes, that rationale is bullshit. UTLA members knew a strike was coming FIVE MONTHS before it actually happened—FIVE FREAKING MONTHS. If one could not sock away a little cash over the course of five months to prepare, then the state should revoke this person’s teaching credential. I’m sorry. Actually, I am not sorry for feeling so strongly about scabs and not crossing the picket line.

My husband and I live very modestly and I am not ashamed to say, we live paycheck to paycheck. I don’t have much in the way of material wealth to account for my 15 years of service as a public school teacher for LAUSD, but at least I have my dignity. There were 30,000 teachers standing in solidarity, fighting for the rights of our students, to improve our schools, save public education, and to advocate for the tools needed to do our jobs better. WE ALL TOOK A FINANCIAL HIT. Each one of us didn’t earn money to stand up to “The Man” (and we won by the way, hell yes!). But you know who got paid, didn’t take a stand, AND now reaps the benefits of the new contract? Guess.

The scabs.

Yup. For whatever excuse, because I refuse to call it a reason, these people crossed the picket line. There were teachers in wheelchairs, using walkers, canes, and some even running fevers from the inclimate weather on the picket line. What was their excuse? As far as I am concerned, when it comes to my comrades, you are either in or you are out. And if you are out, then you have committed social suicide. You are now and shall forever remain a pariah. Scabs deserve whatever backlash ensues in the wake of the strike. Thanks to the hard work of 30,000 other people that decided there was a just enough cause to forgo pay, the scabs walk away from this all with cash in their pockets; but it sure has me wondering about their conscious. How can they sleep at night? Drift off to slumber, knowing they didn’t play a role in all this?!

But hey, what do I know?

What I do know is that the as a result of the six-day LAUSD Teacher Strike, I am not the same person I was before the strike. I am more fired up than ever. More inspired to become active in my union, to truly understand collective bargaining, negations, and the innards of union work/leadership. I am inspired to empower myself so that I may in turn unify and mobilize the masses.

Walking the picket line in the rain showed me something about humanity. 

It showed me that people are watching, listening, and care about our cause. Teaching is a thankless job, that we all already knew. But what I saw in the rain, the cold, the marching, and the sunshine, was that people come together in times of adversity. While we tend to think as challenges and hardships as catastrophic, the opposite is, or could be the case. I am awed by the outpouring of support we received from parents at charter schools, students, community leaders and members, and the parents. Thousands of people made the choice to stand by my side—no, our side, during this battle for public education. I will never forget the kindness people are capable of when it seems like you have nothing and like no one is listening. Because the truth of the matter is when you stand up for something you feel passionately about, you are more wealthy than you could imagine. And when you use your voice, people are listening to what you have to say.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s follow up to today’s piece,The LAUSD Teacher Strike, Part II: Gratitude is the Greatest Gift!