Closing Borders

“Miss! Miss! Can we talk to you?” Two of my Palestinian students look stressed.

I was in the middle of an observation debrief with another teacher, but my feedback had been so positive so far (she’s a first-year star—some people are just born to teach) that I thought she would be chill with taking a quick break and not feel cliffhung. Plus, it seemed urgent. I turned to the students.

“Miss, did you hear about Bethlehem?” Yeah, four cases of Coronavirus.

“Did you know that some of our DP2 students are there?” Oh! No…

“Yeah, and they can’t get out—the checkpoint there is closed.” Oh, child, say it ain’t so… If second-year students are stuck and the quarantine or border closing lasts until April (could it?), they will miss their IB exams and have to wait until November of next year to try for their diplomas. I need a second to let my eyes go wide and my jaw drop. Okay, back to you, kids.

“So the thing is, there are rumors that Israel or Palestine or both are going to close all the checkpoints soon…” Ah. I see the same look on this boy’s face that the Italians have been walking around with for one week, and the Chinese for longer. The look of being cut off, of trying to decide which is better—being trapped in their school, with normal education, but barred from access to their families, or being trapped in their home, with their families, but their educations cut short for the year. Of potentially getting stuck here while ill, or quarantined with a large group of potentially contagious peers, instead of being with their families. Of knowing that perhaps even the option is being taken away from them the longer they wait.

The Palestinians want to know what to do. Should they go home now, to keep from getting cut off?

No, I tell them. Same instructions that we gave the Chinese, the Italians, and yesterday, the Spanish, French, and Germans: stay here. Keep studying. We’ll take care of you over Spring Break, we’ll take care of you if the school closes, and we’ll take care of you if you all get coronavirus and need to be treated or quarantined. Better to be here, continuing your education while you can. All over the world, international schools are closing and sending their students back—you’re lucky that the school admin decided to keep us open and studying for as long as we are able.

They don’t look like they feel very lucky. They look trapped. And as I walk around campus, I see the same look on many students’ faces.

It’s a fear of being cut off. Of being locked in a country not our own, or having to decide between the country with our lives and the country with our roots. Of having parents miss graduation, of missing family weddings and births, of not being able to fly home even if you are in the middle of a mental breakdown, of not being able to have your parents visit even if you are ill in the hospital. For some of our students, finances cut them off from their homes for two years when they first decided to come to an international school. But for others, this is the first time they’ve felt so isolated.

And I want to hug them and tell them it’s okay, they are surrounded by adults who love them. But the Ministry of Health outlawed hugging, yesterday. And even so, a hug from a teacher isn’t the same as a hug from family.

Teaching in an international school during a global pandemic feels like different nerves of your body keep getting hit. The spread of the virus across the world keeps touching us as different students panic. The Chinese were relatively calm, the Italians more emotional, the Germans outraged by Israel’s draconian policies, and the Palestinians just seem shocked that it could touch them, too. While other schools are only concerned about the local spread, we are more vulnerable: until the virus is controlled in Asia, Europe, and the US, our students will worry. And somehow, just having international students makes it feel as though we're likely to be a ground zero-- surely, one of our students has been in contact with someone who infected them. But after being ill so many times, with so many germs from so many countries, I just shrug, assume we'll get it, and keep washing my hands obsessively. 

There is also beauty in being in an international school during a global crisis. We had the news over to interview our Asian students about discrimination, and in English class students presented on the global issue of irrational fear vs. legitimate health concerns in the media in their respective countries. Our students are mostly approaching the situation with common sense, compassion, and humor, lightly touched by alarm. So far, we are keeping calm and carrying on. As one student wrote in big letters to the younger cohort: DON’T PANIC.