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Nancy Bakht

October 2005

Teaching Philosophy

My philosophy on teaching has changed dramatically in the past few years. I used to think the teacher had to be an expert on the material, or at least project that successfully to the students. I also used to think that the teacher was pretty much on stage and had to perform to the audience. Now, I believe that the teacher is more of a facilitator or guide. If I do not know the answer to a student’s question, I will try to direct the student on how we can find it.

Teaching is an art, but there are fundamental elements that need to be kept in mind. I believe students learn so much from a teacher’s manner and behavior. Usually, teachers are looked up to, and this carries with it a burden of responsibility that extends far beyond the basic academic interaction between student and teacher. Teaching is a job of service, of modeling, and of opening gates to possibilities a student may not have seen before.

A teacher needs the patience and long-range vision to determine what lies in the best interests of the students. This also means that a teacher must be consistent, firm, and fair. Teaching should be done in a non-threatening, non-intimidating, yet respectful environment. There is enough stress out there without a teacher adding to it in a non-constructive manner.

I will end by saying that the best teachers are those who continue to be students, not just of their chosen fields, but of life.

Discuss

Ms. Bakht: I think that the distinction you make between being an expert and being a guide is an important one to note. Why do you think its more important to emphasize being a guide? Does being an expert make one seem authoritarian? Does being a guide make students more inclined to feel powerful (agentic, empowered, etc?)

And definately "Amen" to the teaching as service --Maria

Nancy, I agree that teaching is about being a guide and not being an expert, at the same time, you need to be able to manipulate the material quicker than your students. I agree that for better or worse we are role models and I struggle to figure out how to handle that responsibility. - Dave

Memoir Contribution

There are odd times during dire circumstances when one’s liabilities become an asset to the community. The drama surrounding Hurricane Katrina takes me back to the war in Lebanon instantaneously. The last battle of the war was fought between the Christian half of the Lebanese army, under General Michel Aoun and the Syrian army which occupied the Muslim half of the city. The battle lasted eight months and was one of the most horrific periods of the war. With no running water and no electricity for the better part of a year, we residents of the city had to come up with our own strategies for survival. We often met up with neighbors and friends in the basement of our residential building. It was where we all flocked during the most intense shelling. Um Ayman, drama queen of the building, was always the least welcome of all our neighbors because she infused anxiety into the collective mood by wailing and crying. “We are all going to die! Oh God! Oh Mohammed! Oh Jesus!” was her nightly mantra. She was a Christian woman married to a Muslim man, so she was willing to try any channel to the Divine. I would like to say we were patient with her, but we had bombs to contend with, and the occasional roach that meandered over a leg here, an arm there. And, well, she got on our nerves. In the dark would come a harsh, cigarette-beaten voice directed at the wailing heap. “Skuttee!” the weary soul would snarl. And for a few moments we would have some peace, at least from the wailing of Um Ayman.

While she was most unwelcome, I was one of the favorite presences in the basement. Not because of my charm or humor. Not because of the biscuits I would share. Not because of the candles and matches I sometimes had on me to give light to our little corner of our underground bunker. Everyone fought to sit next to me because I had the plumpest shoulders and most generous lap. There was no room down there for mattresses or pillows, and we all sat up against each other on the cold, hard, dirty floor. A typical night meant we stayed in the shelter from dusk till about four in the morning when the shelling died down. Everyone was tired and in search of a soft place to lean against or lay a head. My body, which had resisted my every attempt to make it lean and hard, was the softest, most comforting place for family and neighbors.