After the first death threat I received from one of my students I should have been shocked. I wasn’t. Threats, curses, and humiliating epithets had become routine in the classroom. No amount of referrals to counselors or parent contacts were able to curb the virulent animosity on the part of my student. What DID shock me, however, was seeing his name plastered around campus, shortly thereafter, announcing his candidacy for student body elections (“Change our school, vote for me!” was his campaign slogan). Each time I caught sight of his sheepish grin on the hallway bulletin board, a shudder would go up my spine.

It is the knowledge that, as a public school teacher in an innercity school, I am impotent, actually a captive to absolute corruption with no recourse. This is what is so hard to deal with, the fact that it is of no consequence to anyone that my civil rights are trampled upon, my life put in danger. Ultimately, the administration will remain indifferent and callous to any thought of punishment or redress.

“F… you, you Jewish bastard, I’m going to kill you!” I wonder, what if the roles were reversed. No doubt about it, I’d be tarred and feathered in this town. But there’s that face of my student- a constant reminder of the hidden, hypocritical agenda and the nightmarish dilemma I face each day I go to work. Who cares about the meltdown of civility in our schools? Certainly not the police, whose report has yet to be completed. Certainly not the administration, whose political correctness is palpable. The student was “ordered” to stay away from my building. The day after the incident, I nearly bumped into him in the hall. When I half-heartedly mentioned this to the principal, her overly polite reply indicated that it would be “checked out.”

I’m an old-fashioned teacher, brought up during a time when the teacher asked a student to remain seated, the student naturally did so. There was respect, a flag in the classroom, and “one Nation under G-d.” I’m not naïve, yet I’m incredulous as to the blatant disruptions, harassing of students by bullies, and crude, abusive language that seems to be the norm. “That’s how they are,” an African American colleague of mine quipped in reference to the behavior of innercity youth.

Things went South for me the first week of school. I presented a list of class rules and the consequences- all standard procedure. Suddenly there were questions raised about my assigning detention and paper pick-up after school. Too many students, it seems, were being referred to the dean. If at times the ambiance in the class resembled a war zone, I was nonetheless determined not to let things become TOO hysterical, and made huge efforts, alongside with hours of phone calls home, to maintain a scholarly atmosphere in the class.

I came to class one day to find our building had burned and severely damaged. Arsonists (students) had started a fire, gutting my class and rendering the entire wing unusable. Then the first warning came. My principal, holding a stack of “complaints about me” in the form of letters, revealed that “word on the street has it that this is payback for your treatment of the students.” This bit of news taught me an important lesson: If the kids don’t like the failing grade they received, they can burn or destroy at will. Never mind the millions of dollars worth of damage, or the brazen, criminal attack on our campus. I’m looking in my rollbook, scratching my head: Over 50% failures, no homework, no classwork, massive tardiness and absenteeism. What grade was I going to give these students? After all, I had offered my recess time for tutorials, and nobody came.

“Mr. Shifren,” the principal continued, with an earnest look on her face.” You’ve got to be more flexible, more respectful of the children’s humanity.” Children? These were 12^th graders, some of whom would soon be fighting for their country. Why are students allowed to come to my class without notebooks, pencils, paper? Where did they learn that I’m supposed to accept that they come to class whenever they want, and then keep quiet about open defiance toward class rules? But of course, I’m the problem.

“I’m assigning you to the district’s classroom management seminar. You obviously have no control over your class,” she concluded.

The dean’s office is a revolving door. Students sent for brazen defiance, insulting the teacher or preventing others from learning are sent back with a note saying, “student counseled.”

“Mr. Shifren, you may not prevent our students from receiving an education. You may not send them out of the class,” she continued her accounting of “don’ts.” This was, more than anything else that she could have done, my death sentence. It was her way of telling me to take my standards for class decorum and shove it. It there’s a problem, then it is me. And if I can’t handle it, I can quit.

Humanity? I was shocked when one day, a hysterical woman, a community liaison, barged into class with a student that I had sent to the office not a minute earlier. He was referred for wandering around the class, harassing other students. “I’m sick of you kicking out all the black students!” But all I HAVE are black students. No apology was made by the principal. I sent a letter requesting that harassment against me cease, or release me if I’m found to be a bigot.

There is something sinister about my experiences here. We’re being asked to remove all fences around basic human conduct. What’s wrong, is right. Despicable levels of discourse, defiance and disrespect have become the order of the day. And it’s not just in my school. Who will tell them the truth, that they’re being promoted without any skills, any sense of civic or individual responsibility. This is the REAL racism that our educational establishment hasn’t the nerve to face up to.

I met a colleague who had learned of the death threat against me. In a moment of unusual levity, he offered, “Don’t lose any sleep over it. As long as you’re still alive, be sure to get your semester grades in on time.”

Of course I will.