No Words Needed

I had come to Kwethluk with an open mind and an open heart. But, Kwethluk had not received me with the same. I packed up and moved everything I owned to the Alaskan bush. I didn’t keep a storage unit back in civilization like most people do. I jumped in with both feet. I just knew this was the right thing. It’s what I’d always wanted and it felt right.

As soon as I arrived, I unpacked… everything. I hung pictures on the walls, filled shelves with books and personal items, hung all of my clothes in the closet, unpacked everything I owned. I settled in and made it home.

Of course, before I unpacked, I had to clean the house from top to bottom. It was the filthiest place I’d ever moved in to. The shower was brown with buildup and I scrubbed it white. The bathroom sink had soap scum and whiskers (obviously, the previous occupants had been male) caked everywhere. The kitchen cabinets had a sticky goo on the outside from steam and cooking fumes. The gas stovetop was brown until I scrubbed the plates back to their original country blue color. The floors took several moppings to come clean and the walls all had to be wiped down because of the mosquitoes smashed and dried right where they had met their demise on the walls and ceiling. The broken window screens had to be duck-taped so that we could get fresh air. The freezer had dried blood and other liquids cemented to the walls and bottom. All was cleaned and scrubbed by us and our new 4th and 5th grade friends who had become our welcoming committee and were as happy to help us clean as to try on our hockey equipment. The living room furniture was stained and had an odor, but a good spray of Febreeze and brand new furniture covers made them feel like new. By the time we were done, one little boy asked if he could sleep in our house. He explained that he’d be happy to just sleep on the coffee table and not be any trouble at all. It made us all wonder in what conditions he must live at home.

We made that house our home and settled in for the long haul.

Fellow teachers (first-years, like me) loved to come over because they said it felt more like home than their house. But, those visits only happened a couple of times before we all became too busy with school. In addition, I was the only teacher to live next to the school. Everyone else lived a mile away in the multiple teacher housing units clumped together “downtown”, which really meant down river. That created a mental distance between us that seemed greater than the physical distance. The teachers who lived downtown shared meals and movies and outings on the river. They watched out for each other, confided in one another, and frequented each other’s homes. They took trips together to Bethel and Anchorage. Other than Thanksgiving and the SuperBowl and one isolated game night, I was not invited to join them. It was not purposeful, I know that, but it still was what it was.

I was an outsider.

It is true that I did not invite teachers over to my house for get-togethers because I thought that would make Sarah uncomfortable – having all of her teachers over for dinner or movies. It would have been easier for me to go to their houses. I was the only teacher (white teacher, which is what I’m talking about when I talk about the teachers… because the Yupik teachers were completely separate from the white teachers) in the village with a child in my home.

After four months of isolation from the Yupik community and the teacher community, I knew that I wouldn’t sign on for a second year. It was November when I realized that my dreams were just smoke dissipating before my very eyes. My dreams didn’t exist. I couldn’t make it here. I couldn’t survive in a remote, off the road system, Yupik village. If I couldn’t do that, then I surely couldn’t survive living off the grid, like my big dream had been. I couldn’t do it emotionally, and I couldn’t do it physically. After the unbelievably poor health care during two bouts with pneumonia, I knew I’d never put myself in that kind of jeopardy again. I had too much to live for to sacrifice it all for people who wouldn’t even speak to me, who didn’t even want me there. I had been wrong about it all. My dreams were unfounded. My goals were unrealistic. My hopes were dangling by a thread.

Shortly after sending Sarah back to Homer in February, I began to check the want-ads in the Homer News. I knew that if I waited until summer to look for a job, there would be none. Homer hunkers down and faithfully serves tourists from Memorial Day through Labor Day. The employment turnover and hiring happens in the spring. When I accepted the job as an Advertising Sales Representative for the Homer News, I knew my life was about to take an unexpected turn.

After I gave my notice to the principal and word slowly spread that I was leaving before the end of the school year, the silence was palpable.

Let me digress for a moment. When the students of Kwethluk are asked what the number one problem is in the school, an overwhelming majority will tell you that the worst problem is bullying. Bullying? I saw it more overtly among the children, mostly in how they bully animals. Unleashed dogs cower in the street when you approach them, afraid of being beaten. I saw the kids pick up sticks and throw them at dogs or hit dogs with them. I saw them taunt Nali when she was on her chain, teasing her with candy or lunging at her trying to make her scared. Nali has a strange scar on her coat that looks like it’s the result of a burn, perhaps a lighter burn. I always kept Nali close to me in the village, except when she was on the chain during the day, because I was afraid of what the children would do to her if she were left unattended.

As teenagers, these are unbelievably quiet kids from a silent culture that speaks with facial expressions. As a high school teacher in the village, I never saw pushing, shoving, name calling, none of that. Where was the bullying? The affected students would say, “It’s the way they look at me.” How do you punish that? How do you even identify that? Bullying is so serious that it leads teenagers to move from village to village in an effort to escape the offenders. In the most grave cases, it leads to suicide. These young adults feel isolated, shunned, even hated… all because of a look. It doesn’t just happen in the teen culture. They learn it from the adults.

After I gave my notice that I was leaving, the attitude of the entire village, school included, changed towards me. When I would walk into the school office, employees (all Yupik) would look at me like I was a traitor and then turn their back to me. No words were spoken. When I would meet a Yupik teacher walking down the hall, they would give me the traitor look and then look away without saying a word. It’s hard to explain, but it was all in the look. You’d know it if you saw it. It happened at the post office, the local Native store, everywhere. Where else in the world do they ostracize you as a traitor for leaving town to go back to where you came from? There was no pizza party to celebrate my new endeavor (like we do at the Homer News when someone leaves). There were no good wishes from anyone. There were only silence, looks, and turned shoulders. As if the previous seven months of isolation hadn’t been enough? The looks became so severe that I feared for my safety.

This was all compounded by the incident a few weeks earlier when I published a blog post that turned out to be incredibly controversial (it’s the one in February with a ton of comments). After that incident, I was warned by a student (via text), “Im concerned about ur blog bc the word went out to parents… I think u deserve to feel safe and comfortable here in kwt. Im concerned about what parents might do bc some don’t get your message as you intended bc I didn’t in the beginning & its something to b concerned about.”

When I told the student not to worry about it, they responded, “No…No! Its something to worry about.” And then, “I’m just doing what I feel best & trying to help you out. & if possible protect u. I don’t know how parents found out about your blog & idk if they’ll try to remove you. One thing I know, it was shown to me… and after that it was the ‘talk’ of the town. Im concerned, like im scared for you. Idk what actions are coming from community. Misunderstandings can go a loong way!”

I reported the threats to the principal and the district school psychologist. I was dismissed both times. Thankfully, I didn’t stay long enough to see if the threats would actually come to fruition.

I began barricading my doors at night and sleeping with a loaded .357 Magnum on my bedside table. Bullying. That’s really all it was. This place that I wanted so badly to call my home had become my nightmare. However, I had come to understand what my students meant when they talked about bullying being all about certain looks. No words needed.