InkSights: When the heat index cancels class

These days, the heat index seems to have acquired another job: deciding whether there will be classes. Once the numbers climb, phones come out. May klase pa ba? Students wait for the announcement. Teachers wonder whether today’s lesson will become tomorrow’s. Parents start thinking about who will stay with the younger children. Then the notice comes: classes suspended. I can imagine the occasional Yehey! I probably would have said the same thing as a student. But after the small celebration comes a less exciting question: What happens to the class that did not happen?

I kept thinking about that during our recent seven-hour InkSights Unscripted masterclass with young editorial writers from around Western Visayas. Their topic was straightforward: “Classes keep getting suspended because of extreme heat.” At first glance, there did not seem to be much to argue about. If the heat becomes dangerous, suspend classes. Safety first. But some of the pieces did not stop there. They began asking what happens afterward, and why schools keep finding themselves in the same situation whenever the heat index rises.

There was plenty to like in what they wrote. Dyanne Ellize Arguelles of Antique gave us The Temperature of Educational Neglect. Irrah Romelle Gicole of Iloilo wrote Too Hot to Learn. Khayecel Mae Olmedo of Capiz had Classrooms Under the Sun. Alexis Benedict Suerte of Iloilo came up with Safer Education, not Zero Learning, while Zyrelle Anne Mayuga of Capiz wrote Kinabukasang Pinapaso. Many others wrestled with the issue in their own ways. Some found their argument quickly. Some took the scenic route. That happens. I have been writing for years and still occasionally discover halfway through a draft that the better idea was hiding somewhere else.

Most writers understood that education should not be an endurance test. PAGASA warns that dangerous heat can cause cramps, exhaustion, and even heat stroke. A student staring longingly at the electric fan is probably not thinking much about the lesson. Neither is the sweating teacher. Still, there is always that line: “Noong panahon namin…” True. Many of us did. We also survived classrooms without many things students have today. That does not necessarily mean we should make endurance the standard.

Still, suspension comes with a cost. Tuesday’s lesson does not disappear simply because Tuesday’s classes did. It moves somewhere. A quiz gets postponed. A discussion gets shortened. Teachers adjust. Students catch up. Sometimes they do not. After enough suspensions, the school calendar begins to look like something with too many erasures. DepEd provides for alternative ways of continuing learning when face-to-face classes cannot proceed. That is sensible. It is also where things become complicated.

“Shift online” sounds easy when said quickly. It sounds different when a family has one phone, several children, limited data, or a signal that seems to have its own mood swings. And going home does not always mean escaping the heat. Some homes are hotter than classrooms. A student may simply exchange one uncomfortable chair for another. I was glad several young writers noticed this. It is easy to propose a solution. The better question is whether that solution still works once it leaves the page and enters somebody’s house.

The same goes for the usual fixes. Air-condition classrooms? Who would complain? Then come the electricity bill, maintenance, the number of rooms involved, and schools where power itself is unreliable. Plant trees? Please do. Yes, plant more trees. But the little tree planted today will not rescue the students sweating through next week’s 1 p.m. class. Students need help in the meantime—water, shade, airflow, sensible schedules, heat monitoring, and learning options that make sense on dangerously hot days. It will take more than one fix.

We also need to be careful with our facts. Heat index is not simply temperature, and not every blazing afternoon is El Niño’s doing. Climate change, drought, extreme heat, and El Niño may cross paths, but they are not the same story. Numbers need watching, too. Some looked impressive until we asked where they came from. I understand why young writers like statistics. Adults do, too. A percentage gives a sentence a nice serious-looking necktie. Unfortunately, a doubtful number remains doubtful even when dressed for the occasion. And, as I have been saying many times, “according to Google” is not yet a source.

One word kept returning in the pieces: resilience. We Filipinos know that word well. We see students carrying water bottles and handheld fans. Teachers move closer to windows. Curtains are adjusted. Somebody finds a piece of cardboard and, suddenly, there is one more fan in the room. There is something endearing about our ability to make do. But I am no longer sure we should always be proud of having to. If people must keep becoming resilient against the same problem, it may be worth asking why the problem is still asking so much of them.

Perhaps that is one thing these young writers can bring with them to the DSPC, RSPC, and, for those who get there, the NSPC. An editorial does not need to shout to have a stand. A writer can agree that classes sometimes need to be suspended and still wonder why suspension keeps becoming necessary. Online learning can help and still leave some children behind. Students can be resilient and still deserve classrooms that demand less resilience from them. The difficult part of editorial writing is often learning to live with those complications long enough to find the argument inside them.

After seven hours together, I had plenty of comments for the young writers. I also came home with reminders for myself. That seems fair. We began with the heat index and the question everybody waits for on particularly hot days: May klase ba? Somewhere along the way, another question became more interesting. When the next suspension notice arrives, what will be different from the last time?

Eventually, the heat index drops. The phones go quiet. Students return, teachers reopen their lesson plans, and the classroom fills again. Then another very hot day comes. If the same heat keeps sending everyone home from the same rooms, perhaps we have been watching the heat index too closely. There is another measure worth watching: whether the schools they return to are any more ready than they were before.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.