The Smiling Lie and the Failing Truth: Teaching in Two Americas

The Smiling Lie and the Failing Truth: Teaching in Two Americas

By Clauthia R. Fields

This morning, my husband and I had one of those familiar early-morning conversations that happen when two educators live under the same roof. He looked up from his coffee, weary-eyed and heavy-hearted, and asked a question I think every honest teacher has whispered to themselves at some point:

"Am I even doing any good?"

He teaches in an urban school with primarily under-resourced students. The challenges are immense: students carrying generational trauma, systemic neglect, and the weight of low expectations. They arrive every day dressed in confidence—nice shoes, phones, trendy fashion—but so many of them are barely holding on academically. Some struggle to believe they can succeed because they’ve never seen what success looks like in their world.

I teach in a very different setting—students with access to resources, strong support networks, and high-performing transcripts. But beneath the polished surfaces, there's a quiet compromise: a pressure to perform rather than learn. Students smile, comply, and in some cases, cheat their way through assessments. They are affirmed constantly, told they’re doing great—even when they’re not. Accountability is optional. Appearance is everything.

What my husband and I realized in that quiet moment is that we are on opposite ends of the same failing system.

One group of students is labeled "bad" before they enter the building. The other is deemed "good" regardless of behavior or effort. Neither is being told the full truth. And in that disconnect, both are being cheated.

My husband and I come from different backgrounds. He grew up in a neighborhood where the world often told him to expect less of himself. Where survival was a daily goal and hope had to be actively fought for. I grew up in a more middle-class environment, where perfection was praised and pain was hidden behind well-kept appearances.

Now, we both teach with love. We both teach with passion. And we both teach in systems that aren’t built for the kind of wholeness we hope to offer.

This isn’t a critique of any specific school or leader. We’ve worked with administrators who care deeply, who are doing the best they can in systems that are stretched and strained. But this is a reflection of something deeper—a cultural fracture. A societal imbalance that shows up in our classrooms every single day.

Some students are shielded from failure. Others are steeped in it. Some are given every chance. Others are asked to overcome obstacles just to be seen.

And all of this makes the job of a teacher feel impossibly complex.

But I still believe in teaching. Deeply. Passionately. Spiritually. I believe that Jesus was the ultimate teacher—not just because He gave information, but because He embodied truth. He loved radically. He corrected compassionately. He led with both mercy and justice.

I don’t think our job is to fix the whole system. But I do believe our calling is to show up with integrity. To speak truth. To teach anyway. To build bridges where we can—and sometimes, to flip the table when the bridge has been broken for too long.

If you're a teacher reading this and you're tired, you're not alone. If you're frustrated, you're paying attention. And if you're still showing up with your heart intact, you're still called.

This is our ministry. This is our mission. And maybe, just maybe, it’s also the beginning of something new.

The views expressed in this piece reflect personal reflections drawn from years in the classroom. They are not intended as criticism of any specific school, individual, or district. As a nonprofit leader and educator, I remain committed to bipartisan, compassionate truth-telling and equity for all students, regardless of background or setting.