I will spare the rod.

This morning, eleven students lined up and offered the palms of both their hands as punishment for being late to the flag ceremony. Those twenty-two palms were consecutively whacked with a stick our math teacher found in the schoolyard.

Officially, corporal punishment in schools in against the law. Unofficially, it’s the form of discipline that my colleagues were all subjected to when they were students and it’s the one with which they are most familiar.

It is not uncommon for me to see teachers wielding a stick while the students sweep and pull weeds in front of the school. It is not uncommon for students to insist that it is necessary that I hit another student to stop him or her from causing trouble. I once had a slight slapping match between a student and teacher escalate to a fistfight in class.

I refuse to hit my students. Not only is it contrary to the regulations of my teaching program, but also my beliefs as someone who witnessed her share of spanking and hitting as a child.

When violence is used as a deterrent, it does not breed a relationship of respect. It breeds a relationship of dread. When I raise my hand to tuck my hair behind my ear and the student nearest to me visibly flinches, it a sign that the current system of discipline is not working.

It may be the American student in me, the student who looked at her teachers as someone who not only had the capacity to impact her for one year or one semester, but for a lifetime, that has led me to believe this, but if there is one thing that I want for my students here, it is for them to never fear me.