In schools with a history of chaos, the teacher who can keep the

Hear the sober words of Jonathan Kozol, champion of the voiceless and chronicler of forgotten classrooms: “In schools with a history of chaos, the teacher who can keep the classroom calm becomes virtually indispensable.” In this single sentence, he draws back the veil on a truth often hidden: that in places where turmoil and disorder reign, the one who can steady the storm is more precious than gold. For knowledge cannot take root in the midst of confusion, and the fragile seed of learning withers when planted in the soil of unrest.

The meaning of his words lies in the recognition that the teacher is not merely a conveyor of information, but a keeper of order, a shepherd of peace. In places where there is structure, where resources abound, calm may be taken for granted. But in schools scarred by poverty, violence, or neglect—where chaos is the daily inheritance of children—the one who can create an island of safety is nothing less than a savior. Without calm, the mind cannot open. Without peace, the heart cannot trust. Without trust, there is no learning.

Consider the story of Jaime Escalante, the Bolivian teacher who transformed a troubled school in East Los Angeles. Surrounded by gangs, low expectations, and the chaos of a neglected system, he entered classrooms dismissed as hopeless. Yet by sheer will, patience, and unyielding belief, he created calm where there had been disorder, purpose where there had been despair. His students, once written off, rose to pass advanced mathematics exams. Escalante’s gift was not only knowledge—it was the creation of stability in a world that had denied them order. He became, in Kozol’s words, indispensable.

History shows us this again and again. In times of collapse or confusion, societies have always turned to those who could steady the people, who could quiet the noise so truth might be heard. The teacher in the classroom is akin to the leader in the council or the general in the field: not the loudest voice, not the harshest hand, but the one who brings stillness, clarity, and discipline to chaos. Such a figure becomes irreplaceable, for without them, all else falls into ruin.

The sorrow of Kozol’s reflection is that such teachers are too few, and their burden too great. In many schools, chaos is not an accident but the product of injustice—of inequality, neglect, and systemic failure. To demand calm from teachers without addressing these roots is to demand heroism daily without offering support. Yet still, these rare souls rise, holding classrooms together by the strength of their spirit. It is right, then, that they are called indispensable, for they bear the weight not only of teaching but of healing.

The lesson for us is clear: do not undervalue the power of calm. Whether in a school, a household, or a nation, the one who can hold peace amid storms is of immeasurable worth. Knowledge, creativity, and achievement all spring from order, not chaos. If you would build a better world, begin by learning how to calm the space around you. Only then can the seeds of greatness take root.

Practical wisdom follows: honor the teachers who steady the storm. Support them with gratitude, resources, and respect, for their work is the foundation upon which learning rests. And in your own life, seek to cultivate the gift of calm—not as passivity, but as strength. Learn to quiet the chaos of your own heart, so that you may bring order to the hearts of others.

Remember always: in places of chaos, the presence of calm is not a luxury—it is salvation. The teacher who creates it becomes more than an instructor; they become a guardian of the future, a flame that keeps darkness at bay. Jonathan Kozol’s words remind us that such figures are rare, and when they arise, they must be cherished, for they are truly indispensable.