蜜桃影视

When the pandemic shut down Adam Bessie鈥檚 classroom in March 2020, the longtime California community college instructor was teaching a unit titled, appropriately enough, 鈥淭he End of the World as We Know it: The Literature of the Apocalypse.鈥�

Better yet, his students were discussing 鈥�,鈥� a 1909 E.M. Forster story in which future humans live in isolation, even from family members, forever in fear of toxic air and human contact. The characters see each other only through screens.

Forster鈥檚 story frames the narrative of , the debut graphic memoir by Bessie, along with the artist Peter Glanting, which offers a surreal, often grim take on the pandemic and its effects on both Bessie and his students. The book also bemoans the 鈥渄iaspora鈥� that the pandemic brought forth, concluding that while it didn鈥檛 create 鈥渋nequality, standardization and corporatization鈥� in public education, it made them more 鈥減ainfully visible鈥� than ever.

So far the book is garnering lavish praise: Publishers Weekly gave it a , calling it 鈥減oignant鈥� and one of the chapters. It also named it one of graphic novels and adult comics. 

Bessie entered the Spring 2020 semester in the middle of a personal crisis, returning to campus as he recovered from chemotherapy after surgery to remove a brain tumor. He had long enjoyed the infectious energy and 鈥渆lectrical current鈥� that flows through a good classroom, invoking educator 鈥� observation that students are 鈥渢he power in the room.鈥�

So he naturally mourned the loss of face-to-face instruction and dreaded the flattening that took place on Zoom. Once distinctive, quirky individuals, his students quickly became 鈥渋dentical in size, dimension, proportion, equal tiles in a perfect grid.鈥� They often showed up with cameras and microphones turned off, 鈥渂lack boxes on mute.鈥�

That sudden absence gave Bessie the opportunity to step back and see the transformation taking place not just in his classroom but in his life, as he continued cancer treatments. He began to see himself as an experimental subject whose day job was guiding his own students through another kind of experiment, as his college broadened its pre-pandemic reliance on technologies like Zoom, Canvas and Google. While these tools tethered the community together during the crisis, he writes, they also came with their own strict demands: access to a computer, stable wifi and a quiet study space, all parameters 鈥渟et by the software requirements,鈥� not educators. These demands soon overwhelmed many students, some of whom never returned. 

In an interview, the longtime English instructor said giving in to these demands could threaten community colleges鈥� open access mission, squeezing out the neediest students 鈥� the very students they鈥檙e designed to uplift. In a way, he said, the book is an exploration of this question: 鈥淭o what degree are we ceding public control of the Commons to corporations?鈥�

The narrative in Going Remote, Bessie said, 鈥渨as immediately a comic. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to express this story in a graphic form.鈥� As soon as the pandemic began, he found himself 鈥渨riting and drawing to myself about this, because I said, 鈥楾here is going to be something new after this.鈥� 鈥� I had this feeling like, 鈥楾his is going to be a major shift.鈥欌�� 

He鈥檇 always been drawn to comics, largely for their ability to translate abstract, complex concepts into visual form 鈥� early on, Glanting, the artist, illustrates Bessie鈥檚 lingering brain cancer as a pint-sized, white-eyed blob, leaning against a stack of books on a shelf in Bessie鈥檚 office. 

Bessie also drew inspiration from the graphic adaptation of University of Illinois scholar William Ayers鈥� memoir.

Like Ayers, Bessie writes from a distinctly leftist perspective, making the case that community colleges from the beginning were both profoundly democratic and 鈥渟teeped with the virus of classist and racist contempt鈥� for their students, part stepping stool and part gate-keeper.

Community colleges play a big role in Bessie鈥檚 own family history: His father, a penniless Korean War veteran who suffered a 鈥減rofound hearing loss,鈥� enrolled in a California community college and found educators who believed in his potential, despite his disability. He eventually found his way to the University of Southern California, training to become a physical therapist and going on to a successful career.

鈥淲hen I come into the classroom, I still have that feeling: Each one of these students is somebody that could have been my own father, is somebody that society didn’t think would be educated,鈥� he said.

Yet he also warns that there鈥檚 a dark side to community colleges鈥� legacy. Founded more than a century ago, the system began with an intentional design, he said, that, just as often as it uplifted marginalized students like Bessie鈥檚 father, excluded others from the mainstream of elite higher education. 

So in the winter of 2020, when his students 鈥� starting with his 鈥渕ost marginalized鈥� and ending with his best, most outgoing students 鈥� began disappearing altogether from Zoom, Bessie was, in a way, not surprised. Whether beset by technical problems, work and family obligations, or something else altogether, he concluded that they were really the victims of a kind of longstanding neglect that systematically deprives them of opportunities.

Even now, three years after the first lockdowns, with students slowly returning to campus (Bessie never reveals the name of his Bay Area institution, Diablo Valley College), he said he and his colleagues must take on more responsibilities, becoming 鈥渇rontline emotional workers鈥� to students in crisis: Since late 2020, he has served on his campus CARE (Campus Assessment, Response, and Evaluation) team, which works with students experiencing homelessness, mental health issues, family crises, and even spousal abuse. Since the pandemic, he said, CARE reports 鈥渉ave gone through the roof.鈥�

He sees this as a key function of institutions like Diablo Valley.

鈥淲hen I’m looking at the future of community college, to me, I want us to put as much energy in these systems of care as we do in these systems of technology. 鈥� All of us were trained in how to use online technology. But none of us were trained in what to do when a student says, 鈥業 attempted suicide.鈥欌��

Now back in the classroom roughly half-time 鈥� Bessie is teaching two fully in-person classes and two hybrid classes 鈥� he feels 鈥渕ore optimistic than I did in finishing the book.鈥� Classes, he said, have 鈥渁mazing energy,鈥� with engaging conversations about readings that resemble those he and his students enjoyed pre-pandemic.

And he鈥檚 doing his best to remain open-minded about technology. The series of remote semesters, he said, actually forced him to consider not just how students can shine in an online classroom, but also the limitations of face-to-face teaching. When he鈥檚 teaching online, for instance, students who didn鈥檛 hear something the first time 鈥� he鈥檚 a very fast talker, he鈥檒l admit 鈥� can go back and rewatch the lesson.

Excerpt from Going Remote: A Teacher鈥檚 Journey, published by Seven Stories Press

But he still has concerns. Enrollment, for one thing, has dropped 鈥減recipitously鈥� since the pandemic, forcing the college to reduce offerings. Ironically, even though Zoom proved to be difficult for many students, a fair share are now clamoring for remote, fully asynchronous classes. He worries that, given the hybrid schedule, many new students will never get 鈥渢hat campus experience 鈥� of being pulled into community.鈥� Between lower enrollment and online coursework, he estimated, the college seems about one-fourth as populated as in 2019. 

In the end, though, it鈥檚 鈥渕ore vibrant than when I finished the book,鈥� he said. A few days ago, for the first time in months, he smelled the aroma of someone vaping tobacco outside his office building. And then he heard someone else playing music a bit too loud. 鈥淎nd I was just like, ‘Yes, we’re back!’鈥�

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