"There are only two rules," I say. "Take off your shoes when
you come in, and stop talking." The students simultaneously roll their
eyeballs and unroll their mats.
"There has to be respect in this class, and it needs to be mutual. Basically
if you guys are cool with me, then I'll be cool with you." This is my typical
opening line; I figure that if I can meet the kids first on their level, in
their language, then I at least stand half a chance at developing a relationship
with them. I teach yoga to youth at risk in Montréal's outreach high
schools, last-chance schools for marginalized students facing serious obstacles.
The kids range from thirteen to eighteen years old, and are in very challenging
social, economic and emotional circumstances. It is for this reason that they
are coined "at risk" - at risk of dropping out of school, of further
plummeting into negative predicaments.
After a few rounds of chanting Om, the initial tidal wave of skepticism
morphs into a sea of stillness and I begin to see fists unfurling, shoulders
softening and jaws unclenching. I ask the kids to stand in Tadasana
and encourage them to feel connected to their mountain, via their breath and
strength. Later we go around in a circle, doing self-introductions. In this
group of eight students, one has lived in foster care for nine years, another
just got out of rehab, and four have been kicked out of at least two other schools.
They are the toughest group I have.
A Hatha-Vinyasa class is hardly a physical and mental battle, but for these
students, accessing their bodies and minds may very well be. I have been working
with the metaphor of soft armour in my classes with them, a soft and self-created
protection and exploration mechanism, able to initiate change on all levels.
Most of the students carry around full artillery under their clothes, protection
from the hurt buried deep inside. On some days, this hardness seems like one-way
glass windows, hollowed-out shells of young bodies.
***
I'm now twenty-seven, but I can relate to how my students feel. I started taking
yoga at fifteen, and my first classes were both exhilarating and frightening.
In retrospect, I see how crucial those classes were in helping me to develop
a healthy relationship with my mind and body. I came to this work because of
my own experiences, and the fact that pressures on youth are not letting up.
Broken homes, suicide attempts, constant knocks to their self-esteem, plus overwhelming
social, familial and academic pressure make them easy prey to drugs, alcohol
and violence as vices to release their stress.
The urgent need for this work was clear from the outset. When I contacted some
Montréal high schools about the possibility of including yoga classes
in their curriculum, most schools responded with the same combination of enthusiasm
and "anything that will work" desperation. "Hi. My name is Jacky.
I have created a yoga program for youth," I would begin, only to be sharply
cut off. "Yeah, okay," the school official would typically respond.
"So when can you start?"
