Staying in Kahramanmaraş after the Earthquakes: Moral Meaning, Relational Anchors and Institutional Conditions in Primary-School Classroom Teachers’ Accounts 1st
Through reflexive thematic analysis of interviews with 12 primary-school teachers in Kahramanmaraş, this study reveals that staying to teach after the 2023 earthquakes is a morally charged, ambivalent practice anchored in relationships and professional duty, yet often hindered by limited institutional recognition and material support.
Original paper licensed under CC BY 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). This is an AI-generated explanation of the paper below. It is not written or endorsed by the authors. For technical accuracy, refer to the original paper. Read full disclaimer
Teaching is more than delivering lessons; it is a relationship built on trust, patience, and the daily emotional labor of caring for children. When a disaster strikes, this relationship faces a unique test. Teachers must continue their work while managing their own trauma, grief, and the shattered realities of their communities. In such moments, the decision to stay or leave is rarely simple. It is shaped by a mix of personal duty, deep connections to students, and the practical conditions of the job. Researchers have long known that teachers leave schools when they feel unsupported or burned out, but they have paid less attention to those who choose to remain in the most difficult places. Understanding why teachers stay after a catastrophe offers a window into how human beings find meaning when everything around them has collapsed, and what kind of support is actually needed to keep them there.
In the wake of the devastating earthquakes that struck Kahramanmaraş, Türkiye, on February 6, 2023, a group of primary school teachers faced a choice that would define their professional and personal lives. The tremors destroyed homes, displaced families, and left more than five million students across eleven provinces without a stable education. The government offered teachers a way out: they could transfer to safer regions, and many did. Yet, twelve classroom teachers chose to remain in the affected province, continuing to teach in schools that were often damaged, in a city still reeling from loss. A team of researchers, including one who is a teacher in the same region, sat down with these twelve individuals to ask a simple but profound question: What does it mean to stay? They wanted to understand not just the logistics of their decision, but the moral weight they carried, the relationships that held them in place, and the conditions that made their choice bearable or unbearable.
The researchers found that staying was not a single, steady act of bravery, but a complex and often contradictory experience. For these teachers, remaining was a morally charged undertaking, a mix of deep loyalty to their hometown and a sense of duty to their students, tangled up with fear, grief, and the sheer necessity of keeping life moving forward. One teacher described it as a debt of loyalty to the place where she was born, feeling she could not abandon her pupils. Another spoke of the guilt of having left her family for safety, only to return because the suffering of others called her back. This decision was not just about personal preference; it was a heavy responsibility they felt they could not set down. At the same time, the emotional cost was real. They spoke of the terror of the initial aftershocks and the sorrow of shared loss, carrying these feelings while trying to be a steady presence for children who had lost everything.
What kept them anchored, the study suggests, was a powerful web of relationships. The most consistent force was their connection to the children. Teachers described a love for their students that went beyond instruction; they became protectors, parents, and listeners. One teacher noted that seeing her own children in the faces of her students made it impossible to betray them. This relationship was reciprocal; as the teachers cared for the children, they found that witnessing the students' recovery gave them strength in return. Faith also played a significant role, serving as a source of inner resilience for some, while others were driven by a deep love for the profession itself or a conscientious desire to do their job well despite the odds. Even the practical reasons, like earning a salary or receiving respect from the community, were woven into this tapestry of moral and emotional commitment.
However, the teachers' accounts revealed a sharp tension between their inner commitment and the outer world they worked in. While they found strength in their relationships, they often felt let down by the institutions meant to support them. They described a landscape of broken promises and shifting policies, where rules changed frequently and infrastructure remained inadequate. Roads were poor, schools were damaged, and the physical environment was often hostile. More painfully, they felt a lack of professional recognition. They spoke of being treated as if they were disposable, with their complaints dismissed and their standing as professionals eroded. They asked for basic things: fair compensation, housing support, and a system that protected them from unfounded accusations. They wanted to be seen as human beings and professionals, not just as resources to be used until they broke.
The study suggests that these teachers were providing a "moral subsidy" to the system. This means they were using their own deep sense of duty and love to cover costs that the institution should have been paying. They stayed because they cared, even when the system did not fully care for them in return. They were willing to endure hardship because they believed in their mission, but this willingness came with a price. The researchers noted that while the teachers received some support, such as understanding principals and moments of community kindness, the broader institutional response felt insufficient. They asked for more than just psychological counseling; they wanted structural changes, better infrastructure, and a restoration of their professional dignity.
Ultimately, the story of these teachers is not one of simple resilience, but of a difficult, ambivalent choice sustained by love and duty. They stayed because they could not leave the children, because of their faith, and because of a deep sense of belonging. Yet, their staying was not a sign that everything was fine. It was a testament to their commitment, but also a critique of a system that relied on that commitment without always providing the necessary support. The researchers conclude that to truly help teachers in disaster zones, we must look beyond just asking them to be strong. We must provide the material conditions, the respect, and the shared spaces for healing that allow them to continue their work without being consumed by it. Their decision to stay was a gift, but it was one that required a partnership they felt was often missing.
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