Teaching in Crisis – Why Structure Matters More Than Ever

Johan du Toit
Aug 26
3 min read

A Classroom in Wartime

I have taught in classrooms across the world—from open-air shelters on the Zambian plains near Kitwe to modern schools in Kyiv where silence is pierced not by bells but by air raid alerts. I’ve paused mid-lesson to guide students to shelter, reshuffled the school day around sirens, and spoken calmly while the sound of explosions reverberated at the city’s edge.

In these moments, structure becomes more than academic planning—it becomes a form of psychological refuge. It grounds both teacher and student in a shared rhythm, offering stability in a world disrupted by fear and uncertainty.

What keeps learning alive during war, displacement, or disaster?

Structure. Rhythm. Purpose.

The JVDT methodology, forged over years and refined under pressure, has not only withstood crisis—it has proven that a well-grounded framework can be a stabilizing force for students and teachers alike.

1. Structure as a Safety Net

In times of trauma, unpredictability becomes the norm. A clear lesson structure helps students feel safe:

They know what to expect.
They know where they are in the learning journey.
They begin to trust again—first in the classroom, then in themselves.

The Train Journey Metaphor becomes more than pedagogy—it becomes a lifeline. Each station (Information → Integration → Comprehension → Application) offers a rhythm of thinking and reflection. When the world outside feels disordered, this inner rhythm becomes a form of resilience.

2. The Four Keys as Anchors of Clarity

In chaotic settings, students often ask: “Why are we doing this?” or “Does this matter?” The Four Keys to Understanding—Association, Analysis, Root, and Context—give immediate relevance to every lesson:

Association brings personal connection.
Analysis turns confusion into questions.
Root cuts through noise to core meaning.
Context places learning into the world students are navigating.

These keys guide students to reclaim agency over their own thinking—even when the larger context feels out of their control.

3. The Classroom as a Place of Emotional Regulation

A war-zone school is more than a site for knowledge—it’s a sanctuary for emotional regulation and community healing. In classrooms that reflect JVDT learning:

Students journal their reactions before engaging in discussion.
Teachers use scaffolding to help students name, process, and reframe difficult ideas.
Emotional Intelligence is not a “soft” skill—it’s the engine of survival and connection.

4. When Teachers Become Anchors

During crisis, the teacher’s role becomes amplified. You are:

A conductor on the train of learning.
A constant presence when everything else shifts.
A meaning-maker, helping students interpret the world without fear or collapse.

Using the JVDT methodology, you’re not improvising your way through disaster. You’re offering something solid—a shared language, shared symbols, and a shared path forward.

5. Field of Application – When Learning Becomes a Lifeline

In normal conditions, the Field of Application is where students try out their skills in the real world. In crisis, it’s where they rebuild identity, hope, and agency:

A discussion about justice becomes a form of civic empowerment.
A reflection essay becomes a processing tool for grief or displacement.
A vocabulary list becomes a bridge for connecting with new communities in exile.

You’re not just teaching English. You’re helping them reconstruct meaning.

6. Tested Under Fire: Why the Methodology Holds

Why does the JVDT approach work in extreme conditions?

Because it was never based on ideal circumstances.

From the beginning, it was built for real classrooms, with real students, facing real obstacles—whether linguistic, psychological, or social. Crisis has simply magnified the need for:

Pedagogical clarity
Emotional intelligence
Learner-centered strategies
Metaphors that move from the abstract to the meaningful

Closing Reflection: Structure as Hope

Teaching during war has taught me that hope is not sentimental. It is structured. It is scaffolded. It is practiced—lesson by lesson, question by question, student by student.

In every classroom that uses the JVDT methodology —whether in Kyiv, Cape Town, or Kitwe—the structure itself becomes an act of resistance. Not resistance against an army, but against despair, fragmentation, and the fear that learning might no longer matter.

Learning still matters. And it thrives when teachers hold the line.