You’re right. I don’t know you.

This is a cross-post from Equality 101.

You know those days when everything just lines up perfectly and all your synapses start firing and things just connect? Yesterday was one of those days. It started with Adam’s thought-provoking post from yesterday and a conversation that keeps reoccurring with my students, continued during my grad class last night, and a conversation with Tim afterwards.

When I ask my students what they want to see from a teacher – and I do this often, whether because I sense the need that they need to talk, or because it fits in with a lesson we’re doing, or because they volunteer the information – they always start by saying that good teachers understand them.

I might be bold in including myself in the “good teacher” category, but I must ask a pressing question: Do we, as good teachers, really understand our students? I mean really understand them.

Most teachers were students that could stand – maybe even enjoyed – going to school. If we didn’t, there’s no way we would have moved on to get the college education required for a teaching certificate. We are the ones who could afford that college education in the first place, and if we couldn’t afford it, we had the means and resources to take out loans. We are the ones that want to instill our passion for learning into our students. We are the ones who had a passion for learning instilled in us in the first place.

Let’s face it: we are probably much more privileged than most of our students. I, for one, grew up in an entirely different situation than most of the students in my classes. Growing up, I experienced all sorts of privilege: white privilege, thin privilege, socioeconomic privilege… heck, I even had both parents living with me through high school. The list can go on and on, but just by growing up in a different place during a different generation in a different situation, I experienced life in an entirely different way than my students. So when they come in wanting to talk about their problems and issues and lives, the truth is that I can’t even come close to understanding.

I can sympathize, but I don’t think they want my pity. I can listen, which might be all they need, but they might need more. I can care, which I do – probably more than they know. But, honestly, I can’t understand.

I’m not saying that Adam’s student’s disposition after the incident excuses him from talking back to a teacher unnecessarily; we still need to hold our students to the highest expectations regarding academics and behavior. But I am saying that we could go a long way to acknowledge the fact that most of us truly don’t know our students, although we do our best to try to reach them, inspire them, educate them, and care about them.

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11
Mar
2010

The Rhetoric of Hate

This is part of a series of posts about rhetoric and feminism.  I’ll be writing these responses every week as part of my graduate class about Topics in Rhetoric this semester, and I welcome any and all responses!

This week, a particular passage about passions from Hugh Blair’s Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres really struck my interest.  Excerpts of this passage are as follows:

We should observe in what manner any one expresses himself, who is under the power of a real and a strong passion; and we shall always find his language unaffected and simple. It may be animated, indeed, with bold and strong figures, but it will have no ornament or finery. He is not at leisure to follow out the play of imagination. His mind being wholly seized by one object which has heated it, he has no other aim, but to represent that, in all its circumstances, as strongly as he feels it… Beware even of reasoning unseasonably; or, at least, of carrying on a long and subtile train of reasoning, on occasions when the principal aim is to excite warm emotions….Warm emotions are too violent to be lasting. (The entire chapter can be found here.)

In my experience as an activist and blogger, this idea can be applied to any number of passionate speakers using their passions to do wrong.  However, this week, I’d like to use this passage to discuss Reverend Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas.

Like many preachers, Fred Phelps is an incredibly passionate speaker.  The delivery of his speeches is, in some ways, memorizing. (In my opinion, this is more equated to not being able to take your eyes off of a car accident as you pass by it, but that’s neither here nor there.)  However, I feel if Blair were to see him speak, he would consider Phelps a passionate orator, and one to watch out for.  From what I understand, Phelps’ entire premise for his protests is that God condemns gay people to hell, and punishes not only people who are gay, but also people who are allies to the LGBT community.  Under his reasoning, 9/11, the school shooting at NIU, the violent murder of Matthew Sheppard, etc. all happened because of the gay people in the United States.

If you watch Phelps speak, you see his language is, as Blair states, “unaffected and simple.” (A good example of this is in a documentary titled Fall from Grace in which we see Phelps, his supports, and several other philosophers, evangelicals, etc. who disagree with his perspectives, which you can view here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5xHfDMGtD0 – Please know that there may be some offensive or triggering images and speeches here; this is simply posted as an example for this response.)  It is clear, even just watching him for a few seconds, that his mind is completely wrapped around the issue of gay people in our country.  His arguments are, therefore, singular and unimaginative.   He is certainly “not at leisure to follow out the play of imagination,” as Blair put it.

Blair ends this passage with a caution: “Warm emotions are too violent to be lasting,” but, unfortunately, Phelps has a relatively large following who seemingly devote their lives to protesting funerals, events, etc. that have anything to do with gay people or gay rights.  Why is this happening if we know that extremists such as this rarely prosper in the end?  If we have been formally warned since the 19th century not to engage in this sort of rhetoric and those who do are not to be believed?

The only answer I can think of is that, for those who do not think critically about the arguments presented by Phelps, the logic works.  The passages he quotes are, in fact, in the Bible and, if you believe the Bible is the word of God, there is very little to argue with here.  However, if you dig a little deeper, or “follow out the play of imagination,” you will find what the other theorists in the video are discussing: These passages also state things like clothes made of certain fabrics should not be worn, and grain harvested from a farm with more than one type of seed should not be eaten, etc.  Contemporary religious figures like Phelps do not see the need to adhere to these rules, but do see the need to follow the rules regarding sexuality and preach that message passionately.

I believe the idea of a person speaking with much passion being a person without much rhetorical skill closely resembles Quintilian’s idea that a rhetorician must be a good man.  In this case, I would agree with Quintilian as well as Blair: to really use rhetoric, one must be using his or her oratorical powers for good.  I would not consider Fred Phelps a skilled rhetorician, no matter how many followers he manages to procure through his impassioned speeches.

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23
Feb
2010

Valentine’s Day and The Laramie Project

The Laramie Project

Image via Wikipedia

I have written before about The Laramie Project.  Please take a few seconds to read that post – especially the comments – before reading this one.

This Valentine’s Day, I was fortunate enough to see a former student in a production of The Laramie Project.  It was, quite honestly, one of the most wonderful moments of my life.  As a teacher, you always know that you’re doing important and meaningful things, but it is not often that you get to see just how important and meaningful these events really were.

I was accompanied to this show by Tim, who had never seen the play even after as much as I talked about it, and another former student, Mike, who was also cast in our production of the play before it was canceled.  We were able to have a late lunch with Mike and Collin (the student who was in this production of the play) and we reminisced a bit about the show and about what it meant to them to hear that it was canceled.  I knew it upset them, but I don’t know if I ever knew the extent to which it upset them.  And I don’t think I let on to them how much it upset me.

When the show was canceled, that night and for about three days afterward, I had to sleep on my couch with the TV on so I would have something to concentrate on besides the thoughts running through my head.  I was so sad and felt so helpless.  Here I was, trying to make a difference in these students’ lives, and instead I had just opened them up to the heartbreak and rejection they must have felt.  I felt responsible for it, because I was the one that brought up the idea of this production, knowing full well it may be canceled at any time.

And the worst part about it?  I did nothing.  I didn’t fight the decision.  I tried to tell myself that I couldn’t fight it for a few reasons: 1) I promised those kids a play, and they had seen enough productions canceled during their high school years for one reason or another, so I had an obligation to put on the show.  I asked the students if they wanted to drop out after it was canceled, and none of them did, so we found a new play and moved forward.  2) Quite frankly, I needed the stipend I received for the drama program.  3) I knew I was leaving the school at the end of that year (although the kids did not know that until much later) and, as a second year, non-tenured teacher looking for a new job, I didn’t want to burn any bridges by causing a big stink about it.  But I feel guilty about that a lot.  Here I am, touting myself as an activist, and what did I do?  Nothing.  I pushed forward and did the best I could with my time left at the school, but said nothing about the show until much later.

It didn’t even make any sense that they canceled the play in the first place, and I could have fought it, and fought it well.  The play isn’t really about a gay man; that is simply the backdrop for the event of the murder.  Even Matthew Shepard’s murder is just a backdrop for the townspeople’s feelings.  To quote Mike from yesterday: “The play isn’t even about being gay!  It is about how it’s not OK to beat the [crap] out of someone and leave them alone to die.”  And it really is about that.  About how it’s not OK to hate, and how hate this severe is often ignored until it manifests itself in a violent way like this, and what that hate and its violent manifestation can do to an entire town, an entire nation.  An entire world.  The backdrop to this play could have just as easily been any violent tragedy spurred on by hate.

And, most importantly, the play ends with hope – something on which we must focus if we are going to see any changes made.  Just before the end of the play, Dennis Shepard gives a statement at the trial of Aaron McKinney, saying he will not seek the death penalty in this case, and describing to the audience that Matthew was not alone out there.  He had the beautiful Wyoming countryside and the stars and the moon and the beautiful night sky and the wind and God.

In the face of this terrible tragedy, we see hope.  And, as I saw Collin deliver the last lines of this play, I thought: Maybe in the face of what must have been a tragedy for these students is hope, too.  Maybe they will see changes in their lifetime, and maybe they will be agents of those changes because of their experiences.  And maybe this time, I can help them.

I certainly hope so.

From the program

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16
Feb
2010

Why I Am the Way I Am

Why do I care so much about human rights?

Because of my mother, of course.

I mean this quite literally.  The first time I remember hearing anything about civil rights that really made me think, and one of the defining moments in my upbringing, was when my brother and I were sitting on the couch, watching the Rosie O’Donnell Show and giggling at the news that Rosie O’Donnell had just come out as a lesbian.  My mom came down and sat next to us and asked us what we were giggling about.  We told her and she said: “So?”  We didn’t have an answer, but she continued: “Does this mean she is any different today than she was yesterday?  Does it mean we will stop watching her show?”  All we could respond was: “No.” I felt so bad for laughing.  I was too young to even understand what I was laughing about, but I knew enough to know that I should have felt bad.

And thus, my passion for civil rights was born.

Do you have a moment like this that made you more aware of civil rights?  Please share!

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15
Feb
2010

“When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.”

When I used to blog in college (mostly personal stuff that probably had no business being on the internet, and found very few readers because no one cared), I'd frequently start off with a title from a song that maybe five people would recognize that was only vaguely related to my post. Here, I've started off with the first line from the first song on the album Set Yourself on Fire by Stars not because it is obscure and vaguely related to this post, but because it inspired me when I heard it in my car on my way to work this morning.
“When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.”
I never realized how true this was until this year. I always used to think it was a really creepy line referencing someone actually setting themselves on fire, and images of protesters and extremists doing just that would always bounce into my head. But this morning, it struck me as more metaphorical: When you have no more external motivation and energy left, you must look deeper inside yourself for fuel to your fire.
I told my fiance this week that I was doing so much work that required so much energy with very little payoff. It's that time of the year when, as a teacher (in Chicago, at least), you become so frustrated because you and the students are wishing upon wish for some sunlight or a nice day to go outside and run around. There needs to be some outlet for the energy that is being pent up inside. But there isn't, so you keep teaching your heart out, and the students keep moving around and talking out and pounding on desks because they literally have no other outlet for the energy they have. And it is frustrating. Then, there's grad school. I'm pouring energy into this paper and seeing so few results right now that it's disheartening. And the wedding! It is so much planning for one day that seems so far off in the distance that any sort of rewarding feeling must be put off for so long.
I'm not saying I need instant gratification. I don't. But having some sort of little payoff intermittently gives me the fuel to keep going, and I just haven't felt that as of late. So I whine and complain and curl up in bed and decide I don't want to try anymore because I want someone to pat me on the back and tell me I'm doing a good job, that they like my work, that I'm indespensible to a cause, that I'm doing something important.
I think, as activists, we've all felt this way at some point. We've fought so hard for something to come to fruition – for any progress at all – and when we do not win, we are defeated. We feel as if we cannot go on because, after a major defeat, what is the point of giving it all you've got only to be crushed and disappointed?
The truth is, though, that we must keep on. When things are so frustrating that we feel we cannot take on one more thing that may bust up in our faces, we must look into ourselves for what started us on this in the first place, and set ourselves on fire. Not literally, of course.
I had this amazing education professor in college who would always tell us to teach like our hair was on fire. I always thought that meant being goofy and energetic in the classroom. While I do believe that is part of it, I see now that he really meant for us to teach with an undying passion and, when that passion runs out, find it again for without it, we will feel lost. So I am vowing now to not only teach like my hair is on fire, but to live like my hair is on fire. To find that passion I started with and ignite it again. You can all keep me in check on this – when I start complaining again, remind me of this post.
And I encourage you to do the same. If you have any stories about “setting yourself on fire” (NOT LITERALLY! Please DO NOT literally light any flames because of this post!!) please share them below.
We are a strong, passionate community, and we are all doing important things.

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05
Feb
2010

The Laramie Project

The Laramie Project by Moises Kaufman and the Tectonic Theater Project out in New York is one of my all-time favorite plays.  And seeing as I was the drama director at my old school, that’s saying quite a lot; I read A LOT of plays in my time there, but Laramie is one that definitely stood out.
If you haven’t read it, you should.  Now.  It’s a quick read; you could probably finish it in an hour.  Or go rent it!  HBO teamed up with the Tectonic Theater Project a little while ago to make a screen version of the play, and it is phenomenal, too.
A little bit about Laramie for those of you who haven’t read or seen it (from a paper I wrote about it last year):

On October 6, 1998, a young man was found tied to a fence in the Wyoming countryside. He had been beaten within inches of his life and left there to die, all because he was gay. Matthew Shepard was still breathing when he was found the next morning, and remained on life support until he died on October 12, 1998. The unusual, pristine nature of the crime scene lead to the quick arrests of Russell Henderson and Aaron McKinney, who eventually pled guilty to the crime, citing “gay panic,” or temporary insanity caused by a fear of sexual advances from a gay person, as their defense.

The murder and subsequent trials gained national attention from celebrities, politicians, and news media. When the media descended on the small town of Laramie, Wyoming, “all dialogue stopped” (Laramie 11). It was as the case gained national attention that Moisés Kaufman and the members of the Tectonic Theater Project went to Laramie on six different occasions to interview the residents of the town. They interviewed over 200 of the town’s residents – priests and pastors, ranchers, townspeople, friends of the victim and the accused, policemen and women who were on the case, the doctors who attended to Matthew Shepard, etc. The direct transcripts from these interviews, as well as journal entries and experiences of the actors themselves came together in the amazingly powerful play, The Laramie Project.

If that isn’t enough to entice you to read it, I don’t know what is.
But, my real reason for writing today about Laramie is because of one of my former students.  As I said above, I was the drama director at my old school for some time, and as the drama director, I worked with all sorts of students, and sensed the need to bring this play to the school and the community.  I hoped it would create a dialogue about my students’ lives that had been almost hidden until this point.  So I went to the principal of the school for approval and she granted it to me.  My students were so excited.  We cast the play before winter break and came back ready to go.
On the day we were to start our first rehearsals, the principal came into my room and informed me of the school board’s last minute decision to unapprove the play.
Now, keep in mind that this was a rural-ish school district, and a very conservative community.  I do not blame them for their decision at all, and I truly would like to believe that they had the students’ safety and best interests in mind.  But we were all heartbroken.  It was with tears in my eyes that I delivered the news to my students that first day of rehearsal.  And it changed them.  I saw them become disheartened and disappointed.  I saw them feel personally rejected, because this play spoke so deeply to so many of them.  But here’s the silver lining: I saw the activists start to come out in all of them.  Some went to the superintendent.  Some went to teachers.  Some had their parents call to voice their disappointment.  Some researched other venues for us to produce the play.  None of it panned out, unfortunately, but the important point was that they didn’t give up, and I could not have been more proud.  Since then, all of the students have graduated high school and moved on to bigger and better things, but I believe that experience has stayed with them in both good and bad ways, and I believe that it has made them better able to stand up for what they truly believe.
Yesterday, Collin, one of the students who was originally cast in the play, called me and left a very excited voicemail that he had been cast in his college’s production of Laramie.  His voice was almost shaking with excitement – as well it should have been – and it was again with tears in my eyes that I called him back to offer my congratulations (except these were good tears).  We talked for a little bit about the play and his auditions and all of that before he asked me if it would be a good idea to send invitations to the play to the school board of our former school.
Just when I thought I couldn’t be more proud, I was.
:-D
The production will be touring the weekend of Valentine’s Day with a stop in Chicago, so if you want more information, please let me know.

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22
Jan
2010

Equality 101

I’d like to introduce to you a brand new blog for teachers and activists!  It’s called Equality 101, and yours truly is a contributing writer in the company of some seriously awesome teacher-writer-researchers!

Of course, I will still be posting education-related posts here, but I will include much of what you find here over there.  So if you’re a teacher or if you’re interested in education at all, head on over and check it out!

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16
Jan
2010

Privilege

I just need to say something. Just to vent.

Privilege (white privilege, class privelige, male privilage, what have you) is not necessarily a bad thing. You don’t choose how or where or in what situatuon you’re born. I have privilege by accident of birth, and I do try to explore that privilege and what it means within the greater picture of society.

So, I don’t see being privileged as being a bad thing. What IS a bad thing, though, is entitlement. To expect certain things to be handed to you because of your privilege is wrong. To deny someone something that you expect to be handed to you just because they are less privileged than you is wrong. To pretend that privilege doesn’t exist is wrong.

I just read an article – of course, I can’t find it now, but will post it if I do – that said that the pay gap between women and men is a myth. And that is just one example, but I’m sure you can think of others. I’ll spare you from a list of them all here. And it just struck me then that we have such a long way to go. If people can’t even admit their privilege and admit that discrepancies exist, we have farther to go than I thought.

That is all. Thanks for letting me vent.

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19
Nov
2009

Small Strokes

Cover of "Manifesta: Young Women, Feminis...

Cover via Amazon

I love it when research about feminist activism and feminism points you to a quote that explains exactly what you’re trying to do with your own activism. This is from ManifestA: young women, feminism, and the future by Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards, and I feel it describes exactly how I feel about feminist activism:

Though activism can be grand or all-consuming, it is also as common and short-term as saying “That’s not funny” to a racist joke, “No” to the boss who asks only the “girls” in the office to make coffee, or calling your senator to protest… (282)

Also important to remember:

The first myth is that activism will bring an immediate and decisive victory.  In reality, the journey to justice is usually [darn] long.  So while the click of consciousness brings immediate gratification in itself, social change, even on a small scale, is slow and arduous work. (283)

The second myth about activism is that it has to be huge… (285)

The third myth is the importance of the superleader… It is a myth that effective activism is the result of one person, or even a few. (285)

Although we may not yet have a critical mass of Third Wave activists, we need to dispel the fourth and final myth: that our generation is politically, um, impotent.  Our purported lack of activism is usually chalked up to vague notions of apathy.  We were reared by the boob tube, and made cynical by the cold-war politics and consumerism of the Reagan-Bush era.  For a while, ad executives and media pundits conjectured that Generation X was simply lazy and irresponsible – fulfilling the slacker persona of the early nineties.  The apathy rap has some truth when it comes to feminism.  Some people do believe that everything is fine now, and that there is no need for feminism, either because they have low expectations or because they haven’t been in the outside world long enough to experience the limitations brought on by sexism… But history tells us that for each big leap, for each crystal-clear moment in which people refused to give up their seats on the bus or at the lunch counter, there is a time collecting energy and stating new visions – a time of pre-emergence.  Understanding that change takes time will lead us to a redefinition of our generation politically. (286-7)

How do you feel about feminist activism right now?  How do you define it?  How do you participate in it?  I’d be interested to read your comments!

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01
Nov
2009

On Abelist Language and Feministing

With all of the discussions about language and breast cancer ads yesterday, I want to just reiterate how

Poster in my classroom urging students not to use "That's so gay!"

Poster in my classroom urging students not to use "That's so gay!"

important language is in our society.  Really, it’s all we have when we relate to each other, especially when all of our communications are online and completely centered around words.  If we make writing our trade, even if we just blog as a part-time thing, we need to watch our language.  And as someone interested in literacy practices and language in this feminist community, it disturbs me to see abelist language in popular community sites like Feministing.com.

The Open Letter to Feministing on this ain’t livin’ has drawn attention to this important issue, and you should all read it and cosign it.  Consider me cosigned.

And this goes for all abelist language.  This is my big deal in my classroom: I don’t want my students using phrases like “That’s so gay!” or “That’s retarded.”  I have very personal reasons behind those two, but I believe it is my job as a teacher to promote tolerance, especially in language, by explaining to them why these phrases and ones like them are offensive and why we shouldn’t use them.

So, please, be a good example.  Cosign the letter and don’t use that kind of language.  Please.

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03
Oct
2009
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